Page 13 of The Huntress

“Leo,I’mpissed…pissedenoughto rip her fuckin’ head off.”

Leo winced at Syl’s words coming through his cell. What happened? He glanced around the crowded hall, keeping his mind ajar for insidious thoughts.

“Your detective took it. Moon above, she’s good.”

Warmth flooded Leo’s chest, and he smiled. “You didn’t kill her?” Leo’s voice darkened.

If Syl had, he didn’t know how he’d react. The tension across his shoulder implied something lethal.

“No…I didn’t, but I need to get my property back. If she fights me, I’ll hurt her…just a little. That will teach her not to take what doesn’t belong to her.” The call ended on Syl’s chuckle, as if he relished a skirmish with a human.

Leo grumbled, not liking that. Casting instructions at the guards, he threw caution to the wind, bolted out of the hall, and launched himself skyward. Molding the wind to his bidding, it propelled him to his destination. The air flitted by him, and the sense of freedom that only flying could offer him filled his entire being. When he arrived at her apartment, her unlit windows announced she wasn’t home yet.

After landing on her balcony, he manipulated matter to unlock and open her sliding door, then meandered around her sparse apartment. Essentials dotted the room. A large brown leather-bound chair called to him, and as he ran his fingers across its back, he assessed the seat indented with the shape of her backside. He lowered himself into it to study the view. No television, no entertainment system, only a bookshelf filled with vampiric romance novels, weapon instruction manuals, and books on biochemistry. No pictures adorned her walls, no dust-collecting mementos. He bolted out of the chair and slipped into her bedroom. The scent of her lingered. He paused to inhale. It wasn’t enough to saturate his senses, but it would do. She’d made her bed crisp, almost military—the sheets in dark blues and grays with a single cream-colored stuffed teddy bear nestling against the pillows. It was the softest thing in the room. The evening gown from last night draped over a chair in the corner. Her heels peeked out from under the dress’s fabric pooling on the tiled floor.

He approached the nightstand that held a compact alarm. All seemed innocent, but this was Callista. He lifted the pillow and broke into a bright smile. A dagger rested there. He sniffed and buried his face in her pillow, inhaling again.

What was it about her scent? Her sensuality aroused him, and her strength of will was sheer poetry.

He replaced her pillow and wandered back to her brown chair to slide into it, prepared to await her return. His phone vibrated, and he frowned at the caller ID.

“I have it.” Syl’s voice came through, his excitement clear.

Leo tensed. “Callista?”

“Unharmed.”

An eager tone to Syl’s voice made Leo wary. What solidified Syl’s reign was his ability to inflict pain in such a way the victim begged to die. He found their weaknesses. Few were aware of this particular trait of his, but knowing secrets was Leo’s forte.

“She has a sister,” Syl said.

“Valerie,” Leo said, having received that information hours ago. He planned to visit her tomorrow to find out why her scent made his blood sing.

“She’s dying. I convinced her to attend the festival.” Syl chuckled, a pleased-with-himself sound Leo recognized. “Ifshe survives, she’ll be an excellent addition to our family.”

Leo scowled. Oh, she’d survive. He’d make certain of it.“But if she doesn’t?”

“She won’t suffer anymore.” Syl’s logic was sound.

Though his points were valid, Leo suspected Callista wouldn’t agree. Moon above, he didn’t agree.

“Where are you?” Syl asked.

“Running an errand. I needed fresh air.”

“Don’t be long. The trials must start.” Syl’s clipped tones conveyed his impatience.

“You know who is fully vetted and chosen so start the trials now.” Leo tamped down the hope the results would be conclusive. He knew better than to allow hope free reign.

As footsteps approached, his pulse leaped with unexpected excitement. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Enjoy.” Syl’s wicked smile was discernible across the connection.

Leo slid his phone into his jacket pocket and waited. Callista entered her apartment, shutting the door behind her before bolting it. While running her hands over her body, her movements were methodical, hypnotic. She placed her weaponry in a precise arrangement on the kitchen counter. After unraveling her braided hair, she bent to undo her boots. They squelched as she did so.

“Damn suckbloods,” she muttered. “I’m talking to you, Leo.” She rose to face him, shook her head, then slipped into her bedroom.

How had she known he was there? He hadn’t made a sound. Had held his breath the entire time.

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