IM02 - Hunters & Prey (3 page)

I paced the cavernous living room like a caged animal, wearing a track into the carpet with my boredom. The clock taunted, ticking at its slow pace. Each minute felt like an hour, and each hour was a small eternity to itself. Hoping for some relief to my boredom, I decided to do a little research.

My maker, Lysander, was also a historian who meticulously documented everything he experienced. He’d created quite an expansive library of vampire history—which I figured should give me plenty to look through.

Randomly, I took ancient tomes from the hand-carved oak bookshelf and brought them to the glass-top coffee table.

I collapsed on the large black leather sofa and began my research, hoping to find more information on Santino. Sadly, there was little more than the snippet of information I’d already learned. He’d been an Italian mercenary before he was turned, choosing immortality and servitude to the order of the Acta Sanctorum to overcome his age and eventual death. Unfortunately, as Lysander hadn’t dealt much with him, there was little personal history to be chronicled.

What I knew of the Acta Sanctorum wouldn’t be any more help to me. The Catholic Church may hold his leash, but they didn’t control his everyday movements. It was the man—the hunter—that I needed to figure out.

Frustrated with the lack of help the books were providing, I settled down in front of the TV—another sad attempt to pass the time. Hours crawled as the clock continued mocking me. It felt like dusk would never come. I flipped through channels, searching through talk shows, soap operas, and day-time court TV, finally stopping on a news network.

Nicholas always watches the news. Perhaps I could get something out of it. If I could just remember that name. Who was it that he said works with Santino?

“Quentin.” Nicholas’s voice boomed from behind me. It startled me, shaking me from my thoughts. I hadn’t expected any other clan members to be awake this early. I looked up to find him standing at the entrance to the hallway. He was a short man, but built like a soldier. His muscular frame filled the arched entrance to the hall. “His name is Quentin Kagan, and he doesn’t work with Santino, he handles him, like a dog.” Nicholas gave a snort of a laugh. “Santino reports to him.”

“Thanks,” I said feeling a little annoyed at the interruption. “Sorry, was I too loud out here? I didn’t think anyone was up.”

Nicholas quirked an eyebrow at me and walked over to the black, leather love seat next to me. “No, I was already awake. I heard the news and thought I should come out and see what’s going on.”

He sat and glanced at the TV, brushing away the dark, shaggy hair from his eyes. The glowing light from the TV cast odd shadows on his face emphasizing his permanent five o’clock shadow and cleft chin.

I drummed my finger on the plastic casing of the remote control. “I’m not really sure what I’m watching. I was just flipping through.”

He shot me a sideways glance and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Sounded to me like you were looking for clues.”

“You know, it’s not polite to go digging around in people’s minds.” I slumped back into the couch and let out a loud breath.

“I shouldn’t have to.” He cocked his head, and his eyes narrowed as he focused on me as if he were trying to stare right through me. “You shouldn’t be hiding things from your family. I seem to remember another young fledgling who did the same thing. And can you tell me what happened to her? Remember Jessie?”

It was a low blow. I blinked a few times and turned away, pretending to look at the lamp on the side table. I remembered Jessie all right. She had tricked me into following her straight in to the hands of our enemy. Lysander wanted her ripped limb from limb for her treachery. She found death quickly once the clan had taken a vote.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s got you looking for clues about Santino, or am I going to have to find out for myself?” His voice carried an air of menace.

Like all ancients, he had a wealth of power. I knew I was outmatched. It’s hard to block them when they get you in their sights.

“Fine,” I groaned. “Look, I uh, I’ve been having dreams… about Santino.”

“Santino?” Nicholas turned to focus on the TV screen, but the corner of his mouth rose to a grin. “Does Lysander know you are dreaming of other men?”

“What? No! Not like that. Daymares.”

“Poor little fledgling vampire, having daymares,” he said with a laugh.

Does he always have to be such a jerk?

“Not really a day-nightmare, more like reliving the past.”

“Post-traumatic stress,” Nicholas said nonchalantly. He leaned back, crossed his legs and relaxed into the cushions of the loveseat.

“Yeah, Lysander thinks the same thing.” I huffed.
Why am I bothering to talk to him? I can’t expect him to listen to me. He only respects his fellow elders.

“And you think there is more to these daymares, I assume?”

“Yeah!”
Whoops, said that a little too loud.
“I don’t think Santino is gone. I think I saw him last night.”

“He’s not gone. For good that is.” He waved his hand casually in the air as if to say this was common knowledge.

I was momentarily speechless. I hadn’t expected Nicholas, of all vampires, to support my theory. “Wait, what? You’re agreeing with me?”

“There was no body found at the fire. Am I correct? No body means no proof.” He didn’t bother looking at me as he spoke, but I had no doubt he saw me nodding in agreement. “You were there with me when we found Lysander.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you see Santino?”

I shook my head. “Well, no, I didn’t.”

“Did you sense his presence at all?”

I hesitated before answering. I hadn’t even considered that fact. We can sense when others are around. I hadn’t sensed him that night. “No.”

“Then there was no proof of his death.” He held up a finger, shaking it in the air, punctuating the words as he spoke. “If he isn’t dead, he is still out there, somewhere.”

“That’s what I was saying, but Lysander says he’s— ”

“Too weak, right?”

“Yeah.” I narrowed my eyes waiting for Nicholas to drop a bomb on me.
He’s going along with this too easily.

“Lysander’s right about that…” He pointed a finger at me again.

Okay, here’s where he tells me I’m stupid.

“Or.” He brought his hand to his mouth. “At least he was right at some point. Santino would need to heal, just as Lysander and Rozaline did after the fire.”

A pang of guilt struck me at the mention of Rozaline and the fire. She had forgiven me for accidentally burning her with a flame thrower during our previous battle with the Acta Sanctorum; but Nicholas, it seemed, still held a grudge. He’d been particularly mean to me ever since.

“Lysander says that could take a long time.” I clenched my jaw, remembering how badly they had been burned.

Nicholas’s eyebrow arched sharply. “And you don’t believe him?”

“Well, umm…” I bit at my lower lip. I didn’t want to speak against Lysander, but I felt deep down that he was wrong about Santino.

Nicholas’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “Go ahead, say what you’re thinking.”

“No.” I sighed, looking down to the carpet. “He’s a vampire just like us. What if he, you know, drank from people, in a desperate attempt to heal?”

“I’m starting to like you, Alyssa. You’re not as vacant as I originally thought.”

“Vacant! Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole! You know, for a second I almost forgot what a jerk you are.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. If you want my respect, you need to earn it. Now back on point. If Santino went rogue and started feeding from humans, he could easily have healed by now.”

I nodded. “Okay, so he must have drank from mortals.”

Nicholas gasped and put his hand to his cheek in an overly dramatic fashion. “But what of the Acta Sanctorum? What of the Church? They would not condone that. What would he tell them? Would he still be their crusader if they knew the bad things he had done?”

“Well, no. He wouldn’t be able to work with them again if he fed from mortals.”
Where is he going with this?

“Right, then he could no longer be a— ” Nicholas lifted his hands, making a quotation motion with two fingers.“—Saint, and then he would be no threat to us.”

I shook my head again. “You’re talking in circles. Where is this going?”

“If you will shut up, I’ll tell you.”

I tapped my foot impatiently. “Fine. Go on, please,” I said through gritted teeth.

“We can safely assume he did not break the law of the church or his order. And Santino is not like us, he won’t kill humans even if they are criminals that deserve death. That would really put a cramp in his holier-than-thou attitude. All Santino has is the Saints and his mission.”

“Okay then, how fast could he heal on animal blood?”

“You’re interrupting again.”

I clenched my hand tight around the TV remote, feeling the plastic casing crack under my grip.

“Forget animal blood, Alyssa. How did Lysander and Rozaline heal?”

“Oh, I’m allowed to talk now?”

“Only if you add something valuable to the conversation.”

I groaned in frustration. “We fed them our blood.”

“Bingo.” He pointed a finger at me. “They healed because they drank vampire blood. And where could Santino get vampire blood?”

“I see where you’re going with this. If we didn’t kill all of the Saints, then they could have healed Santino.”

He cocked his head to the side and gave me a mocking smile. “You do catch on quick, don’t you? Keep this up and you just might get a gold star.”

I bit back my annoyance.

“But didn’t Rozaline say there were only a few immortal Saints? We had to have killed at least five of them, and that doesn’t account for the ones that Kallisto’s guard dealt with. There shouldn’t be any more.”

“What I believe Rozaline said was, the Acta Sanctorum wouldn’t be so stupid as to have more than they can handle. That doesn’t tell us how many they have. Five dead Saints is hardly enough to destroy the whole of the Acta Sanctorum.”

That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. Santino could be alive and well, and have another army of vampires and hunters to send after us.

“So if we assume he has healed, then he would be looking for us with his other minions?”

“We don’t assume to know anything about his intentions.”

I slumped back into the couch. “That’s not an answer, Nicholas.”

“I never said I had the answers, now, did I?”

“You certainly pretend to have them.”

“I never pretend.” The corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. “If I know something, I say it.”

“So what do we do then?”

“Not sure at the moment.” His eyes fixed back on the TV screen. “What time is it?”

I looked over to the clock on the bookshelf. “Just after five.”

“Change it to local news.”

“Yes, your highness.” I snorted, pressing the buttons on the remote, careful not to crack the plastic casing further, and flipped back down the channel list to the local news report.

Maybe he will hear something important. I wish I knew what to look for.

“I doubt we will find any clues right now,” Nicholas said with a sigh. “If he is out there, he’s going to be working undercover. His last attacks drew too much media attention.”

My memory flashed to the burning tower that had once housed Kallisto’s coven. Vivid images of the charred, blackened top of the pristine white building and the huge plume of smoke that rose into the sky had been broadcast for days after the attack. The second fire, at Kallisto’s safe house, was dwarfed in comparison, yet still drew the local media. Nicholas was right—Santino wouldn’t want that kind of attention again. He would want to come after us in secret.

“What would we be looking for?” I wanted to do something. I couldn’t just sit there twiddling my thumbs.

“It would be too complicated to explain to you. I’ll know if I see something.”

“Great, so I’ll just sit here and do nothing.”
That will make time move faster.

“Shh, I’m trying to watch this.”

Jerk!

The news was filled with the same everyday stories it always had. Reports of negligent mothers leaving their kids in hot cars while they ran into grocery stores, robberies, murders, the most recent million-dollar slot winner, and special deals being offered by the local casinos. There was nothing—not a single, noticeable clue to tell me if Santino was still out there looking for us.

Nicholas hardly took his gaze from the television. I couldn’t tell if he was interested in the news or just trying to ignore my impatient sighs.

The annoyingly chipper female anchor was teasing the top story of the night, a dismembered body found near Industrial Road, when I heard a soft voice greeting me from the hallway.