The Hunted (4 page)

I thought about that for a second.

Nope, I just can’t see it.

I pulled back in closer to the side of the container, withdrawing my dirty fingers from the metal and brushing them lightly across the front of my jeans to wipe away the orange rusted tinge. I could feel a slight tremble across the surface of my skin, and it had very little to do with the cold weather. I was scared, despite how many times I had told Susan and George on the way here that I was more than capable of participating in tonight’s hunt without being chaperoned like a nun at a Manpower concert.

Again, not exactly true.

This was only the second hunt that I had been actively allowed to partake in. The first hunt was more of a ‘watch and learn’ experience. I ‘watched’ all right, and Susan and George ‘learned’ to lock the car. But one thing was certain, I was not about to let some grievances regarding my personal welfare interfere with tonight’s intended outcome. We had a job to do and I didn’t want to be the one to screw it up because I was too scared to follow through. We couldn’t afford to let them get away. I was going to have to swallow my fear and accept that sometimes if fate dealt you a less than desirable hand, then the only option left was to suck it up and play the very best damn game that you could, or bluff like hell until you won a round.

I was intending to bluff, which of course was ridiculous because I was a crappy poker player. But given my current situation, which I had absolutely no one to blame but myself, I had to do the best that I could with the hand that had been dealt to me—a pair of wolves perched just down the end of this container …

I touched the hilt of the silver blade that was lashed tightly to the side of my leg and stroked its length in a reassuring gesture. This blade had been my constant companion since training had started and I was accustomed to how it felt in my hand and the comfort it brought me by having it near. The weight of the hilt in my palm and the way my fingers wrapped tightly around it as I sashayed it through the air in arcing motions felt as natural as breathing. This blade had only plundered blood once and it had been brief, but it had sliced through flesh as easily as a bread knife through butter.

All I needed tonight was a couple of well placed slices and the beasts would be dead. They didn’t heal the way that a vampire could, or even the way that I could for that matter. Werewolf flesh was as vulnerable as a human’s, and any blow could be fatal. But tonight’s outcome depended entirely of course on whether or not they decided to tag team me.

That could mean one of three things.

Drain me dry of all my blood.

Impregnate me with wolf spawn.

Or tear my head right off my shoulders.

Not exactly a pleasant thought. But it didn’t change the fact that if I wasn’t careful or controlled in my movements, it could easily happen.

Crap why am I doing this again?

I couldn’t even claim the last kill as my own because Lucas had incapacitated the beast first with his magic. I may have delivered the fatal blow that killed the last wolves that strayed into our territory, but it was only after they had been frozen to the spot with the Hevannatara spell. It’s not much of a challenge if the target in question doesn’t defend itself because it’s nothing more than a doggie popsicle. Was I even ready for this now given that once they sensed my presence there would be no magic to slow them down?

You have to be.

I blew out another chilled breath and decided to change my tactics. I could do this. I hadn’t spent the last four years getting knocked on my ass in training just to stand back and watch. After all, how was I ever supposed to learn the true thrill of a hunt or gain insight from the challenge of a worthy opponent if the opportunity was always muted?

I could do this. Nay … I needed to do this.

I needed to prove that the IMI had not been wasting their time on me and that I was in fact capable of defending human rights just as well as my family, despite the fact that sometime in the near future I would be a natural enemy of the clan. After all, I may have been human now, but that was not going to be the case forever and when that time came …

All bets were off.

I fingered the blade again and instantly felt better knowing that I was at least armed against these creatures should their senses stir and become aware that we were hunting them.

Correction. I was hunting them.

I certainly did not have the same magical abilities that the rest of my adoptive family had when it came to fighting these beasts, so I had to be circumspect.

These beasts … What a joke.

I shook my head in dry amusement.

In so many instances I was just like the creatures that we were hunting this evening. I may not have had the blood lust just yet, but when my turning finally occurred on my eighteenth birthday, I was going to be just as blood driven and deadly.

A beast to the core.

That was certainly something that The Protectors were trying to change by conditioning me to fight against my own kin. I knew that it probably served their ends more than it did mine. I wasn’t stupid. But I also didn’t know any better either, having never grown up around anyone other than a Protector.

The IMI had long since been training The Protectors in magical defence against the darker realms of the supernatural. Namely the Vampires and the Werewolves, but I had been the exception. Despite the fact that I was going to turn into a vampire on my eighteenth birthday, the IMI saw me as an opportunity to mould a weapon that might one day be of benefit to their side in the fight against the Vampires.

I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about that just yet. After all, I had never actually met a vampire before, so I could only trust in the judgement of my family and the other Protectors when they said that they were a race worthy of annihilation just like their creation …

The Vân
â
tors.

But if that was true, what did that say about me? Was I only worthy of life because they had raised me to fight for their causes? Or would I be just as expendable as the werewolves that we hunted this evening?

I shook my head. I needed to keep my wits about me. I couldn’t let my mind wander into the unknowns when there was something lurking in the darkness ahead that was far more dangerous than the thought of meeting a vampire or betraying the IMI.

I ducked down low to the ground when I heard the snapping of snouts and low feral snarls erupting from behind the next container. If nothing else tonight, I wanted to prove to myself that I could defend and protect just as well as the others, despite my lack of magical skills.

I sucked in a breath, the scent of blood now heavy and thick in my nostrils. I could almost taste the saltiness in the air and the sharp after taste of metal as each breath danced across my tongue. I could feel my veins constricting in response, the desire to feed was building in a pit deep down inside of me, which was ridiculous considering I still loved to eat regular food. Perhaps that was the problem with being a born Vampire and not a turned one—you always wanted blood even though you didn’t technically need it in order to survive. Despite all born vampires being human for the first eighteen years of life, there was always the underlying desire to taste blood, even if the actual turning did not occur until the stroke of midnight on their eighteenth birthday
.
It was a total Cinderella cliché, but nevertheless entirely true.

I shook it off and glanced at the containers of rusting metal that loomed impressively above me, closing the darkness in over my head and hiding my figure in the shadows.

Unfortunately, I was close enough to them now that they would be able to catch my scent and quite probably hear my racing heartbeat. So there was definitely no going back.

I wrapped my hand around the hilt of the knife and pulled it slowly from the enclosure on the side of my leg. My fingers found their usual position on the handle as I lifted the blade in front of me, moonlight bouncing off the silver surface and dissipating into the darkness beyond. I held the blade in front of me and edged my way quietly to the corner of the container.

Rather than duck my head around the corner and risk being seen, I tilted the blade on an angle that allowed me to use it like a mirror so that I could see around the other side. In the reflection I could easily see the two vân
â
tors that we were hunting tonight. ‘Vân
â
tor’ was the Romanian word for ‘hunter’, a name adopted by the early descendants of The Protectors over three hundred years ago when the Vân
â
tors were first created by the Vampires.

It was a big mistake in hindsight.

The Vampires had never expected that their guard dogs would eventually turn on them. The main problem with the Vân
â
tors was that not only did they enjoy the taste of human flesh and blood, they also enjoyed that of the Vampire, and they replicated faster than a warren of horny rabbits. Not to mention the fact that they were remorseless and took on the human figures of anyone they had ever tasted.

The Vân
â
tor’s creation had been one of the first stories that George had ever told me when they had finally decided to explain the parts about me that could no longer be explained away. It was hard for a twelve year old not to question her surroundings when she never seemed to get sick or injured and her older, adoptive brother could somehow shoot fireballs from his hands. The story of how the Vân
â
tors were created was what led to the formation of The Protectors and the creation of the IMI, and also to the story that unfolded my true origins.

I was born a vampire. Interestingly enough, vampires apparently dated back longer than anyone can remember, but, as I had never met one myself, it wasn’t like I could ask one to flip out his ID and prove he was older than Father Time. On the other hand, The Institute of Magical Intervention was only created in 1923, consolidating every member of The Protector clans around the world. At last count, these amounted to around five thousand inductees.

None of it would have been necessary if it weren’t for one coven of vampires back in 1713 that persisted on plaguing a small village in central Romania.

Too many people went missing, too many people wound up dead.

Needless to say, the villagers were not about to take the assault lying down. They sought out information via the old texts, from campfire stories, and by travelling to other villages that were rife with the superstitions surrounding the practice of witchcraft.

The dark arts banishment was sweeping across Europe at the time, encouraging the burning of innocents at the stake for any suspected acts of witchcraft. But for each of those people that were trialled and found guilty of legitimately practicing different forms of witchcraft ways, were found by the villagers to smuggle them to safety.

In exchange for their freedom, the villagers asked to be trained in all manner of magical defence and attack. It came easily to some, but not to others; the villagers’ descendants later learned that magic was inherent, unlocked only if it was predisposed of by the blood.

As the power of the villagers’ magic grew, so did the Vampires’ fear, and what resulted from that fear—the Vân
â
tors. The details of their creation were a little sketchy. The Protectors had never really been too forthcoming with the information they’d given me. Somewhere in the backs of their minds some probably thought I was always going to be the enemy and too much information would be dangerous.

My adoptive parents and my adoptive brother were the closest thing to a loving family I had ever had and I owed them everything for taking me in. I didn’t really want to put them in an awkward position by asking too many questions because, if it weren’t for them, then I might have been destroyed at birth.

Again, that was another area of my life that was a little sketchy.

Each member of the IMI was more than a little reluctant to discuss my origins, and unrelenting questions had constantly burned at the back of my mind. I was hoping that the older and more resourceful I got, the more they would realise that putting off those vital answers would be more tiresome then just telling me the truth. I only wanted to know the reason that I existed in the first place, and just exactly who my real parents were.