Hounacier (Valducan Book 2) (25 page)

Gulmet licked the blood from Quentin throat, tonguing the hole. The painful wounds Vimiya had inflicted on his shoulders healed, but the fear was still lacking. "
It should be more! I knew she took too much of him!
" Angry, he slashed his prey's stomach and slid a finger into the bleeding wound.

Quentin's eyes rolled. Before he could go unconscious, Gulmet latched onto the man's throat, tasting the sweet terror. He thrust his hand deep into the man's entrails and pulled out a fistful of gray loops. He bit down and ripped out Quentin's throat. Quentin flailed and kicked, his blood pulsing with pure fear. Gulmet lapped it up, savoring every drop until the mortal fell still.

Drunk on the thrill, Gulmet cracked the still-hot carcass open and ate its heart, tasting the quickly fleeting emotion.

Somewhere deep inside, Malcolm screamed, his horror mixing with the demon's excitement. He couldn't turn away; he couldn't close his eyes or block it out. All he could do was scream in his own mind as he tore meat from the dead man's bones and ate his fill, savoring it unlike anything he'd ever tasted.

The blood-soaked mattress squished as he crawled back onto the floor. Rising to his feet, he looked back. Crimson dots splattered the baby-blue walls above the torn and mangled form. Gulmet smiled and returned to Malcolm's form.

He found Vimiya in the living room. She sat sprawled on the sofa, her now visible wings draped over the arm and Quentin's revolver in her hands.

"Are you planning to shoot me?" he asked.

The succubus snorted. "That would be a waste." She rolled it over in her hands like a child with a new and strange toy. "When the body is found and this is here, loaded with silver bullets, what will they think?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," she hissed, her eyes narrowing. "It does. No one believes anymore, Gulmet. No one remembers the old ways they used to resist us."

Gulmet snorted. "They know silver."

"But no one believes it, you idiot. A man with silver bullets is found dead." She nodded to the sticky blood covering Malcolm's body. "Mauled. People wonder. They suspect their movies may be true."

"They won't know what to think," he said.

"They'll fear, and there's always a market for fear. Someone will start selling silver bullets. Mortals will buy them. Then they'll make bronze, gold, iron, and then what?"

He shook his head. "You're overreacting."

Vimiya sprung from her seat and was on him, her claws around his throat. "No, I'm not! People exploit fear, and we can't let them fear us."

Gulmet swallowed. "My apologies, Mistress. We should take the gun. Dispose of it somewhere else."

Her hard eyes softened. "Yes." She released her hold and turned. "Now that you've had your revenge, leave us."

"What? Should I shower first?"

"Leave the vessel here. Go to your other one."

He clenched his fists. "You said I could keep it until—"

Vimiya wheeled. "And I will keep my word. But I want to play with my mate's killer."

A new terror seized Malcolm. He knew this had been coming but not yet. Then he remembered the amethyst.

"Go," she ordered. "Go to your other vessel. Hunt. That's what you do. Return to this body by sunrise."

Memories flashed though Malcolm's mind. He saw himself at Atabei's container ring, walking away from the wolf's pen. But something was wrong, different than he remembered it. He'd sneezed then stood erect. Shocked, he now remembered removing the silver ring and clothes and transformed. He'd returned to the wolf pen. The animal rolled onto its back, offering its submission. Malcolm had opened the pen and bit its neck, breaking the skin and lapping the blood. That done, he transformed back, put on clothes, then sneezed again.
You son of a bitch.

Gulmet smiled inwardly. Yes, yes he'd take his other vessel. The wolf, his truest flesh-form. He'd run and hunt and kill in the bayou, free from this succubus' control.

Malcolm staggered, feeling like some ancient weight had lifted from his bones. The once sweet aroma of blood and death roiled his aching, overfull stomach.

Vimiya stood before him, leathery wings stretching out, blocking the door. "Alone at last."

Malcolm spun. Knocking aside stone and crystals, he grabbed the amethyst cluster. He gripped it like a baseball, the rough base digging into his palm. Before he could turn back, the succubus was on him.

Hissing, she grappled his shoulder. A sweet, musky smell flooded Malcolm’s senses. Claws sank into his flesh. He grunted in pain then smashed the crystal down onto her hand.

She cried out and released before he could strike it again. Malcolm twisted toward her, ready to brain her with the crude weapon. Her ruffling wings and swinging claws were a blur in the faint light. She seized his throat with a vise-like grip. Her other hand fumbling for his wrist, she slammed him against the wall. The shelves dug into his back then cracked and broke, their contents spilling onto the carpet. The muskiness grew thicker, sticking to his throat with each gasp.

Head swimming, Malcolm brought the crystal down onto her cheek, ripping a pair of ragged cuts through her perfect face. She yowled and slammed Malcolm harder against the wall. Sheetrock crunched as his head hit the wall.

Stunned, he nearly lost hold of the crystal. He tried to smash it against the outstretched arm that held him, but she caught his wrist. She squeezed, earning a squelched cry of pain. The succubus was far stronger than him. Twisting his arm, she yanked it down hard and pinned it against his side.

Blood ran from her cheek, framing her wicked grin. She leaned closer and kissed the claw wound in his shoulder.

A soothing wave rolled from where her lips touched him, rippling out through his body. Malcolm’s terror washed away, and straining muscles relaxed. Her choke hold loosened, allowing a gasp. Her sweet scent hit like a drug, and the room shimmered, losing form. His hardening cock throbbed.

“No!” he coughed, trying to fight her grip, but she tore the crystal from his dulled grasp. It thudded somewhere in the unseen room behind her. Malcolm spat into her violet eyes.

Vimiya yanked, wrenching him across her body. His arm slammed into the sofa frame as he hit the floor. Malcolm tried to crawl, but his weak limbs wouldn’t respond. Her claw grabbed the side his face and pressed him into the carpet.

#

“Malcolm? Are you okay?”

Groggily, Malcolm opened his eyes. He was on a floor. Why was he on a floor? He rolled his head to see Tasha smiling above him. A new fragrance tinged her citrus perfume, something familiar, but he couldn’t remember where from.

“I told you you'd had too much to drink,” she giggled.

“Yeah, I guess…” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his arm aching at the movement, and looked around. “Where are we?”

“My apartment,” she said.

Malcolm nodded, now seeing the cases of cameras and books. “You rearranged your furniture.”

She shrugged. “I figured it was time.” Tasha helped him up onto the sofa beside him. “So are you all right?”

Malcolm touched his tender throat. “What happened?”

Her brows rose with a surprised chuckle. “You slipped off the couch.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean…how did I get
here
?”

“You sure you’re all right?”

Malcolm sighed. “No, I’m good. Just…where were we?”

Tasha pressed a finger softly against his chest and leaned closer. “The great Doctor Romero can’t handle his rum.” She laughed.

Malcolm couldn’t help but laugh with her. He’d never been much of a drinker.

She leaned closer. Her sweet perfume grew stronger, almost caressing him like a living thing. “We came back from dinner. I asked you to come in.” She nodded to the coffee table. “We had some cake, a couple drinks.”

Malcolm noticed the two glasses of amber-hued ice on the coffee table beside a plate of half-eaten chocolate cake. His favorite.

“You said it was getting late,” she continued, her fingers slowly pushing him onto his back.

Malcolm realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“I said you owed me a kiss.” She leaned over him, her lips almost touching his. “That’s where we were.”

Malcolm kissed her. A sudden surge of near-forgotten feelings rushed though him. He loved her. He always had. She returned it passionately, pressing herself on top of him. His hands moved up to touch her, and he realized she was nude. When had she taken her clothes off?

He was about to ask, but Tasha tugged his lip with hers and pulled his hand to her breast. Her soft, firm skin was perfect. Malcolm squeezed her hardening nipple. He gasped at the sudden, almost painful throb of erection. He pulled her higher up him and sucked and kissed her dark nipples, breathing in the incredible scent.

Moaning, Tasha slid her hand lower. She found his cock and slid it up between her swollen labia, sliding up and down. The hot wetness tingled, almost electric. Malcolm groaned with pleasure, and then she thrust herself down, burying him inside her, and the sensation was more incredible than anything he’d ever felt.

She slid up and down, matching his movements. The smooth tingles stretched further though him with each plunge. They wormed down his legs and along his spine, channeling all his nerves, all his energy into her.

Their speed increasing, Malcolm moaned. The pleasure mounted beyond any threshold he’d ever had. He grabbed her hips, pulling her into each thrust. She was incredible, and her sighs and cries only pushed him further.

“Baby, you feel so good,” Tasha whimpered.

“I love you.” He wanted to give her everything.

“Mmmm,” she cooed. “I want it all.”

Malcolm ached, the pressure swelling.

Tasha pulled his hand off her and moved them to the padded armrest above his head. “Not yet, baby.”

He let out a long, pleading sigh.

“Shh,” she soothed. “Patience, baby.” She grinned then pushed his hands together and pinned them beneath one of her own.

Malcolm kissed at her breasts as she reached over to the table beside them.

She drew a breath as he sucked her nipples. Then Tasha sat up, pulling them just beyond his mouth’s reach. “Here.”

Malcolm looked at the slice of cake in her hand. It seemed to shimmer in the faint light. “What?”

“Open wide.”

“Now?” he asked.

Tasha pouted her lip. “Please.”

“Fine.” He licked his lips then opened his mouth.

“You’re going to love this, sweetie.” She slipped the wedge into his mouth. A salty taste marred the rich chocolate’s flavor. It felt dry against his tongue.

She never could cook
, he mused as Tasha pushed the entire piece into his mouth, coating his lips in icing.

“There.” She coaxed his mouth shut around the enormous bite then clamped her hand across his lips.

Malcolm coughed as he tried not choke. The cake’s texture grew drier, and the sweet tastes soured.

Holding his mouth and hands tight, Tasha continued her thrusting onto him. The air seemed to warble and shift around them. Long wings emerged from the gloom above her, stretching from Tasha’s back.

Her breaths grew harder, and suddenly, the room was gone. Malcolm was pinned down beneath the succubus, and she worked herself onto his painfully swollen cock. He tried to scream, but the filthy sock in his mouth muffled the cry. Quentin’s sticky blood coated her body where she had rubbed against him, except her nipples where Malcolm had sucked it off. The cuts in Vimiya’s cheek were gone, healed by the essence she had already drained from him.

Malcolm fought and bucked beneath her but couldn’t escape. The forgotten ache of his overfull stomach had returned. The urge to retch grew worse with each movement. If he puked with the gag in, he could choke on Quentin's remains. She kept riding him, her pelvic bone jarring painfully into him with each drop, and Malcolm felt the energy of his body draining to his crotch.

“Give it to me,” she sneered. “I want you all.”

Malcolm’s breaths quickened, growing desperate as she worked him toward climax. The stink of pure lust repulsed and excited him even further. Bile and Quentin's blood burned up his throat.

Vimiya pounded harder, faster, pulling more of his essence.

Tears welled in Malcolm’s eyes. He had to resist. Had to—

The orgasm hit like a thunderbolt. He shuddered and writhed in excruciating pleasure as he pumped his life energy into her. It was like a suction drawing everything from his toes to his eyes down electric paths and into her.

Malcolm’s vision faded. All he could see were her hateful, violet eyes. He felt heavy, but still, she milked him. Arcing his back, eyes scrunched, he screamed as she wrenched the energy from him.

“You like that?” she asked, and then he fell from consciousness.

Chapter Eighteen

A squat, fluffy dog charged, yipping, as Gulmet swung over an old picket fence into a back yard, an amused smile on his lips. Fearless, it hopped and barked, angry he was in its territory. A low growl rumbled in Gulmet's throat, and the dog ran away, piss dribbling. It scurried under a dark porch and hid.

Satisfied, he glanced at the house whose yard he'd entered. A woman sat behind the window, her back exposed and watching a television. No one paid attention anymore. Begrudgingly, he admitted the succubus was correct. Mortals no longer feared predators in the night. Hunting was so easy now.

When Gulmet had returned to Malcolm's body, he'd found the mortal drained to near death. He'd had to feed on Quentin's cold remains to heal, like some low-born carrion-eater. A fresh kill could empower him even more, replenish all that she'd stolen. He could kill this woman, taste her blood and fear. But no. He had more important matters at hand. The woman and her brave, idiot dog could wait.

He looked up, searching the night sky for Vimiya. Could she see him now as he contemplated breaking her orders? Matt's blood compass could detect up to one hundred yards. She was far higher than that, he guessed.

Gulmet crossed the yard and swung himself over an ivy-coated chain link into the neighboring one. Crouching, he skirted a vegetable garden and stopped behind an old clothesline post, its arms buried beneath potted plants. The modest house appeared still. Light shone through sun-faded blinds in one room. The rest of the windows appeared dark save a green glow in the kitchen. Maggie always did go to bed early.

Staying low, he crept closer, stopping beneath a tree. He listened. Insects, the hollow chinks of the neighbor's wind chime, cars on a nearby street, a dog's distant barking. The voodoo queen's house was silent.

Malcolm could only pray the old priestess wasn't home. But where else would she be? After the shotgun incident, Mister Alpuente had stayed there, refusing to be at his home until Malcolm was gone. Was he still here? Malcolm hoped Alpuente had gone back and that Maggie was staying somewhere else, though he didn't dare think it aloud. The air conditioner clicked and whirred to life, dashing any hope that she wasn't there.

He moved to the narrow porch and peeked through the kitchen window. Empty. Gulmet removed the key hidden beneath a square pot and carefully unlocked the back door. Metal rasped as he eased the door open and stepped inside.

Vimiya's instructions were to kill everyone who knew of Gulmet's existence. While Gulmet had urged that they move against Matt and Atabei first, the torment that the old woman's death would cause for Malcolm enticed him to agree.

Excitement priming his muscles, he silently moved through the house, checking each room in turn. The guest room was empty, no sign of Alpuente's things. Gulmet's disappointment nearly overwhelmed Malcolm's sense of relief.

The feelings were short-lived as he turned and moved toward Maggie's door, light peeking out beneath it. Licking his lip, Gulmet touched the knob, and then cracked it open.

Empty.

The bed was still made. Gulmet eyed the floor lamp standing beside the curtained window. Where was she?

Eyes narrowing, he retreated back into the dim hallway and checked the bathroom. Her toothbrush holder was empty.

Malcolm fought back the urge to taunt his captor. Best he let the demon forget he was there, keep his guard lowered.

Jaw tight with anger, he sniffed the air. Beneath the stink of cleaners and food, Gulmet caught a familiar citrus scent. "
Tasha.
" He tightened his fists. Matt had guessed his move, but how? Their assumption he'd be watching Atabei's house was why Vimiya was saving it for last. And if he was watching Maggie's, where was he?

Fear tingled in his gut, too faint for him to really notice, but Malcolm felt it. Matt had been an accomplished solo hunter years before his Valducan training. If anyone was going to stop him, it'd be Matt.

Gulmet moved back toward the kitchen, about to flee when he spotted something he hadn't noticed before. A black, tubular camera rested on a shelf, peeking out from behind a clutter of framed photographs.

No, Matt wasn't here now. But he was coming. Gulmet smiled. Tonight, Rajik would be avenged.

He stepped out the back of the house and looked skyward. Thrusting one hand in the air, Gulmet pointed his index finger like a gun and moved his thumb like a firing hammer. A shadow darted across the sky, momentarily silhouetted against a cloud, then gone. Vimiya's scheming had prepared them for this of course. Now, they just needed to lure their prey into the trap.

The all-too-familiar rush of adrenaline returned. No more stalking helpless mortals. This was an Oppressor. Gulmet hopped the neighboring fence and hurried away. He reached the street and stopped behind a decrepit van.

Malcolm felt the mental reigns loosen but didn't risk trying to take control yet. He'd only have one chance, if that. No need to risk it.

Five minutes later, a dark blue car turned up the street and flipped off its headlights. It slowed and stopped one house before Maggie's. Even through the tinted glass, Gulmet could see Matt inside it, wearing a low baseball cap. He'd switched cars.

Matt stepped out, eyes fixed on the house. The light reflected off the bottle in his hand. His other hid inside a brown paper bag at his side. A new satchel hung from his shoulder, the strap tight across his chest. He glanced at the compass, looked around, and then moved toward the house.

Gulmet watched him circle around to the back, staying clear of the neighbor's porch light. Matt moved with a soldier's grace, smooth and silent, the bagged gun automatically tracking between potential hiding places. The hunter's training was so ingrained he probably didn't even think about it anymore.

Once Matt had vanished behind the house, the mental reins tightened again. Gulmet hurried away, stopping another block from the house and waited.

A moment later, Matt hurried out the front door, compass before him. He searched the street.

Gulmet stepped out from the shadows and stopped. Their eyes met. Matt's arm tightened on the gun, but as Gulmet had expected, he didn't raise it. Too far, too out in the open for a shooting. He smiled. "
Chase me.
" He wheeled and ran.

Gulmet raced down the block and turned at the next street. Vimiya leaned against a telephone pole ahead, casually watching him approach, like she'd been waiting there all night. The mental hold loosened. Blocks behind him, if he was still in range, Matt would see the red bead vanish.

"He's coming?" Vimiya asked.

"Yes."

"I'll prepare the site." She looked off into the distance. "Run him around. Wear him out." Without another word, she strode off down a darkened path between a pair of houses.

Gulmet continued down the street. Behind him, he heard the sound of beating wings. Malcolm fought the urge to look back, refusing to exert any control until necessary. Until then, he was the casual passenger. Gulmet hurried across the street and stopped beside a low, brick wall draped in flowery vines.

Matt slinked around the corner ahead, visible for an instant in the lights of a passing car. He glanced at the compass and peered around. He moved up behind a row of parked cars and lowered from sight.

Wondering if his hold was strong enough to summon the blood bead, Gulmet strengthened his control of Malcolm. Matt didn't step out. Narrowing his eyes, Gulmet searched the shadows. A dark shape slithered beneath a pickup, gun pointing his direction. Gulmet dropped behind the wall as the shot rang. Bits of leaves and flowers blew out over him. Laughing at the brush of death, Gulmet scrambled away and ran.

Weaving between cars and posts, Gulmet sprinted half a block and leaped over a fence and through a yard. Sweat slicked his skin. His heart pounded with the almost long-forgotten thrill of the chase. Oh, he was going to lead this hunter, going to push how close he could come to feeling that cursed bullet, make Matt think he had a chance then deny it. Urakael would die as Matt watched, sweetening the fear.

Jumping another fence, he came out behind a squat convenience store and waited. Once he'd estimated enough time for Matt to find the trail, Gulmet relaxed his control to a minimum and urged Malcolm on.

He hurried down the alley behind the shop and into a weedy vacant lot. He crouched beneath a crop of thin-trunked trees and watched as mosquitoes buzzed around.

Two minutes later, Matt strolled up the streets ahead. He'd discarded the baseball cap and brown bag, his hand now inside the bulging satchel. He scanned the street ahead of him, repeatedly glancing at the bottle before him. Matt stopped just outside the fluorescent glow from the gas station's lights and looked around. His eyes passed over Gulmet's hiding place without response. He checked the compass again. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and Matt continued on.

Once Matt had passed out of sight, Gulmet rose from his hiding place and followed. He spotted the hunter at an intersection, looking around as if trying to decide his next move. Shoulders back, Matt looked every part the Hollywood lone gunman.

Gulmet strengthened his hold of Malcolm, sliding into his flesh like a familiar and snug glove. Matt started across the street but stopped and spun. Their eyes met, then Gulmet turned and ran. He raced across the next street then charged through yards and across driveways. He hopped a fence. Dogs barked, but he ignored them and leaped over into the next yard before the enraged animals could give chase.

He stopped near an empty playground and waited, allowing Matt a chance to catch up. Across the park, a group of teens talked and laughed on a set of rusty bleachers. Police sirens wailed some blocks away. Gulmet assumed they were headed to where Matt had fired the gun, but they continued past it.

Once he'd guessed Matt would be close enough, Gulmet started across the park. Something moved in the shadows to the right. Glancing over, he spotted Matt's shape moving between trees, closing in.

"
Clever.
"

Gulmet bolted the other direction, toward the pack of teens. Matt wouldn't take the shot with them in the line of fire. A wiry boy in a gray tank top slapped his friend on the arm and pointed as Gulmet charged toward them with inhuman speed. Gulmet hurdled the low fence separating them, and the teens scattered out of his way. The cover gone, Malcolm expected to feel the bullet between his shoulders, but it didn't come. The metal bleachers pinged as Gulmet ran up and over the four rows and raced away.

Once out of the park, Gulmet led Matt deeper into residential areas, careful to loosen and tighten his control of Malcolm to keep Matt moving in circles. Gulmet never stopped moving, not allowing Matt another chance to circle around him. The hunter had nearly taken him, and the thrill of that close escape excited Gulmet even more.

Playing their cat and mouse, Gulmet headed east. Houses gave way to dark and corroded steel buildings. Long shadows cast from the few working streetlights, crossing the narrow streets, making it even harder to see than if there were none at all. It stank of diesel and burnt tar.

Gulmet jogged deeper into the maze of warehouses and factories, past graffiti-coated loading dock shutters and stacks of rotting pallets. Finally, he came to a sheet metal fence. The sliding gate stood open a crack, its padlocked chain hanging broken. Vimiya's work.

Glancing back, the streets appeared empty. But he knew Matt was there somewhere, Dämoren out, closing in. With a smile, Gulmet slipped though the gap and into a wide gravel area. Rusted heaps of scrap metal and stacked poles filled the lot, some standing over ten feet high.

Broken security cameras looked down from the three large buildings walling off the yard. He searched the sky for Vimiya but couldn't see her. The skeletal frame of a crane arm loomed above. A perfect roost. Gulmet hoped she'd disabled everything in time. They had all night with their prey. Then tomorrow, workers could arrive to find the shredded remains.

Gravel crunched as he crossed the yard. A dusty blue flatbed rested on the far end beside the rear buildings. He leaped onto the top then up onto the metal awning that stretched along the building's face, the scrap yard's name blazoned across the tin in blocky letters. With one final jump, Gulmet grabbed the roof lip and pulled himself up. A dozen box cars littered the train yard just beyond the building. Beyond it, a steep levee wall ran alongside the far canal. Keeping low to hide his silhouette, Gulmet loosened his hold of Malcolm and crouched on the far side of the ridge behind a satellite dish.

A minute later, Matt's head peeked through the open gate. He looked around then quickly side-stepped in. Pistol drawn, he moved through the yard, eyes searching as he passed each pile.

Gulmet smiled, seeing the hunter's tight lips, the mounting paranoia. "
That's right. You saw me enter. There's no exit. Where am I, Matt?
" By now, the compass' range had diminished by half. Gulmet doubted it would sense him at this distance even if he took flesh-form.

Something pinged on one side of the yard. Matt swung Dämoren around and started toward it. Once he'd reached the open area, a dark shape dove from the darkened sky behind him like a giant hawk.

Gulmet grinned, his mind focused on the moment to come.

Seizing the opening, Malcolm took control and stepped from the shadows. He pointed to the sky. "Behind you!"