Chapter Forty-Four – Hunter

 

Waking up with a gun pointed at your head is about as unpleasant as waking up to a fight with Kris Cole. They’re certainly both in the running, at least, for worst ways.

“You make a fucking move,” Simmons said from across the room, “and I’ll fucking shoot you dead, dragon boy.”

Simmons hadn’t even bothered to tie me up, I was so broken. We were seated together in a small, stone-hewn room. Two wooden chairs, roughly my height apart. He just sat there, shotgun across his lap, grinning like an idiot. Dust hung in the air all around us, and a fine grit of sand seemed to cover everything. Clearly, we were at one of the dig sites Cid had been working to uncover.

“Fair enough,” I said, wincing at the pain in my shoulder, jaw, head, arms, and more or less whole body. I looked around the room appreciatively. “Amphitheater? Getting ready for the big show?”

Simmons snorted. “Man, you think I told y’all everything? What kind of putz you think I am, man?”

“So, not the amphitheater, then,” I said with a nod. “Once again, fair enough.”

“Don’t worry, though, that little bitch of a girlfriend of yours is probably fucking dead already. Had snipers on top of the house soon as we brought your sorry ass down.”

My eyes widened, my hands balled up into fists at my sides as I went to rise from my chair. “You bastards hurt her, and you’re dead. Mark my words.”

“Oh, really?” He grinned at me. “Saw how well you fight, big guy. You sure you wanna try throwing your weight around?”

I grinned, settling back down in my seat. “Oh, Simmons, I’m just messing with you. Cid around? I need to talk to him.”

Simmons blinked. “Wait. What?”

“Come on,” I said, giving him a level look. “You really don’t know who I am?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Simmons, who do you think gave you the information about Kris Cole coming on board with the PDB in the first place? You saw it yourself, Cid and I know each other—we go way back. He needed to protect my cover in front of all your guys in case there’s another person leaking information back to Harrington. Couldn’t just be Marquez doing it; there’s gotta be others we don’t know about.”

“But…”

“But, what? Simmons, you think I love humans or something?” I leaned forward. “I’m a freaking dragon. Why do you think I didn’t transform when I was on the patio, when I saw you come out with that little peashooter of yours?”

“Uh…”

“Simmons,” I said, going to stand. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He leaped to his feet, bringing his shotgun up in front of him as I kept moving forward. He was too close, though, and didn’t get it all the way up in time.

“Think I’m worried about that?” I asked, reaching forward and snatching it out of his hands with almost no resistance from him. “All you have is lead, right?”

He looked dumbly down at the shotgun now in my hands, and not his.

“Can I…?” he asked, pointing down to it.

I looked down at the gun in my hands, then back up to him. “No,” I said, right before I swung it as hard as I could into his chin.

Maybe it was the shock of having been so easily disarmed, or that it had been by me and not Kris, but Simmons dropped like a sack of potatoes. Immediately, I was on him, my hands closing around his windpipe, my shoulder screaming at me to stop.

Eyes wide, gagging, Simmons kicked as he tried to loosen my grip on his throat.  But it was too tight, and I had all my weight behind it. “This is for Kris, motherfucker,” I growled as I pushed down harder, my eyes burning with flaming rage. I drove down with my thumbs till I felt the tissue crackle and break.

Minutes later, Simmons had finally kicked his last kick, and I was climbing from his immobile form with his shotgun in hand. Fiddling with the mechanism on the magazine release, safety on of course, I finally broke it apart from the gun and looked inside, just to check the ammo level. I pulled out one of the solid slug shotgun shells, eyeing it carefully.

“Whoops,” I said as I caught sight of the distinct single line with the six cross-hatches. “That was almost very unfortunate.” I reloaded it and secured the magazine back in place. I went to the small door that had been installed in the rock of the dig site and carefully opened it up.

There weren’t any guards on the outside, likely because Simmons had thought he was more than enough for just me, especially with his St. George shotgun shells. Down the hall, I could hear the preparation for whatever ritual Cid was going to perform. The quality of the sound made it seem as if it were happening in a vast, open chamber of some sort.

“Kris,” I whispered. “God, I hope you’re not dead.”

As I said the words, though, the enormity of it all hit me. I’d completely, royally fucked up. I’d lied to her. I’d lied to the one person who even remotely cared about me, and certainly the only person I actually cared about.

I let that sink in for a moment, even as the smell of Simmons began to fill the room.

I cared about her. I really, genuinely cared about her.

Like I had Natalya.

Like I never had about any other woman since.

“Fuck,” I whispered, visions of flames climbing the temple walls filling my mind.

A flash of the little girl Cid had had with him came to mind. Of the poor girl whose only hope might be me.

“Fuck,” I whispered again as I hitched the shotgun up higher. No flames. That wouldn’t work. Too indiscriminate.

Maybe, if I could find her, I could get out of here. Clearly she was important in some way.

I hefted the shotgun in my hand, felt the weight of its cold steel in the palm of my hand. Or, I could…

I shook my head violently, dismissing the idea. “No. Not an option.”

With that, I slipped out into the dim light of the temple hallway, and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible.