CHAPTER 3
She loved to walk at night; she’d been doing it for as long as she could recall. Her mother used to tell her she was following the moon, and Cara still believed that she was.
Not that she would ever leave the house when there was a full moon. The Fallen were about now, more than ever, the moon was dangerous.
The streets unwound below her feet. The stars pierced the sky and a thin sickle of moon hung there, pinned into the corner of the horizon. She hugged her arms tightly around her waist as she walked past the old houses.
Once upon a time, this place had been a crown jewel in a city known for its magic and music. The houses were huge and mostly crumbling, except for the ones bought by wealthy celebrities and a writer who’d written a long series of books about vampires and witches.
The houses all sat on enormous tracts of land; the smallest yard was just under an acre and the largest was seven acres. The city was just around the corner, blocks away from the last house in the neighborhood, and Cara walked toward the shining lights and noise.
The residential streets gave way to a bustling strip of bars and cafes. Trendiness had settled here, and there were young professionals with loosened ties and expensive briefcases setting at the tables on the sidewalks. A cooling breeze wafted through the mild night air, bringing the scent of jasmine and the river.
She was turning down a quiet street when she saw a flash of something up ahead. A choked scream sounded out and her nerves tightened even further. Her feet flew along the sidewalk. She wasn’t thinking — the need to help swelled up and she dashed toward the sound of the scream.
A thin ray of lamplight from a window illuminated the two bodies locked in a deadly embrace at the dead end of the street. Cara stopped, her eyes going wide.
It was a rogue! A werewolf that could turn without the moonlight!
Her heart stuttered to a stop. Fear froze her blood. Her heart restarted and skipped so fast she was sure she was going to faint. Bile rose in her throat and her eyes went from the man who was cowering at the wall from the creature that held him trapped. One of the man’s hands was up, a pale starfish shape that broke her heart.
She had to help!
Her magic gathered and she uttered a spell, one that stopped the rogue in its tracks, at least for a moment. Her spell cast a faint blue light over the wall, the wolf and the man, illuminating them. The spell shattered quickly as the rogue moved.
Adrenaline soared through her veins. The rogue had enough power to break a spell!
“Help,” the man moaned.
Cara gathered her strength and shot another spell at the rogue. Its heavily furred body slunk lower toward the dirty concrete. Its eyes glowed a baleful red and its muzzle lifted to show dripping fangs. Had it bitten the man behind it already? If so, she was fighting for his life for no reason — she would have to kill him too. Better dead than a rogue.
The rogue shook off the powerful spell she had hurled at him, but it was wounded. It limped as it ran toward her, gathering speed and power so that it could pounce. She could smell the madness coming off it in heated waves. A mad rogue was the most dangerous of all, and she was alone with it!
Or was she? Another man came running from behind her, putting himself between Cara and the rogue. His blond hair shone in the shattered blue light and his eyes were fastened on the rogue. His powerful arms came up and he caught the furious creature as it pounced.
There was a loud cry and then a sickening snap. Blood flowed freely. Cara was sure her would-be savior was dead, but instead, it was the rogue that dropped, limp and bloody, to the concrete.
A silver blade shone in the moonlight, wickedly sharp and covered in blood. The rogue whimpered once and began to turn. The man that the rogue had been attacking tried to run, but the one holding the silver blade caught him.
Cara’s heart leaped into her throat. Who was this man? He had to be a Hunter! She knew they still existed, although most of them had been wiped out in the wars between Lycan and vampire that had raged for nearly a century.
He checked the terrified man and then turned to her. “You have magic.”
It was a statement. His voice was a rich warm baritone that made her knees go weak and her mouth go dry. The light showed her his face: green eyes above a set of high cheekbones and a strong jawline.
“Yes.”
“He’s not been bitten. Make sure he can’t tell this story.”
Okay, so he had to be a Hunter. He was not freaked out by her magic and he knew to check for a bite on the almost-victim. She didn’t bother to try to lie or to tell him he’d seen something he hadn’t; he already knew what he’d seen.
She put a hand on the man’s eyes and spoke softly. His eyes closed and he slumped forward. The Hunter propped him up next to the wall while he went to the rogue’s prostrate body.