Page 9 of The Huntress

Chapter Five

A DUNK IN THE BAY

Theylivedamongus.Not aliens. Shifters, vampires, and probably the fey.

It made a huge difference to Callie. She was law enforcement, and every damn day she had to take down some crook. Suckbloods, the beasts, and stupid humans. The same crimes plagued each species: corruption, greed, lust, anger, and now racial tensions. Who did what didn’t matter to her. The law was the law, and she was the enforcer.

Not that she was one hundred percent human either, not according to her gramps. Being of Irish descent meant she had a bit of fey in her. She snorted. No one would hear her from where she was hiding in the shadows of a crate. Her partner was somewhere behind her, sneaking with those enormous feet of his, so she was on her own, as per friggin’ usual.

The whole there-are-other-creatures-in-the-world drama unfolded due to a threatening war between shifters and vampires. People-monitoring in this technological age also played a part. Amateur footage was freely available, revealing these creatures to the human populace. Of course, humans couldn’t lose their minds over this revelation. They were so outgunned, it was ludicrous. The go-to reaction would’ve been to nuke the bastards, but since they couldn’t be tracked, it would be like throwing a grenade into a room and praying it would hit selected targets only.

Wars were normal between the beasts and the suckbloods. History could attest to it—the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Salem Witches. As the suckbloods tell it, all the worst of humanity’s war-torn history was due to them. Well, if they were stupid enough to claim responsibility for it, who was she to correct them? People were people, regardless of their genetic makeup, and in her experience, evil came in all forms.

With the existence of supernatural creatures in the open, some things were starting to make sense. Her connection with her sister was otherworldly. She knew when Val was worried, or sad, and lately, sick enough to die.

Callie wiped away her messy thoughts. She was on duty and needed her wits about her. Something was going down at the docks—so cliché. Like they couldn’t choose a nice family restaurant to conduct business? She activated her smartwatch and messaged Mike. He was, unfortunately, one hundred and fifty percent human—big, heavy on his feet, and made a bull in a china shop look like a ballerina. He was hers though, hers to guide and protect. Again. For some strange reason, she went through partners like folks chewed gum. It wasn’t her fault they were shot at.

This brought her right back to the fey part. She sensed where the criminals were, what was coming, when to duck, when to fire. She crept forward, placing her feet with care. If she announced her arrival, they’d shoot at Barrows again. He didn’t deal well with people trying to kill him.

Hushed sounds ahead paused her steps, and she listened, not only with her ears but with her instincts. Her heart pounded, a deafening and annoying distraction. There were two men chatting up ahead. Their sinewy bodies were typical of beasts. Their sculpted jawlines and broad foreheads were definite giveaways. Not to mention the lifting of their heads to sniff the air like a poodle would.

Crap.Werewolves. Why couldn’t these beasts morph into domestic creatures like tabby cats?

She didn’t respect those dogs. They worked in packs, so finding two alone was worrying. She assessed her surroundings, relying on her instincts and senses, since her human eyesight and hearing were useless. Sweat slid down the nape of her neck, tickling her, which was never good. It meant shit was about to hit the proverbial fan. What worried her was their agitation with their hands twitching and their shifty side glances, as if they expected trouble.

Well, here she was—trouble. According to Captain and Barrows, Trouble was her middle name.

She took a mental inventory of her bag of tricks. Gun, check—a new, standard-issue handgun with two refill cartridges—so she couldn’t lose this one. If she did, Captain would have her cleaning guns at the range for months. Grenades, check—three stun and one explosive—not standard-issue, but she would rather die than say who her supplier was. The explosives were a last resort, when death was on the horizon or poking her with his bony finger. That happened more often than she cared to admit. Next, poison tipped blades, check. The silver throwing blades she’d sheathed in her boots. It wouldn’t kill a suckblood, but it would slow them down. Their speed was preternatural, so slipping cytotoxin in their blood sure evened the odds. And the cytotoxins plus silver—double the damage on beasts.

She drew in a deep yet silent breath. Who was she kidding? Since she was human, they scented her, both beast and suckblood. They must’ve been aware of her presence for a while now. But then again, what kind of threat was she? They had to at least pick up Barrows, who reeked on the best of days. She had spoken to him about his use of cologne, but he insisted he stank worse without it.

She snorted. Stinking of garbage was preferable to a perfume factory. His vanity would get him killed, and of course, he’d blame her.

One of the men glanced up, catching her spying. He didn’t bolt, didn’t reach for a weapon, just lifted his chin in greeting. She scowled. Oh, this was bad. So very, very bad. They feared her and the law the least. Whoever they were meeting was a mean son of a bitch, one who frightened them more than her badge did.

A solid black SUV pulled up, making the two perps twitch, their anxiety intensifying. She fought the urge to snort again. What did they do, buy their getaway vehicles from Crooks-R-Us? She sighed, holstered her gun, and climbed two stacks of crates until she could clamber up the side of a cargo container. She sprawled onto her stomach, ignoring the soot and grime lining the corrugated metal. She removed her handgun again and aimed.

The tuxedoed man who slid out of the vehicle made her breath catch. No man should be that handsome. She scowled as she studied his perfectly coiffed dark locks. His broad shoulders barely fit in the tux, which seemed ill-suited for one so muscled. He was the suckblood from the mayor’s ball, the one Leo had guarded.Sylvester. Was he tied to Carter somehow? No, with her covered in grease and sweat, she couldn’t see the connection.

Suckbloods had the ability to alter their appearance, to make themselves irresistible to either sex. Damn it, she must’ve been losing her touch, since it was freakin’ working on her libido. Her panties drenched as his pheromones reached her. She mouthed a curse while wiping her damp palms on the sides of her police uniform. Sucking in deep breaths, she willed her ovaries to cease their enthusiastic applause, but it was too late. She’d rather do the werewolves than plastic Sylvester. She fake-gagged.

“Devereaux?” The man froze mid-stride to glance at her hiding spot.

A delicious smile lit his face as if her presence entertained him. What the hell? She was aware humans were the weaker species, but despite him doing something illegal in the shadows of the docks, her presence didn’t concern him.

To top it off, his voice was sex-on-a-stick. Wait. He was Suckblood One from the balcony. But of course, Leo was Suckblood Two…shit. She banged her forehead on her clasped hands gripping the gun. Had Leo told him about her? Damn it, this made her vulnerable to an attack…made Val vulnerable. Callie tightened her sweaty palms around her gun.

When she didn’t respond, he shook his head and faced the two men. “Do you have it?”

“Of course, my king.”

King? Shit. Suckblood royalty? No effing way. It explained Leo’s obedience to the man.

The dog held out a silver canister with no other demarcations on it—not that she could rely on her human vision. Her instincts screamed that it held something worse than the Inquisition.

She couldn’t shout,Freeze,like in the movies. It would announce her intention to intrude on their little tea party. Instead she withdrew a blade from her boot, hoping the cytotoxin would work swiftly on Sylvester. She threw it, hitting him on the hand as he accepted the canister from the dog. He dropped it. Then hell broke loose. Her kind of hell.

She launched off the shipping container, breaking her fall with a roll before stopping on her haunches. Where had the canister fallen? She shot both dogs in the head, expecting it to incapacitate them for a few minutes. Bullets didn’t kill suckbloods or beasts, but their bodies still needed time to heal.

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