CHAPTER SIXTEEN
All right.
He’d made it. The snowy forests of Russia rolled on in the distance. The GPS had already given him coordinates. He was in Siberia. The nearest airport that would recognize his name and status, and had the amenities he needed, was Tokyo. Well over 3500 miles.
But he was in the latest model Gulfstream.
Fully fueled.
The jet had one of the longest ranges in the private jet business. No worries there. It would be a long flight, though. But he’d stayed up for seventy-two hours before. More than once. It was a requirement of every man in Hunter training. So was swordplay. And martial art skills. Paul Henry hadn’t disclosed everything. While it was true he wasn’t a Hunter as of yet, he was definitely trained. To exterminate the most foul creatures in existence.
He’d prepared physically.
And mentally.
So why was everything so flat? Killing vampires wasn’t what he’d thought. There wasn’t any satisfaction. No rush of adrenaline. He’d taken out seven adversaries. They’d all been vampires. Every one of them had turned into dust after he’d delivered a killing blow. But they’d been pretty damned lifelike before. So much so, Paul Henry hadn’t even lifted his sword the first time he’d been accosted. Not until he’d been attacked, and realized the score.
Shit.
He’d been told killing a vampire was easy. So why couldn’t he get the images out of his head? He’d been trained since his toddler years. It hadn’t been especially graphic. The blood loss no worse than most horror flicks. He didn’t have a drop of blood on him. That didn’t matter, somehow. Those men had looked like living breathing beings. And, for some reason, they’d been intent on killing – him, or each other. Hadn’t seemed to matter. He hadn’t had much choice. He’d gone into an auto-pilot mode. Efficient. Deadly. Non-emotional. So, why did it feel so...?
Feel?
Damn it.
There was that word again. He needed to cease this. Facts had always been his forte. He’d had the following facts decided for years. They were immutable. Life was about one thing – achieving success. Feelings were fictitious. Frivolous. Emotions lacked any value.
So why did his chest hurt so? Why couldn’t he get a breath without a stab of acid-laced pain that made the earlier Holy Water akin to receiving a light snowfall? Why did it resemble a giant’s fist wrapped about his guts, continually wrapping them tight for fun? And just why was it so blasted difficult to keep his eyes clear?
Paul Henry whisked an arm across his eyes. Stared at the evidence on his forearm for a moment in disbelief. The sledge hammer effect hit his chest, a vise-like pressure squeezed both lungs, and the fist wrung another length of intestines into a hellish knot.
It’s not real, Paul Henry.
What is happening is psychological. It will pass.
He stiffened. Scowled. Glared out the windows. He must be tired. That was it. His eyes were weepy with exhaustion. He needed to ignore all of it. These sensations didn’t exist. Therefore, they could be banished. Shoved into a mental compartment. Locked away. Forgotten.
Dawn started lighting the landscape before him. That hurt even more. As if red hot pokers pushed against his eyeballs. Great. Sensitivity to sunlight was one ill-effect of half-turning. He’d just have to endure it. From the looks of things, he had clear skies for the flight east. Nothing but sun ahead.
And after that, his future.
Alone.
It had always been his destiny. Impersonal. Emotionally austere. Bereft of feelings. A vast span of luxurious emptiness.
What alternative is there, Paul Henry?
There were always options. He could join the vampires. Exist in the world of gray. Arise only to seek blood and then more blood. Kill without compunction. Prowl the nights like a scourge from hell—
Wait a minute.
That was his learned cognition speaking. The knowledge of vampires that he’d been taught, the information gleaned from the experts, the doctrine he’d been fed as if it was a banquet and he’d been starved. It sure wasn’t Eska.
Eska!
She appeared before him somehow, her image blocking burning rays from the rising sun. The sight of her sent a tide of joy flooding over him. Rinsed the ills with cooling salve. He blinked. Eska disappeared. Hot tears slid down his cheeks. Truly agonizing pain centered in his chest.
And that’s when he knew.
He loved her.
Oh, holy shit!
This was love, and he LOVED her!
Paul Henry took a huge breath. Watched incredulously as everything about his life went completely upside down. His plans for the future got nullified. Every fact was trumped. And everything he’d ever been taught became an open question.
He was in love!
As far as he was concerned, being in love sure sucked. It sent a giant left hook into him and sent him flying. Love was also the most wondrous sensation he’d ever experienced. So vast, it was almost impossible to quantify. Warmth and joy spread through him as he pondered it. Considered things from a different angle. Accepted new facts...this time based on feelings.
Eska had been right. It didn’t matter who she was, or what she’d done. All that mattered was getting back to her.
The sky filled with light. It sent flame-like pain through the glass. Heated the cockpit rapidly. Paul Henry fought to maintain control as he yanked the wheel, putting the plane into a steep 180-degree turn.
And then the world turned into a blast furnace.