Night's Master

“Rafe…”



“You should get some rest.”



“Are you going to run away from me every time I learn something new about you, about how you live?”



He looked down at me, his eyes narrowed. “Is that what I do?”



“You know it is.”



“I don't want to hurt you. I keep telling myself to stay away, that no matter how I feel about you, about us, no good will ever come of it, but…”



“Stop thinking so much.” I rose from the sofa and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I'm a big girl. I know what I'm doing.”



“I only wish that was true,” he said, but he didn't back away.



Hours later, after Rafe had gone off in search of prey, I curled up on the sofa and thought over the events of the last few days.



I had met Rafe's grandparents.



The war was no longer between the Werewolves and the Vampires, but between the Supernatural creatures and the rest of the world.



The only friend I had in town was now a Werewolf.



I was falling deeper in love with Raphael Cordova with every passing day.



I was able to see what he saw and hear what he heard. Even more amazing, I was now seeing images from his past.



Oak Hollow was no longer a safe haven; perhaps it never had been.



On that happy note, I put on my favorite comfy nightgown and went to bed.



It was raining again when I woke on Saturday morning. The gloomy weather perfectly suited my mood, which only grew worse when I sat down to breakfast and read the paper. A man's body had been found out near Brawley Woods; a teenage boy was missing.



I'd barely opened the shop when Edna and Pearl arrived. Today, they were wearing brightly colored turtleneck sweaters, jeans, fur-lined boots, and floppy hats. The dead man and the missing boy were all the two women could talk about.



Edna informed me that the dead man was Ezra Solomon, a thirty-year-old computer programmer who had stopped in Oak Hollow on his way to South Carolina. The teenager had been the oldest son of Jack and Alpha Cameron, who owned Oak Hollow's only bed and breakfast. They had two other kids—a boy about twelve, and a girl a few years younger.



“How do you two know all this?” I asked, looking from Edna to Pearl and back again. As far as I knew, the names of the deceased hadn't been released to the public yet.



Pearl and Edna exchanged that conspiratorial look that I was quickly becoming familiar with, and then they changed the subject.



I knew they weren't Werewolves or Vampires, but what if they were witches, like Rafe's grandmother? Like Werewolves and Vampires, witches were Supernatural creatures. For all I knew, Edna and Pearl met in the woods late at night and read deer entrails or something.



“I'd close up early tonight if I were you,” Edna said, dropping a load of books, mainly romantic suspense and sci-fi, on the counter.



“Oh? Why?”



“Let's just say the streets won't be safe after dark,” Pearl said. “When you see Raphael, you might suggest that he leave town for a while.”



I couldn't help noticing she said “when” and not “if”.



“There's a hunter in town,” Edna explained, lowering her voice. “His name is Travis Jackson. He's from Amarillo, Texas, and he's staying at the hotel.”



And with that bit of ominous information, Edna and Pearl gathered up their purchases and left the store.



Standing behind the counter, I looked out the window at the rain and wondered what other surprises the night would bring.



Chapter Seventeen



The night brought Travis Jackson and a flurry of raindrops into the store just as I was getting ready to close up. Of course, I didn't know who he was at first, just a tall, good-looking man with short brown hair and dark, piercing eyes. In spite of the inclement weather, he wore a cream-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of faded jeans, and scuffed brown boots. I guessed he was in his mid-thirties or thereabouts. He nodded at me as he passed the front counter and moved toward the murder mystery section.



I would have told him I was closing and asked him to leave, but hey, I couldn't afford to turn away a customer.



He returned a few minutes later with a couple of paperbacks and swiped his credit card through the machine. Cash money rarely exchanged hands these days. In fact, it was getting to be a rare commodity, as were checks. Nearly every transaction was paid for by credit card. Businesses no longer wrote checks to their employees; instead, whatever amount was due was deposited in a personal bank account.



I rang up the sale, then asked to see his driver's license.



I murmured, “Thank you, Mr. Jackson,” and then it hit me. He was the hunter from Texas. I stared at the silver cross that hung from a thick silver chain at his throat, and then glanced at the door, hoping Rafe wouldn't show up.



Jackson followed my gaze then looked back at me. “Are you expecting someone?”



“What? Oh, no.” I dropped the books into a bag and placed the sack on the counter. “Please, come again.”



He smiled, revealing a dimple in one cheek. “I'm new in town,” he said. “I don't suppose you'd consider going out to dinner with me? You know, sort of a gesture of goodwill from one of the town's prettiest citizens.”



I should have moved to Oak Hollow sooner, I thought. I had only been here a short time and three men had already shown an interest in me. Of course, a Vampire and a Were-tiger weren't men in the usual sense of the word. And this man, though handsome, repelled me, though I couldn't say why.



“I can't,” I said. “I'm sorry.”



He glanced at my left hand. “You're not married or engaged, so I guess it must be me.”



“No, it's not you,” I said quickly, but it was. There was something in his eyes I didn't like. I wasn't sure what it was, but I had the feeling he was hiding something dark and ugly.



“If it's not me, then what is it?”



Persistent cuss,I thought. “I'm in a relationship.”



He leaned one hip against the counter. “Hmm, a one-on-one kind of thing, where you don't date anyone else?”



“I'm afraid so.”



He made a tsking sound. “Just my luck.”



I had to smile at that.



“If your relationship goes south, I hope you'll let me know.”



“Does that mean you're here to stay?”



“Pretty much.”



I filed that bit of news away for Rafe. “What is it that you do?” I asked, wondering if he would tell me the truth.



“Are you sure you want to know?”



“Of course. Why wouldn't I?”



“I might never get you to go out with me, once you know my line of work.”



“I already know,” I said, and then bit down on my lower lip, thinking maybe I should have kept that bit of information to myself.



“I don't believe you. How could you possibly know?”



“It's hard to keep a secret in a small town. Didn't you know that?”



His eyes narrowed. “So, what is it you think I do?”



I'd never been much of a liar, so I blurted the truth. “I think you're a Vampire hunter.”



He swore a pithy oath. “How the hell did you find out?”



I was somewhat surprised that he admitted it. “Is it supposed to be hush-hush?”



“Not exactly. On the other hand, the fewer people who know, the better.”



Leaning forward, I whispered, “Don't worry, your guilty secret is safe with me.”Well, pretty safe, I amended silently. “Do you just hunt Vampires?”



“And Werewolves,” he admitted, “and anything else that goes bump in the night. So, am I dead in the water?”



“No more than you were before,” I said. “How many Vampires and Werewolves have you killed?”



“All together, or just this year?”



I would have thought he was kidding except for the sudden tightening of his jaw muscles. This was interesting news, indeed. Rafe had told me there hadn't been any Vampire hunters in the last twenty-five years. Apparently, he'd missed one. I wondered what else he might be mistaken about. “So, how many?”



“Thirty-six Vamps, eighteen Werewolves, and one Were-leopard.”



“You must be good at it,” I muttered. He had to be, or he would have been dead long before now.



“It's a gift.”



“A bloody one, I should think.”



He rested his elbow on the counter. “At times,” he admitted, “but a necessary one. Have you noticed any increase in paranormal activity in town lately?”



“No, why?”



“I'm getting a strong sense of Supernatural presence in the area.”



“Really?”



He nodded.



“How do you find these…creatures?”



He dragged a hand over his jaw, and then he smiled a cat-that-just-ate-the-canary kind of smile. “Like I said, it's a gift.”



“What do you have, some kind of voodoo that tells you when they're nearby?”



“Something like that.”



“So, how does it work?”



“I don't know how to explain it,” he said, “but when there's a Were or a Vamp in the vicinity, I just know it.”



It occurred to me that Travis Jackson had the same sort of “gift” that I had, which made me wonder if all Vampire hunters possessed it, which then made me wonder what I was doing with it. I certainly wasn't a hunter, nor did I have any desire to be one.



“Do all Vampire hunters have that peculiar ability?”



“No. Just the best ones.” His tone of voice suggested that he was among the best of the best.



“And the others?”



“They just want to kill things.”



“So, how many hunters are there?” I asked, thinking this was something Rafe might need to know, if he didn't already. “I mean, I've heard there are hunters in training, I guess you'd call them, but I didn't think there were any already working.”