A Hunter Born (Hired Hunters Series Book 1) Read online

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  As he got out of his truck to enter his apartment, Travis was still thinking of how best to entice Morgan Rhys into helping him, when he heard suspicious sounds coming from the alleyway. A metallic clank and a groan of pain accompanied by the scent of trash mingling with the iron-rich smell of blood – a vampire’s blood. Pulling his sidearm free of the holster, he moved cautiously into the dark, narrow space, foregoing his flashlight in favor of his excellent night vision so not to give away his imminent arrival should a crime be taking place.

  New Orleans’ crime rate was typical of most cities, though they might have more drunk and disorderly conduct and indecent exposure depending on the time of year. This, however, Travis’s instincts told him, felt like either vamp on vamp violence or a vampire getting a bit too rowdy with his host and the host was fighting back.

  His eyes searched the darkness and he picked up the scent of a human. A feeding gone wrong then. He found the vampire first, face down on the pavement, and while he would have much rather have stepped over the body, Travis did his due diligence and checked for a pulse. Nothing. Apparently, the human had fought back hard. Good for them. Leaving the corpse for the moment, he searched the alley for the human and saw a foot in a brown, slip-on canvas shoe just beyond a dumpster.

  Making his way over, he discovered an elderly black man sitting in a prone position on the ground. He was gray-haired, his face heavily lined, the gnarled, arthritic fingers of his right hand gripped around a carved wooden cane as the man prepared to brandish it as a weapon.

  Travis held up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat and tucked his gun away with the knowledge that should he need it, his reflexes were perfectly capable of drawing it back out in the blink of an eye. “New Orleans PD, sir. Are you injured? Do you need an ambulance?”

  There were no obvious signs of a struggle, the man’s clothes weren’t even mussed, however, he was winded, his breathing labored as he shook his head. “Just need a hand up.”

  Obliging, Travis carefully assisted the man to his feet. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  The man’s eyes skated left than right, suddenly nervous and while Travis shouldn’t lead the witness, he couldn’t resist asking, “Did that man attack you?”

  A distracted nod was his response so Travis eyed the cane, surprised to see there was no blood on it. Given the condition of the vampire, and the blood he’d smelled, it made no sense that a man who had to be at least eighty years old had managed to fight off a creature of such strength and not have a mark on him.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to call an ambulance? You may be in shock.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance,” was the surly reply. “I need to get home to my wife before she worries. She has supper waiting.”

  Travis nodded. “Understood. Can I call her for you? Maybe give you a ride?”

  “Destin Jourdain,” the man suddenly blurted. “You can call him. He’ll come get me.”

  The leader of the Order of Witches? Travis eyed the old man with new eyes. If this man was a witch – and why else would he want to get in touch with Jourdain? – that would explain the level of damage inflicted on a physically stronger being, especially if this man was a high-level wielder himself.

  Making the call once the man gave him the number, and ensuring that the elderly man was stable for the moment, Travis went to inspect the body of the vampire. Normally, he would have called this in, but if this was indeed a fight between two supernaturals, it was best to keep human intervention to a minimum.

  Rolling the big vampire over, he saw a face he recognized as one of Rodolfo’s thugs that Travis had been keeping a discreet eye on. That face was now a mask of blood that had leaked from the eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Jesus, the old man was strong. By the look of it, he’d turned the vampire’s brains into soup.

  With a sigh, Travis stood. One less minion in Rodolfo’s army. He’d take care of the body, not that the old man or Jourdain needed to know that. As far as anyone in New Orleans was concerned, he was a human cop just doing his job. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Chapter Nine

  Morgan managed to get several hours of much-needed sleep before she dragged herself out of bed, showered, dressed, and located a servant to arrange a lunch meeting with Rodolfo. It was time to stop dicking around. She was never going to get to the bottom of this case if she didn’t actually converse with the man and attempt to charm some information out of him. Jamie could do her thing on the computer, but that would take time and may prove fruitless. Kane could work the Turned, drawing them into boasting matches over beers, and batting his eyes at the ladies to get some gossip, but again, that might end up leading nowhere. Best to go straight to the suspected source.

  It didn’t take long before her invitation was accepted and she was shown to a sunlit veranda decorated with an abundance of hanging baskets of flowers, the blooms throwing off their glorious scent and halting Morgan mid-step as she marveled at the incongruity of such splendor surrounding the lounging form of her host, with his smug expression and surely blackened soul.

  “Alone at last,” he purred and Morgan had to keep from visibly shuddering with disgust. Holding tight to her anticipation of seeing her officer angel in a mere handful of hours, she used the thought as a shield and produced a bright smile.

  Seating herself in the chair a servant held out for her, she watched Rodolfo pour a liberal portion of white wine into her glass. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I know a man of your prominence must be very busy indeed.”

  “One must still eat,” he returned, obviously pleased with her flattery. “And how better than with someone as lovely as yourself.”

  Ducking her head in a show of modesty at the compliment, Morgan was about to comment on the weather, a typical non-offensive conversation starter when Rodolfo said, “You remind me of your mother. Did you know she and I were acquainted?”

  Morgan hadn’t, but she wasn’t surprised. Rodolfo and her parents were of an age and him being originally from France while her parents resided in Wales, it stood to reason that they would have at least met at one time or another if not formed a friendship.

  “Now there was a woman who knew how to enjoy life. Wild. Uninhibited.”

  His words were laced with enough innuendo that Morgan couldn’t miss the implication. Picking up her glass, she forced herself not to gulp it down in unseemly haste to wash away the foul taste suddenly residing on her tongue. God. Had Rodolfo and her mother been lovers?

  She needed to get this over with as soon as possible. Thoughts of her parents always put her in a lousy mood, but if he continued with this particular conversation, she definitely wouldn’t be able to keep her lunch down. Foregoing any thought of small talk, Morgan began her line of questioning while the human servant set a plate of rice surrounded by crawfish smothered in some sort of sauce in front of her. “So much responsibility,” she said, forcing a smile and a sympathetic shake of her head. “You must do something to alleviate the tedium.” Her mother sure had. “I’m sure you must have things you enjoy. Something just for fun?”

  The man practically beamed. “Art is my pleasure, my indulgence. I must take you about and show you the abundance of talent on display in my fair city. Humans are such base creatures, but the things they create, the passion in the pieces, is simply astounding.” His gaze grew distant, unfocused as he murmured, “In my younger years, I once drank from an artist I particularly admired hoping to take that creative essence into myself. Alas, I fear it didn’t work and the poor man didn’t survive my little experiment. Pity that.”

  Morgan’s face felt stiff from the smile she continued to wear. Art hadn’t been what she wanted to talk about. She’d foolishly hoped he’d volunteer that he had recently created a game where he was keeping score while his vampires took out as many witches as possible, perhaps some sort of macabre scavenger hunt, but she should have known it wouldn’t come out that easily.

  Picking up her
utensils, she took a bite of food. Normally, she would have savored the slightly sweet yet spicy flavor, but right now she was too focused on her goal to do much more than chew and swallow as she considered her next words. Dabbing at her mouth with a crisply pressed, white linen napkin, she tried again. “I’d love to see the pieces you most admire but surely there is something you enjoy with a bit more challenge? Perhaps a sport other than the blood competitions we saw that first night?”

  Rodolfo’s eyes glittered with admiration. “I have a feeling you’d appreciate my gardens, Miss Rhys.”

  Gardens? Really? Covering her disappointment with an even brighter smile, she offered, “Please, call me Morgan.”

  His purred, “Morgan,” coincided with his hand reaching across the table to grip her own. “I also have a feeling we could do great things together, Morgan.”

  Ah, shit.

  “Your father is a powerful man. I am a powerful man. An alliance between us…” he trailed off, leaning forward, his face lit with excitement as the idea took root in his head and began to grow. “Not to mention the pleasures I could show you. You would be a queen.”

  Yes, a queen. She’d be waited on hand and foot in exchange for the multitude of sons she would be expected to birth in her duty to bring forth the next generation of Born as well as abiding without question whatever dictates her husband put down. The thought hadn’t appealed to her as a girl, and having tasted freedom upon becoming a Hunter, certainly did not appeal to her now. Saying so, however, would be seen as a gross insult to her host, and while she would love nothing more than to tell this man exactly what she thought of him, the mission required her to play nice.

  “You flatter me, Monsieur.”

  “Olivier, please.”

  “Olivier,” she obligingly repeated. “I must give this some thought,” she added with just a hint of breathless excitement lacing her voice. “It’s so unexpected.”

  Rodolfo settled back into his chair, that smug expression firmly back on his face as he picked up his utensils and dug into his own food.

  Who would have thought she was such a superlative actress? Taking another sip of wine, she contemplated how best to get their conversation back on the path she wished it to take. Unfortunately, a servant interrupted with a few low words whispered close to Rodolfo’s ear that had the Born standing from the table and announcing, “I’m afraid duty calls, Morgan and I must abandon you. Do enjoy your lunch. My servants are at your disposal should you require anything.”

  Pasting a look of disappointment that was only half feigned considering she’d hoped to get something useful out of this exercise, Morgan threw out a last-ditch effort to obtain information with, “Nothing serious I hope?”

  “Not at all,” and with a crisp bow, Rodolfo added, “I’ll see you this evening,” before he disappeared back into the villa.

  Somehow, Morgan managed to finish her lunch as well as a few bites of the desert that was set before her – a show, purely for the servants’ benefit that would surely report back to Rodolfo – before she made her escape and headed straight for Jamie’s room.

  “Please tell me you’ve got something,” she said without preamble as soon as the door closed behind her.

  “Nothing yet,” the vampire replied from her cross-legged position in the middle of her mussed bed. She looked like she may have just woken up, was still in a pair of pink and white pajamas decorated with cartoon sheep, her long blonde hair a mass of sleep-rumpled tangles. “But I’m getting close.”

  Noting the absence of Jamie’s self-appointed guardian while they were staying under Rodolfo’s roof, Morgan inquired, “Is Kane sleeping?”

  Jamie nodded distractedly. “He had company. That redhead from the party.”

  “Ah.” Good for him. At least someone was enjoying their time here in New Orleans, and hopefully, Kane had managed to charm some useful gossip out of the vampire.

  Flopping down on the bed, Morgan let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through her loose locks. “I tried to get information out of Rodolfo and ended up with a marriage proposal.”

  Jamie let out a bark of laughter and pushed her laptop aside to face Morgan fully, a twinkle of amusement lighting her hazel eyes. “I expect to be your maid of honor.”

  Morgan snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t plan the bachelorette party just yet.”

  “Seductress,” Jamie teased, giving Morgan’s shoulder a playful nudge with her fingertips. “Charming mysterious cops and now our incredibly handsome host.”

  Morgan refrained from commenting about her mysterious cop, just the thought of him bringing a hint of color to her cheeks, remarking instead, “Our host is interested in the European alliances he can gain through my family rather than me specifically.”

  Jamie’s lips twisted into a frown as she laid down on the bed, mirroring Morgan’s position. “I’ll never understand the Born and their desire for power over love.”

  “It’s not all that surprising considering we’re of demonic descent and demons love power, not to mention they’re rarely capable of expressing the softer emotions. Any sentimental throwbacks from our weaker human genetics are typically whipped out of us as children.”

  The statement made Jamie frown, her eyes filled with sympathy over the rather casual disclaimer of what Morgan’s childhood must have been like but Morgan didn’t see it. Her thoughts instead, focused once more on Travis St. John. Angels were said to hate anything with demonic blood and surely, he could sense hers. Was tonight truly a date like she’d originally – hopefully – assumed? Or had it been a convenient lure to get her alone so that he might strike her down?

  “You have a look,” Jamie said, propping herself up on her elbow and using the other hand to wave at her face. “Like you’re chewing on something worrisome. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Shaking her head, she smiled. Jamie had enough on her plate without burdening her with teenage drama of the ‘Does he like me?’ sort. Though in this case, the question was closer to ‘Does he like me enough not to kill me?’. Whatever. She certainly wasn’t going to break the date. There was still too much she didn’t know about her mysterious cop, and way too much anticipation for her to back out due to a sliver of insecurity.

  Chapter Ten

  Travis finished buttoning the light blue dress shirt he had donned and ran a hand through his damp brown hair. He contemplated the scruff on his jaw in the mirror, wondering if he should shave. Was Morgan Rhys the type of woman who was into facial hair, or would the bristle only prove to keep him from getting a kiss goodnight? And he did want to kiss her – among other things – not that he anticipated getting anywhere close to those other things tonight, but a guy could hope.

  Deciding it was best to err on the side of caution, he picked up the can of shaving cream and went to work removing his whiskers. That done, he double-checked that his breath was minty fresh rather than smoky and left the bathroom for his living room. Stuffing his pockets with wallet, chewing gum, and keys, he ran through his mental checklist one last time. Before he left his apartment, he picked a picture frame up from its spot on the end table and felt his chest constrict as he glanced at the image it held. A head and shoulder shot of him with his arm wrapped around a beaming woman with thick waves of golden-brown hair. Sophia. Unlike him with his goofy mug, Sophia had been beautiful with her wide, generous smiles. She was always so happy, so hopeful, a beacon of optimism next to his rather cynical, pessimistic outlook on life. She’d forever seen the good in the world, despite all evidence to the contrary. A bit naïve perhaps, but that had been part of her charm. God, he missed her.

  His mind drifted back to the last time he’d seen her almost five years ago. She’d been fresh out of university and she and a few of her sorority sisters wanted to get together in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Travis hadn’t wanted her to go.

  “You worry too much,” she had teased, giving her head a little exasperated shake. “I swear, you’re more like an overprotective parent than Mom a
nd Dad ever were. I’ll be with a group the whole time, perfectly safe, you’ll see.”

  Against his better judgment, he’d relented. She’d texted him a few times, sent images of the sights they’d gone to see, and then nothing. Silence. Sophia St. John had disappeared from her hotel room on the final night of her stay. There had been no sign of forced entry, no signs of struggle, no body, no suspects, no clues.

  Travis was sure Rodolfo was responsible for her disappearance and most probably her death, and like the hothead he was, he’d left Washington for Louisiana immediately to confront the Born. In a spectacular failure, he’d been promptly escorted off the property without ever clapping eyes on his intended target and hadn’t been able to get back in since, not even with the help of a hard-earned badge. Without due cause, he was stuck in a holding pattern waiting for the Born to make a mistake. He may never be able to prove Rodolfo’s involvement in Sophia’s disappearance, but he knew that male was dirty. If he could just manage to get the slippery Born on something, anything, not only would his sister be avenged, but other young women could sleep soundly knowing they would not share her fate.

  Morgan Rhys might prove to be his best hope. She was staying under Rodolfo’s roof, and if she could provide Travis with even the smallest hint of wrongdoing that would see the Born taken out of power, he needed to explore that option. For Sophia. It also didn’t hurt that he was incredibly attracted to the vampire. He just hoped his gut wasn’t wrong about her.

  They arrived at the agreed-upon meeting place practically simultaneously and the smile Morgan Rhys shot him in greeting as she engaged the locks on her black SUV nearly bowled him over. Her hair was down, the smooth, shiny waterfall of sable locks falling to just below her shoulders only served to frame the exquisite symmetry of her face that the Born were known for. So entranced was he by the perfection of her looks that it took him a full minute before he realized that he ought to say something rather than standing there like an idiot, staring, and most likely making her feel uncomfortable under such intense regard. Clearing his throat, he blurted, “Hey, hi. How are you?” the words all running together.