Hunter's Edge

Chapter Six

The Hunters

"We're too late." It was a grim, angry voice, made all the more nerve-wracking by the fact that it came from a big man who carried a long, curved sword in his left hand.

Rafe watched as his wife, Sheila, knelt down by the boy and touched him.

"He's cold," Sheila murmured.

In the air, Rafe could smell the taint of a feral vampire, the rage and the violence. And the blood. "He fed him—just enough to start the Change, I'd bet, so the poor kid would die out here in the open as the sun came up."

Sheila's soft blue eyes went wintry with fury but her hand was gentle as she wiped some of the still-tacky blood away from the boy's face. "Rafe, he's just a kid."

Stroking a hand down Sheila's hair, Rafe said, "We'll take care of him, Belle. Come on...we need to get—"

His voice broke off abruptly, a breath hissing out between his teeth. His head went back, his eyes closing. "Damn it—bastard's still close. He's looking... Oh, shit. Ain't that a son of a bitch." He looked back at Sheila and his dark brown eyes had a weird reddish glow.

Recognizing the look, Sheila sighed. Smiled. "Go on, slick. I can get this one to the car okay." She narrowed her eyes. "You are going to have to leave me the car. I can't carry him indefinitely."

Rafe turned over the keys to his '57 Bel Aire without batting an eyelash. That, all by itself, told Sheila how strong the urge was riding her husband. Rafe didn't turn over those keys very easily at all—and never without a number of promises that she take care of his precious car.

Okay—maybe Rafe didn't call the car precious, but it amounted to the same thing.

All Hunters felt these urges, an impulse that could drag them out of bed, drag them miles through the night to find whoever was pulling at them.

In this case, it had dragged them quite a few miles. Hundreds, in fact. Rafe and Sheila lived in Memphis, Tennessee, and usually, they stayed in western Tennessee. Rafe hadn't ever felt anything pull at him in such a way, at least not until now.

Sheila hadn't ever seen him under such a strong grip. Not once. It had scared her, bothered her enough that she had demanded he take her with him. He hadn't wanted to, so she'd just settled her ass in the Bel Aire and refused to get out.

Rafe knew her well enough to know better than to argue, so instead of arguing, they'd left the enclave in the hands of Rafe's lieutenant, Dominic, and hit the road. The first few hundred miles sped by in silence, Sheila sensing nothing but the urgency rolling off Rafe.

But then Sheila had started sensing it. Sensing them, this man who seemed too damn young, and a vampire. The vampire wasn't one that Sheila could identify. Vamps had a feel to them, almost as individual as smell or a set of fingerprints. But it was a psychic thing and Sheila's psychic skills were nothing to brag about.

Rafe, though? Rafe was a Master vamp, powerful enough to feel this call from so far away. Strong enough to feel the feral, too, from wherever in the hell the bastard was. And despite what Rafe said, it wasn't that close. Sheila wasn't a strong Hunter, but if there was a feral anywhere close, she'd feel it, too.

Close. It was all relative, she guessed. Rafe glanced at her, at the kid sprawled on the forest floor, pale as death, his heartbeat weak and slow. "Can you get him to the car okay?"

Sheila smiled. "Yeah, slick. I think I can handle one kid."

Rafe didn't wait another second. He disappeared into the woods on swift, silent feet and Sheila sighed, whispered, "Be careful."