Hunter

Chapter One

No Escape

Ave Maria, gratia plena...Dominus tecum.

The house seemed empty. Empty in that I heard no sounds of scurrying rats, no creaking floorboards indicating someone attempted to get away. Empty in that anyone who didn’t have my training as a Hunter would probably just accept it as deserted.

I snapped closed the deadbolt. The click sent a shiver through me, brushed a prickle of fear down my arms and dryness in my throat. My eyes probed the darkness and though I couldn’t see far into the hallway, I didn’t sense anyone near. The chain lock slid easily into place next.

Remember to breathe.

The voices of my trainers rattled off a list of protocols in my head. Know the terrain, know the exits. Weapon ready. Watch for survivors.

Kill.

I’d scouted the abandoned townhouse before entering. The backdoor was nailed shut. The windows were all boarded up. No survivors to worry about and I was armed. With the only exit now barred, I could safely say there would be no escape for him.

Not from me.

At nearly six in the morning, the sky outside remained dark, dawn late in her arrival. Streetlight filtered through the cracks in the boards over the windows, shards of yellow stabbing the dark around me. This wouldn’t do. Flipping on a light would alert my prey to my location; not turning it on had me at a major disadvantage because vampires could see in the dark and I couldn’t.

No choice. I reached to my left until my hand hit the wall, then felt around. My calloused fingertips ran over the grimy, textured wallpaper, then hit the hard plastic plate of the light switch. Success.

The bare bulb above me in the hallway flickered on, revealing an even less appealing sight than the dilapidated exterior suggested. Carpet beneath my feet was threadbare and torn, wallpaper peeled at the seams. A stench hung in the air, musty with an edge of stale cigarette smoke, wrapping its dirty fingers around me and weaving into my clothes, brushing my skin.

Straight ahead stood a narrow staircase leading to the second level; no light reached the upper floor from here and it was a big black maw waiting to chomp down on me. Next to the stairs was an even narrower hallway with doorways to the first floor rooms. A kitchen lay at the far end.

My task was simple: comb the place until I had found the vampire hiding within, and then kill it. Simple until one considers vampires have a strength and speed unmatched by any human, as well as heightened senses. Suddenly a simple hunt seemed more like I’d signed my own death warrant in locking that door behind me.

Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.

I ghosted down the hall with quick, silent steps, sneaking glances at the staircase as I went. He could leap down and be on me in a second, but the moments ticked by and I remained alone. At the first doorway, I reached around the corner to flip on the light and prepared myself for the worst.

The living room. Not that anything was living there.

A torn up couch. The remnants of some cigarette packs and empty beer bottles on the scuffed coffee table. Even squatters had left the place to rot.

No vampires, however, which made it much like the rest of the downstairs, or so I found as I went through a closet and the kitchen. That just left the upper floor.

I paused at the foot of the staircase, hand over the standard issue, stainless steel stake holstered at my belt. Although wood looked more dramatic in the movies, Demon Hunters—or Venatores Daemonum as the church sect I belonged to called us—had upgraded to metal back in the seventies. Perhaps later than they should have, I supposed, but that was well before my birth, so I never had to deal with the inferior wooden stake.

The stake would do little to help me, though. The problem wasn’t the weapon itself, but that it was all I had. Generally, a Hunter stocked a full array of tools; we didn’t just hunt vampires, and few demons can be dispatched by a simple piercing of their heart. So this time I’d be slowing down the vampire with a stake to the chest, but wouldn’t be removing the head—not unless an ax magically appeared upstairs.

The silver cross hanging high on my chest was warm on my skin. My fingers twitched, wanting to reach up and touch the smooth surface of the plain charm, but I kept my arms loose and hands prepared to draw my weapon and fight. Breath came in short bursts, my throat closing to the size of a pinhole; my heart hammered against my ribcage. I gazed up the staircase.

I could handle anything right in front of me—it was the waiting that gave me a heart attack. Not knowing. Anticipating.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.

Here I go.

I started up the steps. One. Two. Three. I paused between each long enough for the wood to finish creaking. Listened. Still nothing. The lower light switch to my right didn’t work, forcing me to make my way upstairs in the dark. My heart thrummed louder, pounding in my ears. The darkness at the top of the stairs seemed blacker now that I knew the light wouldn’t work.

On the fifth step, I paused again. Air tightened around me, tense, expectant. Something didn’t feel right—

A pair of feet in black running shoes flew toward me.

They hit hard and fast, striking me in the chest. I reached for the banister. Missed. We tumbled, crashed, me on the bottom. Down, down—thud. My head struck the baseboard at the bottom of the steps and my vision blurred. Limbs felt weak and uncoordinated, unwieldy as I struggled to rise.

The vampire was already on his feet. Tall, white, with sandy streaks in silky brown hair that hung over his brow. Gray eyes looked down at me, lips pulled into a grin.

Deep breath. Move.

His foot sailed toward me again; I flipped off the ground and his kick went wide, missing me. I turned, sent a kick his way. The sole of my foot landed on his solar plexus; the shock sent vibrations up my leg, but I hit hard. He struck the railing and wood splintered.

But he was moving. A right hook swung toward me, cracked my jaw; my head snapped back and I stumbled. Move, move, don’t slow—don’t think. I gained my balance, righted myself. Licked my lips and tasted blood.

I kicked again at an angle, catching his thigh, then punched, fist grazing off of his shoulder. He sent a backhanded swipe my way and I dodged, but the hit was close enough for air to brush my cheeks.

My face throbbed where he’d hit, head ached where a bump was likely forming, but I pushed the pain back, focused on the adrenalin pumping through my veins. I feigned another punch, hooked my ankle around his leg, and tripped him.

His hand snatched mine as he started to fall, dragging me down too. A throaty cry left my lips as I twisted my arm against his thumb and jerked away. My back struck the wall with a rattling force I felt straight down to my toes.

No matter how many times you’re hit, it never gets easier.

I pushed off the wall, rushed at the vampire as he started to rise. Shoulder first, I hit him hard and he fell into the remnants of the banister, sprawled across the steps. I yanked the stake from its holster, raised it high, prepared to strike—

A hand locked on my wrist and stopped my attack midair. I glanced up—a young white woman stood on the bottom steps. Ah, so there were two of them. Great.

I seized her arm with my free hand and tugged her forward. She crashed, tripped over the broken railing, narrowly missing spikes of wood. Dust billowed in the air, itching my eyes and scratching my throat. I stepped back, coughing.

She swung her fist my way; I ducked and punched her in the gut. A foot slammed down on mine, but I landed an uppercut against her jaw. She stumbled back, dazed.

I’d have felt pretty proud of myself if I hadn’t realized I’d lost her partner.

A strong, thick forearm crossed over my neck, yanking me against a solid chest that felt like a brick wall. He squeezed. I fought, twisting, clawing, the steady rise of panic in every movement, but his grip was an iron band holding on tight.

The girl vamp sauntered toward me, grinning as my eyes grew heavy.

I slumped forward, slack in the male vampire’s arms. The woman came closer, closer, steps feather light on the carpet, ’til a floorboard beneath groaned just inches away. I whipped my arm up, stake poised, and struck her in the chest. Red splattered across the T-shirt over her heart.

A twist and I wrenched out of the other vampire’s grip, the force spinning me ’til I gathered my bearings again. My stake flew up; light glinted on the metal as it sailed toward my target. The tip struck home, right over his heart.

I danced back, muscles aching, and surveyed the two of them.

The twenty-five-year-old female vampire brushed the fringe of dark hair from her face and checked her watch. Wow, you tracked him and staked us in twenty minutes. She let out a deep breath and sucked in another noisily. Sweat dotted her brow and she gave me a grin. Good job, kid.

My shoulders relaxed, tension bleeding away and heart rate slowing to normal. Good considering I was only supposed to be staking one. Should’ve brought two stakes. I slipped the weapon in its place at my belt. I thought you were on assignment.

Grace rolled her shoulders and twisted her neck with a crack. I finished up last night, and Chris suggested I join him here. He told Father Matthew you’d be up for the challenge.

I glanced over at Christian, but a half smile was his only response. Grace stifled a giggle.

I tried not to sigh or roll my eyes, and only about half succeeded. Right.

They were both pretty red-faced and out of breath, and I suspected it wasn’t just due to our fight minutes ago. Regardless, I wouldn’t call them on it. We lived by many rules and protocols, and most of us operated under the assumption that certain things were better left not talked about.

At least certain things when it came to Christian.

I’d never be so bold as to question the policy St. Michael’s had against Hunters fraternizing. There was no cause for me to break them; it wasn’t my fight. But I also wouldn’t expose Christian and Grace’s relationship. They deserved a little happiness. I just hoped there weren’t any cameras upstairs where they’d been, else Father Matthew might be getting educated in a bit more than my progress as a Hunter.

We should get coffee or something, Grace said, since we’re not expected back for a while.

I nodded to her bloodied shirt. I don’t think it’ll bode well for your superiors if you’re seen around town like that.

"Tough and smart. You just might be right about this one, Chris. I don’t suppose anyone brought a—"

Christian gestured behind him. I stashed a bag in the closet down there. You’ll find a couple of extra shirts.

Hey, thanks. Though she started down the hall, she paused after a few steps and looked back at me. Seriously, really good work, kid. Glad you’re graduating—you can join us in the field soon.

I nodded and she continued for the closet, steps heavy and laboured. At least I’d hit her as hard as I’d been hit. After tossing Christian a clean T-shirt of his own, she disappeared into the kitchen to change.

I’m going to recommend you to be passed tomorrow. Christian yanked his shirt off and threw it to the side. He unhooked the metal vest he wore beneath, which was what prevented my stake from killing him. Combining it with a pocket of red paint that broke open under the pressure from the tip of the weapon, and we had the perfect tool for teaching future Hunters.

I know it isn’t up to you.

His bare chest was slick with sweat, mostly hairless but for a fine down in the rough shape of a T, and a blush suffused my cheeks. I turned to the side and averted my eyes as he changed. Under any normal circumstances, he would have laughed at me for such a display of propriety—despite the fact it was supposed to be ingrained in the Hunters within the church—but we both knew the cameras were still running, and Father Matthew watched from his office at home.

That and he was Grace’s, so I kept my gaze to the right until he finished.

Everything in me ached. I leaned against the wall and reached for the cross around my neck. After Grace’s stop for coffee, I was in for a trip to the infirmary. Then a psychological test, which the nurse would insist I wait and take tomorrow, but I’d push on and take it immediately instead. I didn’t slow, didn’t rest. Didn’t like showing weakness. This close to graduation, my every move would be scrutinized, and I couldn’t risk seeming as if I wasn’t up for the job.

You’re right, it’s not up to me, but you did good, Ryann.

I glanced back; he was clothed now.

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. My heart thumped a little wilder when he did that, even though I knew it was wrong. You’re ready to fight and we need you in the field, not in this useless training.

I glowed. I might not have cared about Grace complimenting me, but Christian...at only six years my senior, he was a legend among those of us in training. The best of the best and a favourite among our superiors. My teacher, my mentor. And friend.

I gathered all those glowy feelings up and tucked them away. I appreciate it.

I’m sure Father Matthew will see it that way as well. He smoothed back the hair from his face and stretched out his long arms. As he rolled his left shoulder, his expression tightened to a wince. Especially after he sees the damage you did in only a few minutes.

You should talk—you hit like a hammer. If you weren’t so tanned, I’d swear you were a vampire yourself.

You can’t judge the undead by how much sun it looks like they got, though, Grace said as she returned. "Those spray-on tans are pretty popular. So are we ready to go? I’d kill for a French vanilla cappuccino. She swept her shoulder-length dark hair into a ponytail, straightened her T-shirt, and nodded to the door. Ready?"

Christian nodded, unlocked the door, and opened it. He gestured to me. After you.

Thanks. Um, and Christian... I forced back a grin as I started past him.

Yeah?

Your fly’s undone.

Grace threw her arm around my shoulder as we walked out into the early morning sun, her laughter echoing through the deserted street. I definitely like this kid.

Chapter Two

Graduate

Father Matthew was a small man.

It wasn’t merely that my height of six feet placed me so much taller than him. Most people were small to me, but physically he simply looked tiny. At sixty-five, it was possible that recent years had shrunk him to the mere five feet, five inches he stood at, though I couldn’t imagine him ever being any taller.

But his diminutive stature made him no less daunting as I stood in front of his big mahogany desk.

His office dwarfed me; the big stone walls were gray and smooth, ceiling vaulted. The air was chilled indoors, though outside the muggy summer air hit thirty-one degrees Celsius on the thermometer. Hotter than hell, Christian had muttered during our run around the grounds that morning. But indoors, gooseflesh rolled down my arms beneath my navy blazer and blouse, and I longed to head into the sun I glimpsed outside Father Matthew’s office windows.

Little of that sun permeated the inside, however. The blinds were drawn and lights low, giving the room a gloomy atmosphere and doing nothing to calm the heavy beating of my heart. I wanted this. I wanted to be a proper Hunter so badly, it hurt deep in my chest when I thought about it. I wanted it the moment I was plucked from St. Agnes’ orphanage as a child and told what they were training me for—what they thought I might be worthy of, one day. Hunter of Demons—Venator Daemonis.

Dear Lord, God, please...if it be Your will, let me graduate.

Father Matthew’s focus remained on the small flat screen monitor set to the side of his desk. The heavy lines on his face sharpened as he frowned at something he saw on the recording. Rewind. View again. Pause.

I glanced at the screen—he’d stopped at the point when I’d locked the front door.

Creased and calloused hands scribbled a note on his clipboard, but I dared not look to see if I could make out his written words. Some might consider it a waste of valuable time—not to mention a risk of your safety—to lock the door after you entered. His voice was cold and sharp enough that every Hunter’s heart beat just a bit faster at the sound.

I acknowledged him with a nod. Yes, sir. I lifted my chin as I straightened my back, and stared ahead without emotion.

It seems especially foolish as a vampire or any other demon you might be fighting could easily remove the door from its hinges to escape.

Yes, sir.

My stomach twisted painfully. I knew this was coming and had been dreading these moments since I was first placed at St. Michael’s. Father Matthew calling into question Christian’s recommendation of me as I stood before him in his office. Father Matthew scrutinizing my every move, pointing out my every flaw. Father Matthew telling me why I, at age nineteen, would not be graduating as a full-fledged Venator Daemonis with the rest of my class.

I just wanted to be good enough. I worked hard: I studied, I trained, I prayed. If I didn’t become a Hunter, I didn’t know what I could do—what I’d even be good at. Failure would devastate me and I fought tears at the thought.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Well, and of your war against demons. But in this moment, Lord, I just want peace with Father Matthew. My old chaplet beads were a heavy lump in my pocket and I wanted nothing more than to sit in the corner with them and pray until I felt like myself again.

Breathe. Be calm. That’s what Christian would tell you to do. At the end of the day, I was still me. Father Matthew might judge my performance from the day before, but I could not let that judgment define me.

He continued playing the recording of my test. You turned on every light as you went, ensuring the vampire would know your whereabouts at all times.

Yes, sir.

Most Hunters do not wait until they are attacked to pull out their weapon.

Yes, sir.

And yet despite this, Brother Christian thinks you capable of joining the other graduates. Can you offer any explanation for your rather unorthodox choices, Sister Margaret?

I prickled as he used my other name. I’d been using Ryann—my birth name—for years now, and generally that was what he called me. But this time he didn’t, suggesting he was quite displeased.

My fingers twitched but I kept my arms locked at my sides and back rigid.

Sister? he prompted.

Deep breath. Yes, sir. As soon as I entered the house, I was at a disadvantage. Any vampire would know where I was regardless of whether I turned on lights or not. Had I left them off I would have—in my opinion—been at an even greater disadvantage. Since many vampires are known to run from Hunters, and because one can move so silently that I wouldn’t know he was escaping, the locked door increased the probability that I would hear him leave.

Father Matthew pounced on that. "We aren’t here to measure probabilities. Continue."

This wasn’t going well. I tried to sneak a glance at Christian, who stood at my side, but Father Matthew’s gaze bore into me and I couldn’t look away. My mouth went dry.

I could do this. I could. Christian believed in me. I was stronger and faster than many of my peers. And I wanted it too badly to give up now—I wanted to graduate, wanted to be an active Hunter and purge the world of demons. I just had to calm down.

I said continue, Sister.

It was a split-second decision I thought might turn out to be helpful, and I stand by it, I said at last.

His round, dark eyes narrowed.

I don’t believe that was the response he expected. Christian shifted at my side and, again, I longed to look his way. Resisted.

As was your plan to not have your weapon out and ready?

I took in a steadying breath and my bruised chest ached with the action. I felt there was too great a risk that given the situation and location I would be startled and therefore possibly drop it—

Prepared Hunters are never startled.

I find that hard to believe. The words left my mouth before I could stop myself. Oh. No.

Father Matthew stared. Not a single breath escaped me as I awaited his reprimand. The air thickened and twisted around me as tension grew. My feet itched to flee, but I held my ground. Waiting.

Christian, escort Sister Margaret from my office while you and I speak for a moment. He returned his attention to the notes on his clipboard. Christian and I had taken a few steps from the door when he said, And don’t stray too far, young lady.

Yes, Father.

I stepped into the expansive hallway outside of Father Matthew’s office and a whooshing breath left my lips.

This wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all.

Christian met my eyes and winked, then mouthed, Don’t worry, as he closed the door.

Right. Don’t worry. Easy for him to say—he had graduated with honors six years ago. There was nothing left for him to worry about.

I sank down on the hard, sturdy bench outside the office and sighed. My fingers trembled. I gave in and went for the St. Anthony chaplet in my pocket, clasping the first bead and closing my eyes.

Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum—

So? How’d it go?

I glanced up as a young Caucasian woman flopped down next to me, bobbed blonde hair bouncing and pale blue eyes glowing with her ever-present enthusiasm. Rebecca Samuels’ eagerness made my spirits drop even lower.

I swallowed dryly. It doesn’t look good.

Her pretty, broad face was naturally expressive and fell into a dramatic pout. But I thought Christian has been saying—

My hands, still full of beads, dropped to my lap and I leaned against the cold stone wall at my back. Father has never liked me anyway. And he’s right—I’m probably all wrong for this.

She scooped up one of my hands, her creamy skin a stark contrast to my own. Father Matthew was the one who picked you out of St. Agnes’. He must have thought you capable of this work then.

Not he—the tests did. The tests had been administered to all of the orphans at St. Agnes’ at the age of nine. First a written test, similar to an I.Q. one, was given to determine our mental capabilities, then a physical examination to show our natural endurance and strength, blood tests to screen for illness, and finally individual interviews with church-hired psychologists. And the children in this side of the world who were supposedly ideal for what they wanted were taken to St. Michael’s—a secretive compound that few knew details about. Children like me and Rebecca, like once upon a time Christian and Grace. To the rest of the world, we were just another reclusive church. And though we did indeed serve God, our purpose was to purge the world of evil, not in spirit and mind alone, but in body and with weapons.

Lots of weapons.

Becky sighed. I hate all this testing and stuff. They thought I broke a rib yesterday afternoon and nearly took me to the hospital—which would’ve failed me for sure. How long did the hunt take you?

Twenty minutes.

Her eyes widened. Twenty minutes? You’re kidding.

No. It was...quick.

"You should graduate on that alone. I spent a darn hour trying to find the place. Cabin in the woods and everything, plus a pretend victim to rescue. And then I fell and broke her toe. It was really embarrassing. So you...just twenty minutes to hunt and stake?"

I nodded and struggled to find something else to say when I caught the twinge of longing in her voice. Becky was good because she’d been through rigorous training, but Christian—what little he’d worked with her himself—didn’t think she had it in her to make a life of it. I’d never, ever repeat such a thing to my friend, but I did suspect he was right.

It didn’t take long to find him but the fight hurt. He had Grace with him as well, so I was technically staking two vamps.

I thought she was working in Vancouver?

I shrugged. Got back early.

Becky sighed. They’re so lucky.

Lucky? They can’t be seen doing anything more than talking.

I know, but...but at least they have each other, you know? Five minutes together once a week is still more than we have with anyone.

It wasn’t just the hunting Becky had trouble with; I realized early on at St. Michael’s that she had trouble accepting the idea of, well, our entire lives. Celibacy, service, and more than likely an early death at the hands of a monster—not something many of us embraced with glee. And seeing Grace and Christian, so very much in love, day after day for the past several years, didn’t help her.

It’s not the minutes, I said quietly, looking away. It’s them. Grace was the top of her class at our age and her boyfriend—for lack of a better term—is the Hunter with the highest hunt-kill ratio in the past fifty years. Not to mention he’s terribly good-looking.

Her elbow bumped mine. Now you sound like the jealous one.

It would be nice to be Grace. To be pretty, to be loved...not that the whole loved-by-God situation wasn’t wonderful, because it was, but...but she had Christian. Who was I kidding? Everyone loved him, and not just platonically.

I think I failed horribly yesterday—it makes me susceptible to envy, I suppose. Anyway, we are to eradicate evil, not daydream.

And it’s not so bad. We have plenty of virtues—you’ll probably break even Christian’s records one day, and we’re still pretty ourselves, don’t you think?

Rebecca was attractive, though that might have been more from her playful, passionate personality that seemed to make her physical features even more brilliant. But I wasn’t. Tall and athletic almost to the point of gangly, I had no figure. Brown eyes that could be wider, a smile that could look less forced, and medium brown skin that, coupled with my dark blonde hair, made me look like a freak. Being an orphan was hard enough, but being an orphan who was unable to fathom her parents’ ethnicity didn’t help.

And I didn’t care—I didn’t. I told myself this over and over. Beauty wasn’t useful to me. Beauty couldn’t hold a stake or wield a sword. Trained muscle, a calm mind, and a pure soul were important.

Most days I almost believed it.

Oh yeah, I muttered. I folded my prayer beads back into my pocket and absently ran a hand back through my mass of tight curls. "I’ll be the most beautiful Hunter to not graduate in the history of St. Michael’s."

Don’t be so—

The office door opened.

I braced.

Christian peeked through. His gray eyes went to Rebecca first, and as he smiled and nodded hello, she gave a little wave with her fingers and let out a sigh. A dreamy one.

I was embarrassed for the both of us.

He returned his gaze to me. Father Matthew is ready to talk to you now.

Becky squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. Good luck.

If only it had anything to do with luck. I rose and followed Christian back through the door.

In the office once more, my entire body went numb, throat dry. I waited for him to speak, to tell me I wasn’t graduating with my class, and I was so focused on not being upset that it took me a few moments to realize Father Matthew had been speaking.

I’m sorry, Father? I said.

"You passed, Sister Ryann, though I will be expecting more from you now..."

His voice continued, but I wasn’t listening. I passed. After a decade of training, I was officially a Hunter.

Chapter Three

That’s Gratitude for You

Rebecca waited for me outside the office, practically bouncing up and down. One look at my face and she knew.

Her arms wrapped around me and squeezed. I told you! I told you!

I bit back a yelp, all my bruises from yesterday screaming at me.

And yet she didn’t listen to either of us, Christian said.

I disentangled myself from Becky’s arms, blushing under Christian’s beaming gaze. My skepticism was reasonable. A glance at the office—I didn’t think Father Matthew could hear us, but better to be safe—and I started down the hall, the soles of my flat shoes echoing on the swirly granite tile floor. The others followed suit. He doesn’t like me.

Christian chuckled. He doesn’t like anyone.

The corridor was mostly empty outside of Father Matthew’s office, but the farther we went, the more often I spotted other people. Fellow students in small groups, all wearing identical uniforms. Normally we’d all be in classes, but potential graduates had appointments all day with Father Matthew, so our usual schedule was clear. Voices were soft murmurs, everyone knowing how easily sound travelled in these corridors.

I should’ve had my stake out, I said with a shake of my head, biting my lip. He was right. Always have a weapon out—those are the rules.

Christian patted my shoulder. Uh-huh and not listening to all those rules is what makes you good. You think outside the box, which is important, because... His voice trailed off as his gaze fell on someone at the other end of the hall. A soft smile broke out on his face and neither Becky nor I needed to