Page 10 of The Huntress

Sylvester reached for the canister as she rose to face him with a blade in hand. She released it, her aim true, yet he spun last minute and caught it out of the air. Fucking suckblood. She glowered at him while palming the stun grenade. Sunlight drained them, making them mortal enough for a bullet to wound them. It didn’t kill them—they’d heal soon enough. Neither did the sun, like the legends said. She didn’t know whatcouldkill them, having never witnessed one dying, nor seen a dead suckblood. Thankfully they were susceptible to bright light and sound, as were they all—human and anti-human.

She tossed the grenade at him. He caught it as she dived forward and scooped up the canister lying between his feet. Nice shoes. She smirked as she burst into a run. It was futile to do so, but instinct had kicked in, and her legs pumped her away from the scene.

She wasn’t certain, with the grenade’s explosion ringing in her ears, but she thought she heard, ‘Don’t shake it,’roared from behind her. She doubted the explosive would stop him from coming after her. She crushed the canister to her chest, trying not to shake it, taking his warning to heart. There had been fear in his voice, and a scared suckblood required her full attention.

Rounding the corner, and instead of running more, she dove into the bay waters, grimacing at the filth coating the surface. Surviving this toxic dunk would require a few full treatments. When the force of the icy water rushed past her, the canister slipped out of her fingers. She grappled but managed to close one hand around it, taking it down with her to the depths of the bay. Water messed with anti-human’s senses, so a dunk in the bay had been inevitable.

She swam along the bottom until the need for air drove her to the surface. She broke through the water under a pier and listened. Above the lapping waves, sirens sounded, confirming Barrows’s call for backup. Scanning the edge of the dock, she searched for a tall, handsome suckblood. Her vision was human and it was nighttime, so her chances of spotting him were low.

What the hell was in this canister? Should she even open it? She tightened her fingers around it, tension tearing through her as exhaustion stung her eyelids and burned her nostrils. Why couldn’t it have been a simple drug run? She assumed he’d recognized her scent from the balcony. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, though. His voice had held a questioning lilt. She shuddered from both the cold and the stench of the water creeping up on her. Police-issue uniforms weren’t waterproof and certainly not sludge proof.

She activated her smartwatch and messaged Barrows, informing him she was fine and heading home. His response was immediate—she was an idiot for jumping in the water in the first place.

He had also scheduled treatments for her at the local clinic, since the bay water was a chemical weapon of its own from eons of human disregard. She shoved the four-inch-diameter canister down the back of her pants and yanked herself out of the water. The nearest clinic was two blocks south. She’d go there first, receive her meds, and head for the safest place she knew—her sister’s apartment.

Chapter Six

NOT A SAFE HAVEN

Calliewincedasshecounted down another block to Val’s. Eleven down, one more to go.

The night air made her shiver, yet the exertion kept her sweating like an expired stick of dynamite. She cursed the suckblood who’d stumbled into her territory. Callie always checked on that area since regular drop-offs happened there often. She hadn’t expected for the drop-off from the ball to occur there. Lucky her.

Tightening her uniform jacket around her, she hoped the drenched fabric would prevent the wind’s icy fingers from seeking a bare patch of skin. It also gave her an opportunity to hide the canister in a mundane gesture. As evenings went, it wasn’t the best shift she’d lived through, but it wasn’t the worst one—that went, hands-down, to the bodies they’d discovered in a disused sewer. Decomposing bodies in stagnant shit didn’t improve with age.

At last, she reached her sister’s apartment block and entered the foyer, flashing the guard on-duty an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the mess, Eddie. It’s been one of those nights.”

The retired-ex-cop-now-turned-guard grinned, jumping up to call the elevator for her. “I can smell so. Did you get the bastards, Miss Callie?” he asked, and the joy of the chase echoed in his myopic eyes.

“Do we ever truly get them, Eddie?”

“Another rises to take his place.” He held the elevator door for her and let her pass.

Eddie had the right of it. Although, if she took down Carter and his cronies, how long would it take for someone to assume the void he left?

“Don’t you worry about the mess, Miss Callie. It’s a small price to pay for all you sacrifice for our safety.”

“Ah, Eddie…you be sure to give Meredith my regards.” Callie smiled, pressing Val’s floor number, all misty-eyed from his kind words.

Not one to cry, but thinking they were tears was preferable than some sort of eye disease thanks to the sludge also known as bay water.

“Same to Miss Valerie. She had a bit of color on her cheeks this afternoon.”

“Oh, I hope it stays, Eddie. I could do with good news.” The elevator doors closed on her, and Callie slumped, but not enough to lean against the mirrored interior.

It would mean more cleaning for Eddie when his arthritic knees couldn’t take it. After entering Val’s apartment, not bothering to knock, she sought her sister, hoping she wasn’t in the bathroom losing what food she’d managed to consume.

“You stink,” Val said from the comfort of her couch.

She’d burrowed into multiple blankets, which meant she was recovering from the last set of chemo she’d endured. Her body’s reaction to the treatments was the same every time, with no improvements. A fact Callie abhorred.

Callie surveyed her sister’s slight figure, desperate for a sign she wasn’t deteriorating. Cervical cancer, third stage. She grimaced, trying not to recall the day they’d received the news.

“How’re you feeling?” Callie asked as she tugged the canister out of her pants and balanced it on the kitchen counter.

She stroked the tiny triangle carved into the metal. It was thicker on one side, like the Greek symbol for delta.

“The usual,” her sister said, the dark circles under her eyes taking on death’s mask. Her short auburn hair stood out like she’d stuck her finger in a power socket.

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