The Hunger - Vampire Huntress Legend 3 Read online

  A series of disgruntled "Good mornings" followed her greeting. That always bothered her. Hunting vamps and demons had put them on the predators' schedule. They got up out of bed late, like shift workers, and went to bed at dawn, just like vampires. Crazy. In the process of her mental battle, she spotted just what she wanted. A beer.

  Damali stood and shut the door, and saluted Rider with the brew when he gave her a concerned glance. "Just trying to bite the snake that bit me."

  "Which one would that be?" Rider asked, his gravelly voice holding tension as he watched her screw off the cap and take a healthy swig.

  "Cheap wine after a Red Stripe."

  Rider shivered, made a face, and smiled. "Will do it every time."

  "They serving cheap wine in the vamp clubs these days, D?" Jose's detective-like question had come out quietly as he took a slow sip of coffee.

  "No. Can call the vamps a lotta things," she said, amused as she took another sip, "but tacky isn't one of them." She knew Jose was trying to get all up in her business about where she'd been. He was right, too, about the wine. She wouldn't have bought cheap wine at a club. His intense eyes followed her around the room as she sat down across from Big Mike.

  "Don't you think you need to have breakfast, first?"

  She glanced at Big Mike, then leaned across the table and pecked his cheek. "Got cereal in a bottle, just like Rider showed me." She chuckled and turned the beer around and read the label. "It has hops and barley… hmmm… probably sugar—"

  "Rider, I told you about your ways," Big Mike thundered, not amused. "After y'all eat, we need a weapons room meeting. Got a bunch of shit to get off my chest."

  The threesome sat quietly peering at Big Mike's back as he stormed out of the kitchen. Damali glanced down at her beer and then up at Rider.

  "Damn," she whispered to Rider. "A beer could do all that? What's his problem?"

  Jose stood fast, glared at Damali, abandoned his coffee cup, and followed Mike out of the room.

  Rider shrugged and clinked his spiked coffee mug against her beer bottle. "Guess it's just us two heathens for breakfast this morning, kiddo."

  "I've had enough," Big Mike argued, his gaze holding each member in the weapons room for a moment before he spoke again. "For three days after the concert, we were on the run like we've never been—and I never said a word. Held my peace while we went underground to regroup, hiding in churches, mosques, temples, synagogues—any hallowed ground we could find." He stared at Damali. "Then, I haven't said a word for the last month, but I'm not going to sit here and watch my little sister self-destruct."

  Damali let her breath out hard in frustration. "I'm not self-destructing, I'm polishing my skills." She looked at Big Mike who was leaned against the door frame, then over at JL and Dan by the monitors for support. Finding none in their eyes, she bypassed Shabazz and Marlene who were sitting on stools on opposite sides of the room studying the floor, then over to Jose. His arms were folded as he sat on the sofa. Her gaze sought Rider for an ally as she plopped down hard on a stool and took another swig of her beer.

  "Listen, people," Damali said carefully, setting down her brew on the edge of the table next to her Isis long blade. "We all got battle-freaked after doing Hell, right?" No one answered, so she pressed on. "If I'm supposed to be your so-called Neteru, then it's important for me to get back in the hunt. I had to know that I could hang, could still bring it, still had some juice after that bullsh—"

  "Your language," Marlene said in a fast snap, cutting her off. "Everybody's language," she said, standing and walking toward the table that held an array of ammo. Marlene took the half-empty bottle off the table and walked back to a nearby waste can and dumped it. "Your attitude. Everybody's attitude," Marlene warned. "True, it is important for you to get back into the hunt. But it's how you get back into the game that's important."

  "Mike's point, exactly," Shabazz said, his voice even, authoritative, and no-nonsense. "Marlene's point. We may have physically regrouped, but we're a long way from being straight—as a team. The vibe ain't right." He looked at each team member, then again held Damali's eyes with his own. "You feel me?"

  "Yeah, I feel you, 'Bazz," Damali said, her voice tight. "That's why it's time to get back on the road."

  "What?!" Rider was off the sofa and now walking back and forth between the equipment table and the monitors. "Why in the hell would we—"

  "Because we have to pay some bills, Rider," Damali said fast. When he stopped pacing and the others didn't jump in to debate her, she continued. "You all know how much the electric bill is in here, not to mention the maintenance on a fleet of Jeeps and a Hum-V, the artillery, and what it costs to constantly develop new weapons systems. That doesn't count what we normally spend on food, travel, your gig gear, or what have you. We need a few international venues now that we've done the Raise the Dead concert to keep the momentum going. I can feel it in my bones. Gotta make sure our CD goes platinum so we'll have royalties long after we've stopped gigging… we also need the soft-drink commercials, anything that will repeatedly play our music and send in checks. Maybe even land a film deal, something that keeps us mad-paid. I'm not overreacting."

  Vindicated by their silence, Damali folded her arms over her chest. "Yeah, I've had a lot on my mind. Look around this joint and tell me our other sources of income? It ain't just the battle that's got a sistah stressed—it's the reality that, if for some reason the money gets funny, I have to know we can stay alive with or without all the electronics and the barricades." Her gazed raked Shabazz hard. "Now, do you feel me?"

  "I may be the only non-musician in the group," Dan said after a moment, ending the standoff, "but Damali is right." He glanced around nervously toward the elder guardians in the group. "I do promotions. We can't afford to let this thing cool down, no matter what we've been through. While we were getting our heads together, I've been keeping the media wolves at bay." He sighed. "I told them that we were on a temporary hiatus so we could work on breaking out some new sounds, told them that the mysterious phenomenon called Damali was working on new cuts… it was bait for Entertainment Tonight, Rolling Stone, People magazine. The phones have been jumping, and I've tried my best to—"

  "See," Damali said, opening her arms. "Stress!" She looked at Dan. "Thank you, Dan, for making my point. Of all people in here, the newest guardian understands what time it is." She watched him glance away, nattered but a little embarrassed by the compliment. "Book us wherever you can, tell the lesser venues we're gearing up for a world tour. I don't know where I want to go, but put some feelers out, Dan. I just can't sit around this compound much longer. I'll go nuts."

  "Done," Dan said quickly, but his glance shot around the room.

  Marlene nodded. "The utility companies don't wanna hear a long story about how we saved the world and that's why their checks are late."

  "I know this was the last thing you expected after your bar mitzvah, Dan," Rider said, his glare sweeping to Dan, then back to Damali. "Just for the record, none of us signed up to be a guardian. We got the short straw in the grand cosmic equation. Dig? But, I'm ready to roll, if that's what we've gotta do to keep the lights on."

  "I want—"

  "Damn what you want, Damali!" Shabazz shot up from his seat and swung his arm toward Marlene and pointed at her. "I've got a bad vibe. We can feel it." He snatched his arm back and folded both of them over his chest. "I'm traveling with precious cargo. You're grown now, and need to dig it." Then just as suddenly as he'd spoken, he fell silent and walked back to his stool, sat heavily, stared at the floor and rubbed his jaw as though he'd said too much.

  She felt the entire team bristle, and Marlene hadn't said a word. Big Mike and Rider had looked away. What the hell was going on?

  "Eventually, I want a concert in every continent," she said again, taking her time to speak firmly. "I want us to hit every place that we know there's a topside master vampire still running shit. We're supposed to clean out master lairs, one by one, vamp te
rritory by territory, taking down second levels and thirds after we hit the mast—"

  "Are you nuts?" Jose shook his head and stood up to leave. "I'm not taking you anywhere to get yourself killed. Let's stay in the States for a while, since we know Nuit is history."

  For a moment, the whole group stared at him. It was something about the way he'd said what he did, had personalized it a little too much. Damali shook off the uncomfortable feeling. Yeah, after losing Dee Dee, it made sense that Jose wouldn't want to take his little sister anywhere that might be crazy. That had been the main reason she wouldn't let him hang out with her. If he saw where she had been going, what she was doing every night, he would flip.

  "Jose," she said more gently, "sooner or later, we have to go after the rest of them. The longer we wait, the more time the vamps have to regroup and get stronger. Just like with the music, we have to keep the momentum going."

  "Yeah, D, but, we don't have to rush headlong into danger all the time. We're all only human, and need a break… need some time to just live life a little." Jose's eyes held a request in them that she couldn't comprehend, even though his words made total sense. "Damali, sometimes—"

  "—A man needs to pick the right time to drop something on a sistah," Shabazz said quickly. The tension in the room was so thick now that you could cut it with a knife. Shabazz's comment sliced right through it. "Now ain't the time, little brother," he said, his tone even but gentle. "I ain't trying to risk nobody in here, either."

  Damali looked at Shabazz, and noted that Marlene remained conspicuously silent. All right. She could appreciate Jose trying to stick up for the older couple, who, of all the members of the team, had the most to lose—namely each other. She could definitely appreciate that now. Damali nodded, ran her fingers through her locks, and sat back down.

  "It's instinct," she said, her tone no longer holding the edge of rage. "You all said fighting evil was in my blood, and, yeah, it's personal." She let her gaze go to each team member and linger there. "Should be for everybody in here, truth be told." She didn't mention the name that no one had uttered for the last month, Carlos. Then she glanced away and studied her blade.

  Damali picked up her Isis. "I'm tired of running, tired of wasting time fighting lower-level vamps… I won't be right till I go big game hunting." She stared at Madame Isis, getting lost in the beauty of its jeweled handle.

  Seven stones, each a different color of the metaphysical chakra system: ruby at the base of the handle, followed by golden topaz, emerald at the heart level, sapphire, blue topaz, amethyst, and crowned by a large diamond, spaced perfectly to fit her hand. The beauty of the weapon, an instrument of sure vampire death, mesmerized her. It always did, and she kept it close to her like a security blanket. The warrior, Isis, fought a demon serpent intricately inlaid with gold and silver at the head beneath the jewels. She wondered if the ancient warrior had won. The blade was magnificent. Damali ran her finger down one of the blood grooves imbedded in the three blades that came to a sharp point on the end, capable of opening a wound in a vampire's heart shaped like a crucifix.

  Deep contemplation overtook her as the team remained silent, watching her. She wondered how something like this had come into her possession along with the fate to bear something so majestic. But the weight of the responsibility that came from owning it was no joke. This was no way to live. She also didn't want to be psychoanalyzed anymore. Her first ripening had passed. She wasn't afraid, just tired. She was sick of all the team histrionics about what could happen. The worst already had, as far as she was concerned. She'd already been hurt to the bone by the underworld—Carlos was dead.

  Damali finally looked up. Her gaze went to the group's mother-seer. "Put some new feelers out for where we can gig, Dan," she said, no room for negotiation in her tone. "Can you handle it?" She waited for his slow nod then stood. "Anybody who doesn't want to go doesn't have to. But I'm out."

  No one moved, except Jose.

  "Wherever you wanna go, D… I'm down," he said quietly. "Wanna go get some real dinner 'round the way?"

  "Yeah, Jose," she murmured, coming up to him and slinging her arm over his shoulder. "Let's get outta here."

  Humans were always so very careless, she mused, savoring the bitter taste of black blood on her mouth. How ironic that a simple chalice filled with a seemingly dead substance could render unfathomable power.

  The night felt like a missed lover, the freedom of being topside beyond comprehension, especially under this particular moon. The taste of succulent human flesh, the thrill of the hunt, while exhilarating, bore no comparison to the rush that power offered.

  She stretched her long legs, loping toward a tall tree, and in two feline strides ascended to a high branch. She narrowed her gaze on the blue-black terrain, laughing to herself as she thought of the expressions on the faces of the humans she'd gored in the mountains. This was her land, her territory, all poachers beware. She opened her mind to sense for danger, her instincts as sharp as her fangs. Then she felt him.

  As promised, his power was unprecedented… sultry, seductive, a force of animal nature that ran all through her. Primal to his very core. Oh, yes, this was so perfect. She closed her eyes, a low purr rumbling inside her chest. Baby, come to me… just tell me where you are.

  That he resisted her call, left it unanswered, amused her. Another dominant female had his attention at present… ah, logistics. But he had indeed paused, had swept his mind through his region, intrigued, sensing for the mystery of what could have stabbed into his libido so viciously. It was a curious thing, however. Prayer lines barricaded him? How so? Mild panic arrested her amusement. She didn't sense that he was endangered, only that there was a barrier. His location was indefinable. No matter. The point was, he existed, had not perished, and had been promised to her.

  If his presence held that much charge while cloaked to the night, that far away, then an encounter would surely be worth unraveling the shadows around him.

  "Carlos," she whispered. "It's only a matter of time until I find you." She laughed low, and deep, and sexy. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

  No answer.

  Frustration would not lay claim to her; she willed it away, but sent a very graphic representation of her skills into the night air with a desirous growl. She smiled as she again sensed him pause. Yes, think about that tonight… and do not ignore me again.

  With a sigh of exasperation, she dismounted in one fluid flex of her spine and landed on the ground on all fours. Her attention went to the nearby village. Her shape shifted into human female form. Flimsy doors, half-hearted prayers, open windows, adulterous men in the streets. Humans were so very careless.

  Carlos closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. She was walking, her long, confident strides fluid beneath her faded jeans. He loved the way every toned muscle beneath her gorgeous, bronzed skin worked as she moved. His mind seized upon the small tattoo at the base of her spine and caressed it. He could almost feel the soft texture of the fabric of her lemon-yellow tank top. He remembered her mouth, her kiss, her smile… One of her guardians was with her, making her laugh. He could literally taste the taco as she bit into it.

  "You've been monitoring her telepathically for a month, Carlos." Father Patrick's comment made the vision evaporate. Angered by the sudden loss, Carlos set his jaw hard and kept staring out the window.

  "We're also no closer to finding out what is going on in South America," he pressed on. "My visions reveal the deaths themselves, but not what caused them. Is it vampire? Maybe some of the hybrid things left over from before?"

  Carlos kept his back to the priest he'd come to call Father Pat. As his gaze remained fixed on the full September moon, harvest season ran through his mind. He sent a glare over his shoulder, and watched them bristle. Only Father Pat seemed cool.

  "I've told you a hundred times, if once, since I got here. This ain't my kind—we don't eat flesh." He returned his gaze to the moon. "We're purists. Only do blood."

 
"The hybrids from Nuit's colony left sloppy signatures—real brutal bites that tore out organs," Father Patrick countered.

  Carlos thought about it hard. The twisted bastards Nuit made had kept human body parts and meat hanging in their lair refrigerators… he was just glad he wasn't one of them and had been made by council. His mind went to the young girl Nuit had gutted for his brothers to feed on. His kind was capable, but that was the new regime, not the old one. Something about this wasn't right; he could feel that it wasn't from the empire. "Those victims in Brazil didn't get back up and turn," he said after a moment, trying to convince himself that it wasn't possible for vampires to be involved—like whether the victims turned or not really made a difference. He knew better than that. These were feed kills.

  But this was so damned boring. Carlos folded his arms over his chest. Just one night out… "Demons possess—so they're careful about what they do to the bodies they plan on inhabiting. I told you that! They go in before the body is declared dead, or known to be dead by the living. That way, they can walk around undetected, and they can cast illusion to keep the living from seeing the decay—that's why they smell the way they do. They're fucking parasites." He turned and looked at them hard. "I don't think it was vamps, but I need to get out of here to really investigate. I need to employ all my senses to—"

  "No," Padre Lopez said, fast. "That's not part of the deal. You must avoid proximate occasions of sin until your willpower is stronger."

  "Fuck it, then," Carlos said, his tone a low grumble as he turned back to look at the moon. "Have it your way." He closed his eyes. Good food and a good woman—that was what was in order.

  But he could feel the team at his back grow tense with his silence. Each one of them possessed a sensory gift, and if they were picking up half of what was on his mind, then they had every right to be concerned. Just the thought of a hunt was making his gums thicken, and thinking about Damali was having the same effect on his groin.