Page 23 of The Huntress

The sound of it had her ovaries sparking velvet butterflies in her core.

She hesitated, fighting to calm her breathing—her heartbeat—and to squelch the lump forming in her throat. “My name is Callista Devereaux. My sister is Valerie. She has cancer, and the chemo isn’t working. In absolute stupidity, she signed up to participate in this.” She fluttered her hand, indicating the race above ground. “I rushed here to stop her, but she wouldn’t talk to me.”

A tear slipped out the corner of her right eye and traveled down her cheek as she remembered Val’s expression, one of determination.

“I won’t survive losing her.” She wiped at her tears with her free hand, realizing she was smearing old blood across her face but didn’t care.

Argh. She hated to cry, but she had to admit it had been a long time coming. “I’m selfish to want her to live one more day for me.”

He stood, taking her with him toward a bookshelf in the corner. With a forefinger, he tugged on a red book, and the bookshelves separated, exposing an expensive screen. A keyboard slid out with a mouse, and the screen switched on. He clicked on an icon, and the screen lit up like a sports results panel. Names of the dead ticker taped along the bottom. A presenter gestured with animated flamboyance, but Gabe muted the sound. On the righthand side, a mini screen showed the highlights, and on the top right was a scrolling panel with the names of those who’d survived conversion.

“You treat festivals like a sports event?” She scanned the names of the dead, dreading finding Val’s name.

“There.” He pointed to the top corner. “Your sister survived the conversion.”

Air whooshed out of Callie in relief as she read Val’s name for herself.

“She survived?” she asked in disbelief, glancing between Gabriel and the panel.

She squealed and hugged him, laughing and crying at the same time as sweet and intense joy burst through her—it was uncontainable. His arms wrapped around her, firm yet comforting, and she allowed herself the enjoyment of his embrace.

“I’m so happy.” Her laughter dwindled into a grin.

“Her conversion would’ve been difficult. It can kill a healthy human. Her blood would’ve been unpleasant for her sire.” He grimaced, the action not marring his attractiveness. “I’m pleased you’re happy.”

“Don’t humans taste like each other?” Callie asked in surprise, having not given the taste of O positive versus AB negative much thought. It made sense that Val wouldn’t taste good with all those chemicals in her system. “She doesn’t taste like me?”

“No one tastes like you,” he growled, his arms tightening around her, trapping her to his bare chest. Heat and his spicy scent radiated off him.

She blushed and glanced down, a surge of shyness constricting her throat, then wished she hadn’t. His nipples were hard, and his skin looked like molten caramel. She had the unbearable desire to kiss and lick him. The urge was ludicrous for her. Besides, what would the poor man think? Unless he was using his pheromones on her?

Relief slumped her shoulders, and she smiled at her silliness. Of course he was. This wasn’t normal behavior for her, and hewasa suckblood. Then why did she succumb to his scent, but not Darius’s or Leo’s?

She frowned. Time to focus on the matter at hand and not her sudden overactive libido.

“Can I see her?” She drew in a shuddering breath, fighting to keep her attention on his chin. She didn’t want to meet his gorgeous eyes or linger on any part of his anatomy lower than his collarbone.

“No. We keep new converts or younglings away from the Hold until they quench their voracious thirst.”

“I’m supposed to take your word for it?” She scowled, glancing around the underground home, anywhere but at his sculpted chest.

Sighing, he flicked a button. An image appeared on the screen, one with metal bars and screaming women. He switched between security cameras until pausing at a single cell holding Valerie. She sat on a bed looking none the worse, swinging her feet like she used to when they were little.

“She’s in her own cell, which is good.”

A private cell was still imprisonment. Callie’s nostrils flared, and she bit down on her bottom lip, halting the barrage of curse words burning her tongue. “A prisoner? How long until she quenches her thirst?”

She didn’t like seeing Val in jail, as if she were a criminal. What galled her the most was his blasé attitude, like imprisoning people, even his own kind, was an acceptable thing to do.

They’d placed Val in isolation as if being alone was good? The other younglings were rabid, clawing at the walls and bars. It was a stark contrast to Val’s serene expression.

“When can I see her?” Callie glanced at him, then lowered her gaze. Could he please put on a damn shirt?“When willyourelease her?” She placed emphasis on “you,” blaming Gabe and his kind for this nonsense.

“In a few days. Conversion affects humans in different ways.”

“Holy crap. I can’t just go home, then come back for a visit?” She ran a hand over her face, fighting the need to scream. At least Val was alive…sort of.

“Go home?” He arched a brow as a smirk curled his upper lip.

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