Hunter, page 2
part #1 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
“Are you going to smell that until night falls, or do you have any plans of purchasing?”
The familiar voice had her grinning, and she opened her eyes to teasingly roll them in the vendor’s direction. Thomas Anderson was a middle-aged man who often manned this fruit stand when his wife was busy in the market, and his smart-ass ways were something that welcomed Celine every time she visited here. She held out a hand, winking when he gave her a bag weaved from recycled materials. Slowly, she began to fill it with oranges and lemons.
“Mr. Anderson, you should know by now that I’m probably going to end up buying half of what you're selling here, and you should be considerate enough to warn me that they’ll turn rotten if I buy too much at once.”
“You shouldn’t buy too much at once, Celine, or else they’ll turn rotten before you can eat them,” was his response, which had her grinning wider. He shook his head and chuckled, prompting her to ask him questions: about Mrs. Anderson, about their college kids, about their day in general. This was another source of comfort, this routine, and she was in a happy mood by the time she was done picking her fruit selection and was waiting for him to calculate it. Another routine: Mr. Anderson giving her some kind of discount and her insisting to pay the regular amount, the banter going back-and-forth until Mrs. Anderson returned and joined in.
Before that banter could start, Celine found herself freezing when the niggling on her shoulder returned…faint at first, but steadily getting stronger. She almost dropped the fruit she was about to add in her bag but managed to place it as calmly as she could back on the stand.
“The total’s six twenty-four, Celine, but just give me five dollars.”
Careful not to let him catch on, she gave him a warm smile, along with some bills. “Here’s seven dollars. Please keep the change.”
“But this is—”
“Or you can credit the remaining money to my next purchase,” she cut in, winking. “Also, Mr. Anderson, can you keep my purchase until I return? I forgot I had some errands to run.”
“Sure thing, dear.”
Celine didn’t hurry, keeping her pace light and steady as she joined the crowd again and tried to get away from whatever this was.
The niggling feeling remained. She unbuttoned her coat, inserted her hand in to smoothen out her shirt...buttoned it again, annoyed with herself. Not wanting to remain blind, she turned her head as subtly as she could, eyes taking in her surroundings.
Something caught her attention: a man, vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t pinpoint how. She took note of his black coat, not too stylish or expensive, the black boots that look scuffed and used. Dark brown hair, carelessly tousled and trimmed recently. Sunglasses on a cloudy day, making her nearly scoff.
Very defined jawline, indicating a strong heritage.
He didn’t look expensive. But something felt off. Celine frowned, not liking this at all.
She kept moving, breaking her glance and making sure the crowd was still with her. Not much of a cover, but it would make do for now, considering she was in the middle of the street and didn’t have much of an option.
But not for long.
Nerves weren’t an easy thing to calm, despite the passing thought that she was probably just overreacting. Better to be safe than sorry, really, even if she was a good citizen and hadn’t done anything to go against the law.
Unless a recent escapade had somehow been connected to something illegal…
No, no, best not to think about that. Past was past, end of story. Instinctively, her hand went to her body again, rubbing circles to ease the nerves. Her gaze locked in on a bigger crowd ahead, and the sight had her quickening her steps until she was immersed in it.
Then, just before that crowd turned, Celine slipped out of it and went in another direction, making the timing right so her next destination would be covered: a clothing shop, one with mannequins at the front, and perfect for the time being.
Inside, she was relieved to see that there were other women shopping for dresses and autumn clothes, but she didn’t stop to shop with them. Instead, she randomly picked clothes out of racks and sauntered to the dressing room, where she knew no males were allowed. She entered a stall, locked it, and began to tear a hanger apart until the wires came out and made a straight line. Flattening herself against the wall, she held the pointed side towards the door.
She waited it out.
The quiet chatter surrounding her as women tried on clothes became a buzzing in her ears, one she tried to ignore as she focused on other noises. None came. Eventually, one thing began to take root against the blood rushing in her head, alerting her about something she forgot in the midst of her escape.
The niggling feeling was gone.
But for how long?
She didn’t relax, even as the chatter quieted down enough for her to finally slip out—not through the front door but through the back, which only a few people knew of. She didn’t relax when the niggling feeling didn’t come back, didn’t take that as a sign to ease up and stroll leisurely.
No, Celine let instincts drive her as she joined another crowd and focused on getting away for good.
Three hours later, Celine returned to her apartment and congratulated herself for a job well done: getting to her errands via using the back doors, a quick stop to the grocery for some lunch. Calling her friend from the police force, where she left him a voicemail and jokingly asked him to check in on her if she didn’t drop by the station tomorrow.
Oh, and successfully navigating her way around Queens until she was absolutely sure no one was following her.
It worked, and now she slumped against the locked door, letting the adrenaline ebb off her body. When it did, her feet started to ache, leaving her no choice but to remove her shoes and hobble her way to her couch. Massaging her feet, she began to feel other aches, too: her legs, the side of her neck…her stomach, where a rumble was starting up.
“I know, I know,” she muttered, rubbing it and smirking. “Food. Food is the priority right now. Got it.”
Talking to herself felt silly, but it was nothing compared to walking around like a maniac, even as the niggling feeling hadn’t returned after she’d exited that clothing shop. But Celine had always been cautious by nature, and sometimes it helped.
Other times, it just made her late.
When the aches on the soles of her feet went numb, Celine wandered to the kitchen, lifting her grocery bag on the counter and removing the items one by one. She took stock of what she bought, sifting the recipe in her head before she began cutting the vegetables. As she set those aside and turned on the stove, her phone vibrated in her pocket, making her realize she hadn’t even removed her coat yet.
Jeez.
The voice on the other line sent her a huge bout of relief, one that was much needed.
“Hey, I got your voicemail. What was that all about?”
“Good morning to you too, Jack. Am I interrupting lunchtime?”
“Not really. I’m patrolling the area with my partner right now, and we’re getting doughnuts. What’s up?”
“Nothing much. But I just wanted to report a description to you.” Her mind conjured an image of the guy, and she slowly voiced the physical description. It began to annoy her when she realized she didn’t get to take note of the most important details: body structure under the coat, face structure. Eye color. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if he was tanned or not in that hurried glimpse.
“Okay, obviously you’re describing a man, late twenties to early thirties, most likely Caucasian. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“And who is this man?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he’s been following me.”
There was a heavy pause, and she knew he was thinking it over. “You saw him following you?”
“Well…no. But you know those little tingles I get? I got them earlier, big time.”
“And this man…?”
“I glanced and saw him.”
“Following you?”
“Well, no. But…he was walking with the crowd. Avoiding my gaze.”
“Walking in the crowd and avoiding your gaze,” Jack repeated slowly.
Now that the danger wasn’t present and he said it out loud, Celine couldn’t help but cringe.
“When you say it like that…”
“No, no, don’t misunderstand,” he interrupted before she could say more. “It’s good that you’re being cautious. Times are pretty dangerous right now. What did you do?”
“I lost him in the crowd, of course. Strolled around Queens to make sure he stayed lost before I got home.”
Another pause, this time reeking of disapproval. “Celine…”
“Walking is healthy for me,” she shot back. “I didn’t jeopardize myself if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Well, are you home right now?”
“Yes. Cooking as we speak.”
“Good. Eat. Then rest your feet. It’s better if you stay indoors for now. We’ve got some trouble brewing in the neighborhood, and I don’t want you to get in any more trouble.”
“Oooh, what kind of trouble? Drugs? Mafia?”
“Italian mobsters,” he deadpanned. “With their big guns and their quick rounds of cussing.”
“Ha-ha. Fine. Don’t tell me about your secret cop missions.”
“I’ll tell you what I can when I visit tonight. I’ll be off around eight. Do you want me to bring anything?”
“Chocolate chip cookie dough, two pints,” was her prompt response. “Please?”
“Sure. I'll add in some of your favorite chocolate truffles, as long as you promise not to eat everything in one sitting.”
“Deal. You’re the best.”
When the call ended, her mood turned from relieved to nearly chipper, skyrocketing her energy until Celine was practically bouncing. She used that energy to cook as fast as she could, loving the smell of garlic and oyster sauce wafting in the air. It made her mouth water, made her forget about the morning she had and all that running away from something that she didn’t even know what for.
She was anticipating tonight, as she hadn’t had a companion over in a while now. Jack was probably one of her few close friends in the neighborhood, and it didn’t help that he was a very busy man who prioritized duties over everything else. That didn’t mean he didn’t check up on her whenever he could, and tonight they could finally catch up over some dinner, dessert, and perhaps a good movie. She could squeeze him for more information about the trouble he was talking about, and she could tell him about her worries in life since she knew he’d ask.
Maybe she could even add in a little flirting—harmless, obviously, as she and Jack had never been anything on an intimate level. He didn’t have time for commitment, and she certainly didn’t have time for anything beyond friendship. But God, she hadn’t felt this dry in a while, and it was almost embarrassing how her hormones were raging as of late, making her ache in places she shouldn’t.
A little flirting would go a long way, sort of like an outlet. Also, Jack was the perfect candidate, since he wouldn’t read too much into it like most guys would.
She was just warming up to the idea of it when Celine felt instinct drove her body to still. The food simmered on the pan, toeing the line to perfection.
The niggling feeling returned like a punch to her system.
Chapter 3
Something was wrong.
It was a statement that formed in Hunter’s mind long before he'd lost the woman, who’d managed to evade him every step of the way by not following her routine based on the report he'd read earlier. He had to give her credit for that, as few got away from him this fast, and this successfully.
Of course, just because she was successful now didn’t mean she would be later, especially when he had one advantage: he wasn’t human, and his senses were more in tune with tracking her down than most.
Still, for a human, kudos to her.
There was only one place where this could end, if this woman—Celine Peach, as the file called her—really thought she was out of trouble. Comfort would be the obvious choice, and there would be nothing more comforting than home, where she’d be locked up safe and probably rejoicing in her victory.
Good thing he was an expert when it came to picking locks.
And getting the upper hand.
It should’ve given him a sense of confidence, having done this plenty of times before. But unlike those other times, something was telling him not to consider this a bagged deal yet, not when Celine could still surprise him and not be in her home after all. When he got to that particular area, he looked around, observing the crowd and determining nothing was amiss.
He entered her building, glad the lobby was empty before he took the flight of stairs instead of the elevator.
On the third floor, Hunter peeked down the hallway, then casually walked it as if he had business being there. His eyes swept over the door numbers, toying with the edge of his dagger as he finally locked in on the door at the end of the hallway. He knocked, giving a respectful distance in case she had a chain lock and wanted to take a peek outside.
He braced himself for some dramatics, remembering how she'd glanced in his direction earlier and possibly recognized his features already.
There would be some nice talking involved, as he’d try to explain himself and charm his way into her apartment. He’d find the best timing before he disarmed her, refusing to resort to force unless absolutely necessary. Aggression only made humans panic, and panic would have her screaming, which was something he absolutely didn’t need. For now, he’d appear pleasant, friendly…
If only she opened the door, which she didn’t.
A few more knocks resulted in nothing, and it wasn’t long before Hunter was taking out some pins and starting in with his second option. It took less than a minute before he was turning the door and slipping inside—
He tensed immediately, as light spilled from the glass windows and gave him a perfect view of the interior.
As it took him less than a second to process the state of disarray he was seeing.
Any other person’s first thought would’ve been that she was a very messy person. But if one was observant enough, one thing would stand out: that this woman was thorough, and she was the type to arrange her oranges and lemons perfectly in a line before handing them to the vendor to count.
That type of person didn’t just leave her vegetables lying around the floor, ready to be crushed by feet.
There was no blood on the floor, not a track of mud to indicate anyone else was here. Her shoes—the ones she used earlier—were on the shoe rack beside the door, though her coat was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, Hunter moved in, closing the door behind him and wrapping his hand around the hilt of his dagger. He opened his mouth, ready to call out a warning of his presence in case she was around, anyway.
He closed it back when he got to the kitchen, where he found utensils strewn about on the small island counter.
Where he saw the food on the pan, untouched.
His fingers reached out, touching the cast iron material. Still warm.
Why would someone cook food and just leave it like this?
Whatever alarm that hadn’t been ringing earlier rang now as he made a quick sweep of the space and determined it was empty. He opened the door to the right, where he found a bathroom and a small laundry space beside it. Clean, everything arranged, unlike the kitchen. He strode over to the opposite side, where the last door was located.
Hunter stopped when a bump thudded from inside, almost like a body hitting the door. He listened in, silence meeting his ears at first before another sound came.
Was that sobbing?
Yes, it was. A sobbing in a feminine voice, turning hysterical by the second. He eyed the doorknob, realization dawning when he saw that it locked from the outside. That might explain why the kitchen was a mess.
“Miss? I’m from the courier express. I noticed the smell in your kitchen. Did you lock yourself in?”
The sobbing didn’t stop, growing louder instead and turning into a wail. A couple of bangs on the door accompanied it, which he figured was the bedroom. Click, click, his pins went, and he stepped aside, in case she attacked.
It was probably what saved Hunter’s life, as it wasn’t Celine who slinked out. A creature did with such force, they ended up crashing to the floor and upturning a lamp.
The second creature was smarter, fangs bared and changing direction in the air until it was lunging for him.
Shit. Shit.
He ducked, and the creature crashed against the wall behind him instead. But not for long, as the two hurried back to their feet and began to surround him.
Double shit, his mind screamed.
Outside, he kept his cool, eyeing them quietly: a lithe feminine figure, and a lanky male one. Both tall. Both pale, with eyes turning red at the rims and fangs hissing in his direction. He couldn’t see their hands yet, hidden as they were by their fashionable clothing, but he knew without a doubt that they were as sharp as his. Maybe sharper.
Thin and straight, like most vampire nails were.
The dead giveaway was the protruding veins running against their pale skin, a mix of subtle shades of green.
He couldn’t say he was an expert on vampire kind, but only a few vampires were able to have sunlight stream over their skin without consequence. Daywalkers were usually civil.
Usually.
A glance in the bedroom revealed the mattress torn to pieces, and he braced himself.
“Now, now, I don’t want to cause trouble or have a fight with you lovely people—”
The dagger was out of his pocket and in the air, catching the pale man on the neck, where it lodged fast. Blood spurted out, a thick red color that made him bare his teeth as it only meant one thing: these vampires had just been through a feed. He cursed when the dagger went flying in his direction, then sidestepped to avoid it.
