THE HUNT

CHAPTER-SIXTEEN

Kate thrust her fists hard, punching the bag in a quick one-two sequence. Her hands were gloveless, tightly dressed in athletic tape, and it felt exhilarating to get down and dirty. To pound out the unwanted memories.

To take out her frustrations on a damn punching bag, and visualize, destroying Clint's snarky, idiotic face. Earlier tonight, she'd actually thought that Adam was going to follow her, inside headquarters. Until she'd reached the elevator doors and glanced over her shoulder and saw he'd stay back at the car with Clint.

She told herself she didn't care, and that she was happy he hadn't. She didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him. He made her feel vulnerable, and that was something, she hadn't felt in years.

She didn't like it. Hell, the last time she'd felt that way, was when her brother Robert had left. And the memory, of that moment, washed over her.

Smash, bam!

She lashed out at the sand-filled bag again and again. Searching for exhaustion. Trying to shut down her mind. She didn't want those memories, not now. And she didn't want to think about Adam either.

The way he studied her every move. She felt, as if, she was under some damn microscope, being examined.

Again and again, she lashed out, pounding harder and harder until she wasn't thinking about the bag or the gym.

Until it was fists, and memories, trying so hard to exhaust her body and to get her mind to stop spinning, to stop trawling. Trying to stop remembering. But it was no use. The memories always came.

Kate knew the monster that had killed her brothers was prowling, the Dallas streets. Where--she didn't have a clue. It was a game of Russian roulette. How many times, could she spin that chamber, and not end up dead? However, she pushed the thought down and stay focused, on the attack at hand?

Her hair flew out wild around her. Her body glistened with sweat. And her arms and fists moved with momentum, so rapidly, as though she was a born warrior, even to Adam's keen vision.

He watched, unable to turn his gaze away as Kate brutalized the punching bag, her face contorted, her lips moving as if, she were talking to herself, urging herself on, narrating a kill in her mind.
She was a natural fighter. The way she moved, her speed and agility.

She wore a sports bar and shorts that showed the curve of her ass, and her body was covered by a thin layer of sweat. He wasn't expecting to find her like this, beating out her frustrations. He would prefer, too take her in his arms and let her find a more pleasant way to work through her issues.

He couldn't do that, no, he wouldn't, though there was no denying the tightening in his body that proved he wanted to. He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing only on her. On her fists. On the bag. Adam didn't know what she was brutalizing in her head, but from the furious intensity of her punches, he could hazard a guess.

Bam, pow, bam!

Kate pounded the bag some more, and Adam gawked in envy. He wanted a piece of the bastard too. He wanted to strike and sever. He wanted to look into the monster's eyes and catch the one who had hurt her. And Dagan, the vampire who'd tormented Adam, all those years ago. He wanted them to beg before his eyes, battered and bloodied, as the life drained out of them.

Stop.

Dammit too hell, stop.

His past was rising around him. Memories he'd kept pushed down for centuries, were poking out, creeping into his thoughts, like clinging vines, and every time he ripped one away, another lashed out, winding around him and refusing to let go.