Blood Hunt

Page 2

The real danger out here tonight was the cold, not monsters, and the longer people were left to suffer in it, the more dangerous it became.
Hope forced her legs to move. Her first steps were slow and shuffling, as if her own body was working against her. Then slowly, she picked up speed, shoving all thoughts of monsters from her mind.
As she crept down the alley that led to the back of the building, she heard more noises she couldn’t quite identify. There was a grunt of pain and the rattle of wood tumbling about. Once, she almost thought she heard a woman’s voice, but she couldn’t be sure. The only woman she knew who was too stubborn to come in out of the cold was her friend Rory.
Hope cleared the corner, and the first thing she saw was the gaping hole where the overhead door had been ripped open and partially off its track. The metal looked like it had been punched in with a giant fist, leaving jagged shards behind.
From inside the opening, Hope saw a brief flash of color—the sickly yellow of suffering.
Rory.
Desperate fear washed over her, making her lurch forward through the ragged opening. It was too dark inside to see, so she fished inside her satchel for the flashlight she always carried.
A feral growl of rage rose up from her left. It wasn’t a human sound. Not even close.
Primal fear surged through her, and she had to fight the need to curl into the smallest space possible so she could hide.
Her search for the flashlight became frantic, her gloves hindering her as she fished around in her bag.
She located the hard, heavy cylinder, only to have it slip from her grasp.
Heavy, pounding steps shook the floor. A woman cried out in fear somewhere to Hope’s right.
She grasped onto the flashlight and powered it on as she ripped it from the bag. The beam of light bobbed around, catching motes of dust as it passed.
Hope aimed it toward the sound of torment. The light bounced off something huge and shiny. Something pulsing with muscle, and moving so fast she couldn’t keep the light trained on it.
Its aura was black nothingness.
Panic gripped her tight. She needed more light to ward off the thing. Something as hideous as that would hate the light. She felt it on an instinctive level, as if she’d been taught how to protect herself from the monster.
Hope swung the light around to the employee entrance next to the pulverized overhead door, hoping there would be a switch nearby. Surely, whoever came in through that door would need to have access to lights, right?
The beam of light shook in her grasp, vibrating with the trembling of her hands as she searched. It seemed to take forever, but as she neared the door, she saw a series of switches.
She sprinted over the dusty floor, praying that the power here was still on—that whoever was trying to sell this place had left the lights on for potential buyers.
Hope shoved all four switches up at once. There was a muted thunk, then an electric buzz. Light poured down over the room, and while many of the bulbs were burned out, it seemed as bright as the surface of the sun compared to a moment ago.
She blinked her eyes and turned, forcing herself to look at what her flashlight had touched.
The room was large and open. Lines that had been painted on the floor to outline separate areas were now covered in dust. A stack of wooden pallets had toppled, and the dust from their fall had not yet settled.
Across the room was a giant, hulking creature poised over someone she couldn’t quite see. All she could tell was that they were surrounded by that yellow aura of hunger and suffering she’d come to know so well on the streets.
The beast’s head swiveled toward her, the movement sinuous and fluid. Its green eyes fixed on her, and she swore they flared brighter for a brief moment.
An unnatural fear rose up inside Hope, screaming for her to run. She knew what this thing was. She didn’t know its name or where it came from, but she knew that it wanted her blood.
A roar filled her ears as a distant memory tried to surface. Her head spun and she clutched the wall behind her to stay on her feet.
Please, God. Not now.
As much as Hope wanted to remember her past, she wouldn’t survive the distraction. She fought off the memory, mourning its loss even before it passed.
The beast snorted out a heavy breath, sending four curls of steam into the cold air. Its mouth opened, revealing sharp, wicked teeth.
Hope was sure the thing wore a sinister grin.
“Run!” shouted a man.
She couldn’t see him, but it was his aura that peeked out from behind the monster. It pulsed with a flare of bright blue courage, and a second later, the monster roared as if it had been struck.
Now that its attention was no longer focused on Hope, her knees unlocked and started working again. She needed to find help. Fast.
She turned to do just that, when she caught a glimpse of an aura peeking out from behind the toppled pile of pallets.
Hope rushed over and found a man lying unconscious on the floor. One side of his face had darkened with a bruise, and in his loose grip was a board covered in the same shiny stuff that coated the monster’s skin.
His aura was faint, the colors flickering like the flames of a dying fire.
He wasn’t going to make it if she didn’t do something.
Across the room, a crash sounded as the fight wore on. Hope didn’t waste time figuring out who was winning. It was going to take all her strength to get this man out of harm’s way. Just in case it was the monster who won.
She shoved the pallet pinning him down off his legs. His jeans were dark with blood.
Hope patted his face, hoping to wake him. His eyes fluttered open, but she doubted his ability to focus. His pupils were huge and a cold sweat covered his brow. “Logan. I need Logan. Poison. He can fix it.”
Hope didn’t know how he knew that, but she doubted he’d waste his breath lying.
Her gaze slid across the room to the fight. The man battling that beast must be Logan. She had to help him. She had no idea how to defeat the monster, but she’d seen a length of metal pipe back near the door, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
Logan looked up from the floor where he landed. The spots cleared just in time for him to see the demon’s giant, slimy foot hurling toward his head.
Logan rolled aside, dodging at the last instant. Chips of concrete flew into his face, stinging as they hit. He smelled his blood a moment before he felt the hot trickle of it sliding down his cheek.
The creature’s foot was raised, poised for another attack. Logan’s body shook with weakness, so cold he could barely feel his limbs. Only the dull throb of pain managed to get through the growing numbness of his body.
He was running out of time. Soon, the poison would incapacitate him, making him an easy meal.
There was no way Logan was walking away from this alive. The child had to be his first priority. He just needed to buy Pam enough time to escape. If her child survived, he could one day save others of Logan’s race.
The thought brought him a sliver of solace.
It was time to pull out all the stops. He gathered up a bit of power and burst from the ground, shoving his dagger deep into the demon’s groin. The beast howled. Black blood spurted from the wound.
Logan shoved the blade sideways to slice open a large wound before jerking it out. He stumbled backward as the demon clutched at its wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. Not that it would do any good. That blow was fatal. It was just a question of how long it would take the demon to bleed out and whether Logan would survive until it did.
It thrashed around, spraying blood across the floor in a black arc. One giant fist lashed out at Logan, knocking him back into a wall. Pain radiated out from his spine, but at least now he was out of the way of more blows.
The demon’s eyes flared bright green as they fixed on him. He saw a streak of movement, heard a battle cry. A woman ran across the floor, wielding a pipe like a sword.
Logan screamed for her to stop, but he was weak and out of breath. All he managed to get out was a growl of warning too low to reach her.
She slammed the pipe into the demon’s leg. It roared in anger and turned around to face the new threat.
She hit it again and jumped back out of its reach. It took an awkward step toward her and slipped on its own blood. It toppled to the ground, nearly crushing the woman beneath it. She got out of the way just in time, backing up until she hit a large wooden crate.
Black blood pooled under the demon. Its tongue swept out to lap up its own blood in a vain attempt to heal itself. But it was too late for that. It was bleeding too fast.
Finally, with a last shuddering breath, the demon died.
There wasn’t time to revel in the kill or celebrate their victory. Logan staggered away to where Steve had landed, so he could rid the man of poison. He’d just made it to Steve’s side when his legs simply gave out.
The longer he waited to finish this, the more likely it was that the scent of his blood would draw other Synestryn to him.
Steve, his family, and the mystery woman needed to be long gone before that happened.
Logan closed his eyes and concentrated on manufacturing an antidote to the poison within his veins. It was slow, and every bit of energy he used had to be dragged out of the deepest recesses of his body. Each spark of power slowed his heart. His breathing became shallow, and he was so cold that his breath no longer misted in the frigid air.
By the time he was finished, he was blind, shivering uncontrollably, and could barely move. Even his own head was too heavy to support.
He couldn’t draw the antidote from his veins as he normally would have done. There was no syringe and no time. Instead, he closed his mouth over Steve’s and forced the antidote through his saliva glands and into the human’s mouth.
Moments later, Steve moved. The movement was weak at first, then grew as the man’s strength returned.
“You need blood,” said Steve.
“Not yours. Poison.”
“I’ll find help.” Like a rag doll, he moved where Steve pushed him, too weary to even speak and tell him not to bother. There wasn’t time.
Cold sank into his body—a bone-deep cold he knew would never leave him. His breathing began to falter and his heart’s rhythm stuttered as it slowed.
Pain and cold surrounded him as death came for him. And as Sibyl had said, it was not going to be gentle with Logan. It was going to scrape every last breath from his lungs and wring every last beat from his heart, forcing him to endure every second of pain and cold and hunger. He would find no peace in oblivion.
There was still so much work to do and now he was leaving his brothers to do it all alone. But selfishly, that was not his last thought. His last thought was how much he wished for one single moment of warmth before he died.
Chapter 2
Hope stared in shock at the scene that played out before her. One moment that poisoned man had been at death’s door, and the next, he was on his feet, heading straight for Hope. All from a kiss from Logan—a man too beautiful for words.
Logan lay still and pale, his face a work of art even in his suffering. And he was suffering. His aura did not lie. It was the color of bile—of pain and sickness—streaked with the bright red of pain, tainted with black shards of hopelessness.
His face was gaunt, with stark shadows under his cheekbones. Dark hair fell over his wide forehead, highlighting the striking paleness of his skin. Blue tinged his full lips and she fought the urge to warm them with her own.