Chapter One
Ryker Bennett was in a foul mood.
That filthy leech had actually managed to score a bite, and Ryker’s skin burned from its venom. He’d been foolish to allow something so small to distract him. The rules of survival were clear, and he’d abided by them his entire life. Why tonight had been any different, he’d no idea, but laboring on it seemed pointless. Right now, all that mattered was cleansing the wound. Though, he didn’t relish the idea of dousing his throbbing shoulder in holy water.
A name—something so simple, and it had nearly brought his end upon him. If his brothers ever found out, they would never let him live it down. Hell, if he hadn’t managed to stake that blighted vampire, the entire paranormal community would have heard of his incompetence. Thankfully, the leech was little more than dust now, and if Ryker was lucky, his brothers would never learn of this.
Rolling out his shoulder, he pinched his eyes shut as he bit back a pained groan. Lord, did it hurt. It wasn’t the first time a darkling had managed to land a blow against him, but this was by far the worst. And all because it had uttered Jenna’s name.
Stupid.
Jenna was long gone from his life. There was no reason she should still affect him, and he hated that she did. As if the woman hadn’t brought him enough heartache, now she was adding physical anguish to the list.
Cursing under his breath, he palmed open the church’s oak doors with his good arm and slipped within. Far too late for mass, the church stood empty with only the stone statues to keep him company. It was a small consolation that there was no one to witness him bleeding to death.
Pausing in the entry, Ryker glanced down the aisle, his gaze falling on a bank of prayer candles. Once, there’d been a time when he might have lit one and whispered a few words of gratitude: for being alive, for surviving another hunt.... Tonight, he was simply tired, and with a quiet sigh, he turned and slunk down the nearby hidden stairwell.
Though he’d never admit it aloud, it bothered him that some vile bloodsucker had spoken Jenna’s name. That they knew she’d once meant so much to him proved he’d been careless. For that reason only, he’d be forever grateful that she’d left him. At the very least, perhaps her leaving had managed to keep her safe from everything that went bump in the night.
Ryker hadn’t been particularly careful with his stories of everything he hunted, and when he’d finally looked back on their time together, it was no wonder she’d run. What woman wanted to tie herself to a man who hunted monsters? What life could he have provided her beyond blood and death? Of course, that justification did little to ease the ache. Two years, and she still had such a hold over him.
Pathetic.
Grimacing, he repositioned his arm against his side and rounded the bottom of the stairwell.
Though the room he entered was small, it contained all he needed. Dragging his feet over to the battered table resting against the far wall, his fingers curled around a first-aid kit. Closing this wound was going to hurt more than the whetted fangs that had torn him open, but with a deep breath, he flipped open the lid and fished out the necessities.
Ripping into a package of sterile cloth with his teeth, he dabbed at the rivulets of blood spilling down his shoulder. He could have done with a little courage, preferably of the liquid sort. Too bad he didn’t have any.
“Here,” an aged voice grunted behind him.
Cursing, Ryker spun, wincing when the tips of his fingers caught against his torn flesh. “Father Stewart,” he bit out, swallowing the colorful blasphemies dangling from the tip of his tongue.
“That looks painful,” Father Stewart muttered, the heels of his shoes falling lightly against the concrete floor as he edged closer.
“Nah,” Ryker deadpanned. “Nothing more than a tickle.”
“I may be a man of faith, but I still understand sarcasm,
Ryker Bennett was in a foul mood.
That filthy leech had actually managed to score a bite, and Ryker’s skin burned from its venom. He’d been foolish to allow something so small to distract him. The rules of survival were clear, and he’d abided by them his entire life. Why tonight had been any different, he’d no idea, but laboring on it seemed pointless. Right now, all that mattered was cleansing the wound. Though, he didn’t relish the idea of dousing his throbbing shoulder in holy water.
A name—something so simple, and it had nearly brought his end upon him. If his brothers ever found out, they would never let him live it down. Hell, if he hadn’t managed to stake that blighted vampire, the entire paranormal community would have heard of his incompetence. Thankfully, the leech was little more than dust now, and if Ryker was lucky, his brothers would never learn of this.
Rolling out his shoulder, he pinched his eyes shut as he bit back a pained groan. Lord, did it hurt. It wasn’t the first time a darkling had managed to land a blow against him, but this was by far the worst. And all because it had uttered Jenna’s name.
Stupid.
Jenna was long gone from his life. There was no reason she should still affect him, and he hated that she did. As if the woman hadn’t brought him enough heartache, now she was adding physical anguish to the list.
Cursing under his breath, he palmed open the church’s oak doors with his good arm and slipped within. Far too late for mass, the church stood empty with only the stone statues to keep him company. It was a small consolation that there was no one to witness him bleeding to death.
Pausing in the entry, Ryker glanced down the aisle, his gaze falling on a bank of prayer candles. Once, there’d been a time when he might have lit one and whispered a few words of gratitude: for being alive, for surviving another hunt.... Tonight, he was simply tired, and with a quiet sigh, he turned and slunk down the nearby hidden stairwell.
Though he’d never admit it aloud, it bothered him that some vile bloodsucker had spoken Jenna’s name. That they knew she’d once meant so much to him proved he’d been careless. For that reason only, he’d be forever grateful that she’d left him. At the very least, perhaps her leaving had managed to keep her safe from everything that went bump in the night.
Ryker hadn’t been particularly careful with his stories of everything he hunted, and when he’d finally looked back on their time together, it was no wonder she’d run. What woman wanted to tie herself to a man who hunted monsters? What life could he have provided her beyond blood and death? Of course, that justification did little to ease the ache. Two years, and she still had such a hold over him.
Pathetic.
Grimacing, he repositioned his arm against his side and rounded the bottom of the stairwell.
Though the room he entered was small, it contained all he needed. Dragging his feet over to the battered table resting against the far wall, his fingers curled around a first-aid kit. Closing this wound was going to hurt more than the whetted fangs that had torn him open, but with a deep breath, he flipped open the lid and fished out the necessities.
Ripping into a package of sterile cloth with his teeth, he dabbed at the rivulets of blood spilling down his shoulder. He could have done with a little courage, preferably of the liquid sort. Too bad he didn’t have any.
“Here,” an aged voice grunted behind him.
Cursing, Ryker spun, wincing when the tips of his fingers caught against his torn flesh. “Father Stewart,” he bit out, swallowing the colorful blasphemies dangling from the tip of his tongue.
“That looks painful,” Father Stewart muttered, the heels of his shoes falling lightly against the concrete floor as he edged closer.
“Nah,” Ryker deadpanned. “Nothing more than a tickle.”
“I may be a man of faith, but I still understand sarcasm,
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