Page 6 of The Huntress (The Blood of Legends #1)

Chapter Six

NOT A SAFE HAVEN

C allie winced as she counted 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.

“No change?” Callie peeled off her sodden uniform.

This one would need incineration. The clinic had offered, but the thought of running around the city in a hospital gown hadn’t sat well with her. Besides, where would she have hidden the canister, in her disposable panties? No taxi had wanted her as their fare in her sodden uniform, which meant she walked the twelve blocks to get to Val’s.

Her shirt came off with ease, but her armored pants made sucking noises as she tugged them off. She was grateful she’d chosen to wear her uniform and not civilian clothing. The force replaced uniforms damaged in the line of duty, after making her jump through various red-tape loops, of course.

A yellow flyer on the kitchen counter caught Callie’s attention. It advertised one of those suckblood festivals where a human could convert to a suckblood if she survived.

She was so livid she struggled to form words. “What the fuck is this?”

Snapping her head to meet her sister’s eyes, her vision tainted with fury. She snatched the paper off the counter with trembling fingers, the wave generating enough wind to further cool her chilled skin. A shiver coursed through her, but she didn’t look away from Val’s face, needing to gauge her reaction.

“The neighbors are trying to be helpful,” Val said.

Callie studied her, attentive to every expression or facial twitch. Judging by her sister’s downcast eyes, she had considered it. Callie couldn’t fault her for dreaming of being healthy, but this came at high cost.

“I want you to kick this cancer in the backside, Val, but not as a suckblood. I couldn’t bear to have to hunt down my own sister.”

To convert was frowned upon. The government figured it didn’t help their cause if humans joined the suckblood forces. Yet the suckblood conversion festivals remained popular despite attempts to shut them down. Callie blamed the movie industry for romanticizing vampires.

“I wouldn’t even survive the run.” Valerie’s mumble disappeared into the blankets.

Callie nodded and left the conversation to use her sister’s shower for a good long wash.

Chatter reached her ears as she stepped out of the shower. She wrapped a towel around her head and body before padding through to the lounge.

“Devereaux.” Sylvester leaned his tall frame against the kitchen counter, the canister now firmly in his grasp. Right by his elbow sat her gun and her remaining arsenal, minus one dagger and stun grenade. Too close to him to do her any good.

“Shit,” Callie muttered, anger burning through her, setting her cooling skin ablaze.

She was unarmed, wrapped in a towel and—with her sister now involved—at his mercy. She should’ve known he wouldn’t let her keep the damn canister, that he’d tail her. She should’ve known coming here would endanger Val. Idiot! She must not have taken her smart vitamins this morning.

“First the ball, now here? You consistently surprise me,” he said in his smoky voice.

His lids lowered over his gray eyes as he scanned the length of her, making her shiver with revulsion and desire. The urge to cover herself warred with her protective instincts. Fucking suckblood. He had no damn right to look this good, not after the last few hours of hell he’d put her through.

“Take the canister and go!” Her self-directed anger hardened her voice, and she smothered a wince.

Pissing off a suckblood wasn’t wise, but he had to know she was prepared to fight to the death to save her sister. She twisted off her head towel and tossed it onto a nearby chair. If she needed to fight, it would get in the way. After tightening the knot on her towel and between her cleavage, maintaining her modesty, she shifted her feet into a fighting stance, ready for anything he might throw at her.

“How gracious of you,” he said in a bored tone. A small smile played across his sensual lips. “I shan’t be seeing you again, now that I have this.”

“Giving up a life of crime so easily?”

Her sister gasped at her sarcastic words, but Callie ignored her. The bastard was taking her canister. If he left them alone, she’d be happy with that. Yet it went against her genetics to allow him to leave. Allow? There was no allow with a suckblood. He’d do what he wanted, regardless of her opinion.

“What’s in the canister, anyway? Schrodinger’s cat?”

He chuckled, and warmth spread through her chest at his smile. Could he stop oozing pheromones for one frigging minute?

“Our future.” He glanced at Val, who nodded at him as if they had made some sort of arrangement.

Callie’s blood boiled underneath her skin. Not knowing and imagining the worst was killing her. As swiftly as he arrived, he was gone, closing the door behind him without a sound.

“What the hell, Val?” She glared at her sister.

“He walked through the door like he knew you were here.” Val gave her a pointed look.

“He must have waited for me to arrive, the bastard.”

“Regardless, he could’ve killed me. I wouldn’t have put up much of a fight.”

At those words, Callie scowled. Yes, they were both petite, but she liked to think she had a core of steel running through her. Val even more so, having endured chemo after chemo.

“Did you see the size of his hands?” she said, running a trembling hand through her red spikes. “No matter how much I struggle, he’d snap my neck like a twig.”

Okay, so Val wouldn’t have let the suckblood kill her to end her lot in life. That had been Callie’s biggest fear—suicide. She bit her bottom lip to still the sorrow pressing on her control. It threatened to erupt on a constant basis, but she couldn’t release it. She needed to be strong for Val.

“A wasted evening,” Callie murmured, shaking her head.

She’d have to go in and explain to her captain what the hell happened. Despite being an ox, Barrows had her back. She liked that about him. At least her captain wouldn’t be in the dark, for the most part. She only had to mention suckblood royalty, a silver canister, a dunk in the river, and voila, they’d assign her to a psychiatrist for her overactive imagination. Of course, trying to keep Barrows alive meant he hadn’t witnessed the action firsthand.

“Not really. He was nice eye candy.” Val giggled, and the sound surprised Callie enough to draw her attention.

“You know they use pheromones, right?” She blessed Val with a huge smile. Warmth burrowed into her chest at her sister’s good humor.

“Sure. Doesn’t mean we can’t look. After all, it would be a waste of good pheromones if we didn’t at least enjoy their efforts.”

The smile dimpling Val’s cheeks made Callie’s heart ache. She rubbed at it, wishing for a time when the cancer hadn’t hung over their heads like a death knell.

“Going into the office, dear?” Val asked as she tugged her blankets up and under her chin.

“I have to. Captain will want a full report.”

“Good. Pick up a pizza on the way back with loads and loads of raw onions.”

The fact her sister suffered from strange cravings wasn’t unusual for someone in her condition. Currently it was raw onions, and by the tub load.

Callie slipped back into Val’s bedroom to don the spare uniform she kept there. “I’ll order in for you. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Suits me. Just eat something. You’re looking skinnier than me, and that’s saying a lot.”

Val’s observation had Callie nodding. She needed something else to focus on than the nausea roiling within her.

Callie jerked to meet her sister’s green-eyed gaze. “I get enough food—Mike makes sure of it. So don’t worry about me. You focus on you.”

She blew her a kiss and beat a hasty retreat, not willing to let Val see the tears forming on her eyelashes. What Callie wanted to do was to trap her sister within her embrace as if doing so would hold off death’s impending march.

She leaned against the closed apartment door, clasping her hand across her mouth, and stifled a sob. Searing pain lanced through her, crippling her. With her knees buckling, she slid down the door to land on her backside as something squeezed her chest, crushing her heart, threatening her ability to breathe. Tears bathed her face, dripping onto her fresh uniform. The pain, the helplessness, was at such an intensity it paralyzed her.

“Callie?”

Mike’s voice through the speaker on her watch jolted her, and she sucked in a much-needed breath. Wiping the tears from her cheeks with rushed movements, she released her breath in one shuddering exhale before answering.

“What is it, Mike?” She held her smartwatch close to her lips in the hopes he’d hear her clearly and make this call a short one.

“Captain’s up-to-date, and if you walk into the precinct before our next shift, I will take you over my knee, young lady.”

Callie forced a chuckle as her chaotic emotions pulled her apart.

“Got it,” she said. With a sigh, she followed it with, “I love you, just saying.”

“Holy cow, it’s worse than I thought,” Mike said after a small, significant pause. “Love you too, my girl. Now off to bed with you.”

She climbed to her feet, using the wall to pull herself up. She drew in another breath, pressed her palm to Val’s door, dipped her head and sent up a silent prayer. She stepped away, trailing her fingertips down the door’s smooth surface as if she was reluctant to leave it in God’s hands. Dropping her hand to her side, she turned and squelched down the corridor, heading home.