Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 04 (18 page)

The bullet ripped straight into the creature’s temple.

But it still didn’t go down.

Instead, it slowly turned its head, its yellow eyes
burning with hatred. It started toward him again, this time in a slow, weaving
glide, more of that black liquid oozing from its temple, dripping like a dark
river down its mutilated, cadaverous skin. “Get them out of here!” he roared at
Kellan, while Noah staggered to his side, ready to help him, though Aiden
feared they were fighting a losing battle. No matter what they did, the son of
a bitch just kept on coming. And it was only by the grace of God that no other
hotel guests had wandered into the back parking lot during the fight. A fact he
was all too aware could change at any moment.

“I’ll try to get hold of it, then you go for its
throat,” he rasped, thinking that maybe between the two of them they could
manage to decapitate the thing, and possibly even kill it. Noah nodded, his
expression one of grim determination that Aiden knew matched his own.

“Get ready,” he muttered, tucking his gun behind his
back to free up his hands, a murderous glint in the creature’s yellow eyes as
it drew closer…closer. Then the loud revving of motorcycle engines stopped the
thing in its tracks as two bikes pulled around the side of the hotel. Hissing,
the creature whirled into the woods, hovering just inside the shadow of the
trees. Three more bikes followed the first two, all of them gathering at the
other end of the lot, and Aiden had never been so happy to see a group of
humans in his life.

“Too weak to take on all of you,” it seethed, pulling
farther into the shadows. “But not for long. I’ll be back…and next time I won’t
be alone. You’re going to have your hands full, Watchman.”

Aiden shot it a cocky smile. “Keep ’em coming.”

“Oh, we will. Thanks to you and your friends.” Then it
was gone as quickly as it had come, the air clearing of its rank stench as the
wind swept through the parking lot.

Scraping his bloodied fingers through his hair, Aiden
surveyed the damage. Noah was rubbing his right shoulder, a grimace twisting
his features, though Aiden could tell he wasn’t seriously injured. Just banged
up, and no doubt bruised as hell. Jerking his chin toward the human, he thanked
him for his help.

Noah reached down for his other knife, grunting, “Any
time.”

“Okay. Anyone else weirded out by Mr. Creepy, or is it
just me?” Kellan muttered, moving to join them, Jamie’s arms still wound
tightly around his neck.

Not trusting himself to look at Olivia without bending
her over his knee for refusing to listen to a single word that he’d said, Aiden
kept his gaze on his fellow Watchman. “I think it was a Regan. Or at least it
used to be.”

“I thought they’d all but died out.”

“Yeah, well, that thing smelled like it’s been dead
for a while now,” Noah offered with a gritty laugh.

Kellan’s odd-colored eyes darkened as he stared into
the woods. “Do you think this was what Kierland was talking about when he told
us to be ready?”

“With our luck? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“What do you think that ‘thanks to you and your
friends’ was about?” Noah asked.

Aiden shrugged, his voice tight with frustration. “I
guess it could have been nonsense, considering that thing seemed whacked out of
its skull. But my gut tells me that it was trying to tell us something.”

“Did it make a go for Liv?” This question came from
Kellan, his arms still wrapped around Jamie in a strong, protective hold.

“I don’t think it was here for either of the girls.”
His mouth was still bleeding from one of the hits he’d taken, and he turned his
head, spitting out a mouthful of blood that joined the small, dark pool
collecting beneath his right leg. Though he could feel the wound already
beginning to heal, it still hurt like a bitch, and he knew he’d have to bind it
before they headed out. Looking back at Kellan, he added, “It only seemed
interested in coming after me.”

“I’d feel a hell of a lot better if we knew what it
was.” Noah wiped the back of his wrist over his own battered mouth. “And what
it was after.”

“Did you see the way it looked at the Marker?” Olivia
asked, speaking up for the first time since the creature had disappeared. “It
knew what it was.”

“And it didn’t look afraid of it,” Kellan murmured.
“Its look was almost greedy. As if it wanted it.”

“But it didn’t even try to take it,” she pointed out,
and Aiden couldn’t resist looking at her any longer. She had one hand raised,
stroking Jamie’s back in a soothing rhythm, her big eyes staring right back at
him, filled with concern. He could tell from her expression that she expected
him to be furious with her. And he was. But even more than that, he was nearly
staggered by his relief that she was okay…that she hadn’t been hurt by that
psychotic asshole.

He cleared his throat. Shoved his hands into his
pockets. Fought to make sense of the strange warmth in his chest as their gazes
held. “What brought you guys out here anyway?” he asked, finally tearing away
from those violet eyes as he looked toward Kellan again.

“We got a call from Molly saying you were in trouble,”
the Lycan explained, the corner of Kell’s mouth kicking up in a smart-ass grin.
“I was worried we’d be breaking up something hot and heavy, but she was right.
You were getting your ass kicked.”

Aiden ignored the taunt, more interested in how Molly
had known he needed help. “She hear from the source?” he asked, his look
warning Kellan not to say anything about Monica. Last thing in the world he wanted
to do was upset Jamie right now, her little face still buried in Kellan’s
shoulder.

Kellan nodded, all traces of humor vanishing from his
expression, the look in his eyes warning Aiden that he wasn’t going to like the
answer. “Yeah, she heard from her.”

“And?” he bit out, the single word thick with
frustration as well as dread. “What did she say?”

“Death.” The low word echoed in his ears, and he
looked toward Olivia, holding her terrified gaze as the Watchman continued.
“That was the message, Ade. According to the source, Death was coming.”

Indiana

Saturday
afternoon

“DO YOU HAVE THEM YET?”

Closing his eyes, Miles Crouch leaned back in the
driver’s seat of his parked Jeep, his thick fingers clenching around the cell
phone jammed against his ear. Despite his tension, his mouth curled in a slow
smile while he fantasized about how good it would feel to rip Schecter’s heart
from his chest, squeezing it in his fist like a sun-ripened peach. Though he’d
always believed that it paid to be loyal to those who ruled, he was beginning
to have his doubts. Wasn’t Schecter’s irritating presence in this world proof
that some orders were better left ignored? He’d killed his Merrick, and had
pulled Josef across, just as Westmore had told him to do—but now he wished he’d
listened to the little voice in his head instead. The one that had warned him
he was going to be sorry.

“I don’t have all day, Crouch. What the hell have you
found?”

“Nothing yet,” he muttered, tuning out the sounds of
the bustling strip mall where they’d stopped for lunch. The Kraven traveling
with him had gone inside one of the fast-food restaurants—their vampire halves
requiring them to take regular meals, as well as the occasional blood
feeding—while Miles waited in his car at the far edge of the parking lot,
having claimed he wasn’t hungry. “We’ve been one step behind them all
afternoon,” he went on to say, “but they’re not stupid. They made a strange
turn near Indianapolis and we lost them.”

Silence settled heavily over the line, then Schecter
slowly exhaled. “How unfortunate.”

Working his jaw, Miles focused on the way the sunlight
burned colors through his lowered eyelids, bright splashes of crimson and
orange and yellow, doing his best to control his temper. “These Kraven are
useless at tracking the human’s scent. And the child’s Merrick signal is almost
too faint to follow. If you sent me some Casus, it would improve our chances of
staying on their trail.”

Schecter’s tone was dry. “That would be easier to do
if you hadn’t allowed the shifters to send half our unit back to Meridian. And
that’s after the heavy losses we suffered in Washington, thanks to your
incompetence.”

Frustration prickled beneath Miles’s skin, making him
sweat despite the chill in the air. He wanted to argue, but what could he say?
He was to blame for Gregory’s escape, damn it. Westmore had sent him to
Washington to help track Gregory down, but when he’d found him, he hadn’t made
the kill or even taken the Casus into custody. Like an idiot, Miles had hoped
to appeal to the guy’s sense of reason, but unfortunately Gregory didn’t have
any. The bastard had gone after Riley Buchanan anyway, and Miles had been left
looking like an asshole.

Yeah, he knew he’d screwed up. But that didn’t mean he
was going to sit there and take this crap from a prick like Schecter. “Look,
you got anything important to say? ’Cause I gotta go.”

“Actually, I have news from Westmore.”

At the mention of the Kraven’s name, the man’s image
filled Miles’s mind, making him shake his head. It still amazed him that
Westmore had managed to pass for human when he’d first approached the
Collective Generals. If you knew what you were looking for, it was easy to
recognize a Kraven. But then, that was the problem. Very few knew what to look
for…and those who did seldom revealed the secret. “And?” he muttered, his
impatience getting the better of him when Schecter fell silent again.

“And it seems that you’re going to have some company.”

Opening his eyes, Miles glared at the sliver of pale
gray sky visible through the Jeep’s sunroof. “What kind of company?”

“Nothing that should interfere with your hunt. But you’ll
want to be careful all the same. It looks as if our suspicions about the
Markers have proven true.”

His eyes went wide with shock. “Are you telling me
that the Death-Walkers are here?”

“We haven’t made contact yet, but Westmore has men
working on it. Just hurry up and get your hands on the girl. They seem to be
targeting the Watchmen, which works into our plans perfectly. If our newest
intel is correct, they’ve already taken one shifter down in Russia, and
another’s been killed in New Zealand. They’ve shown no signs of going for the
Merrick or the Markers, but if for some reason that were to change, you’ll be
expected to deal with them.”

Miles snorted. “Yeah? And exactly how am I supposed to
do that?”

“You’ve got a half-decent brain on you. Or at least
that’s what Calder keeps claiming. Let’s see if you can figure it out for
yourself.”

Bastard, he thought. And in that moment, his vision of
squeezing Schecter’s heart in his fist morphed into something much darker…and
far more satisfying. In his Casus form, Miles would have the power to shove his
muzzle right into the prick’s chest and eat his heart out with a single snap of
his jaws.

Only problem was, he didn’t like the taste of self-righteous
jackass.

Without bothering to say goodbye or any of the other
snarled phrases burning on the tip of his tongue, Miles pulled the phone away
from his ear and jammed his thumb down on the end button. Cursing under his
breath, he tossed the phone into the passenger seat, then rested his hand on
his churning stomach, his skin covered in a clammy film of sweat.

Had he honestly claimed he wasn’t hungry? Christ, he
was so empty inside he could barely see straight. In truth, he was starved, the
need to take a proper feeding burning through his veins like acid, stripping
him raw. But he knew better than to allow himself to fall the way Gregory had
done.

If he could just hold strong, Calder had promised them
that the feeding restrictions would be lifted once the flood came. Only then
would they be free to do as they pleased, living like gods in this world. But
if he gave in, he’d become a slave to the hunger too soon, and before he knew
it, someone would be tracking him down with orders to send him back to the pit.

He couldn’t let that happen. Would rather waste away
to nothing before he found himself rotting away in the stench of Meridian
again.

Still, his gut ached with a hollow, grinding pain, and
he gnashed his teeth. Though Miles had made his share of animal kills since his
release, it simply wasn’t the same. Like comparing water to the most succulent
wine, animals didn’t have the kick that came with devouring human flesh. And
while he could get a good meal out of a man, it was the women who truly gave the
males of his kind what they needed. He craved a proper feeding, like the one
Schecter had taken from the little Kentucky teenager, and with each day that
crept by, the craving thickened within his blood and his bones. In the very
substance of his being.

His hands curled into fists as he thought of the
moment when Schecter had taken the girl’s body beneath his. Miles’s own body
shook as the visceral, intoxicating images flooded his mind. Her smooth, pale
skin bathed in silver moonlight. The heady, delectable scent of her blood. The
dazzling beauty of her fear. Losing control, his fangs slipped heavily from his
gums just as his claws began to pierce the tips of his fingers, lacerating the
palms of his fisted hands. The scent of fresh blood drifted to his nose, and he
knew what he was going to have to do. Again. His weakness disgusted him, but
there was no other choice.