Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER One



Present Day



Ryker hadn't had the foggiest idea what to expect when he accepted Connor's request, but it certainly wasn't this.

He'd followed her for the last few days, looking, observing, and gathering as much information as he could. Granted, Ryker didn't particularly care for games of hide-and-go-spy; he'd been around long enough to prefer the up close and personal method of conflict resolution. If anyone but Connor had asked . . . well, that would have been troubling. Connor was pretty much the only person around who knew his name.

Connor would also do anything for him. Add the fact The Wall was one of the few sanctuaries Ryker had left, and there was no way he could say no. As it was, pride typically prevented the rotund bartender from asking anyone for help, so being the one asked meant a lot in a strange way. It meant Ryker was respected and trusted to not completely f*ck this up.

Not to mention lending a hand also meant two weeks of free drinks.

So, here he stood, submerged in the shadows behind one of the Washington Avenue lofts, watching the same black-haired vixen battle three hapless vampires who had fallen for her trap and mistaken her for a drunk college student. The vixen—Izzie, her name—had a fairly good routine. She stumbled and swayed and slurred her words to attract attention, and, when attention came, she leapt to the ready. Not liking her was hard, even knowing what she was.

Even knowing she might well try to kill him when he introduced himself properly.

After all, demon hunters tended to kill first and ask questions later.

Connor had seen the girl—Izzie Bennett—in his bar more than three nights running, and pretty girls just didn't go into The Wall alone. They especially didn't go into The Wall if their goal wasn't to drown their sorrows in cheap spirits, and Izzie hadn't ordered a damn thing. She went in, found a shadowy booth, and watched as regulars and stragglers chose their poison.

Not the most innovative way to scope out vamps. Ryker had witnessed this dance enough times to guess her intention. Initially, at least. So had Connor. Demon hunters in a popular demon bar were bad for business. Yet Connor didn't feel comfortable approaching a pretty girl under normal circumstances, let alone to ask if she planned on killing one of his customers. This was where Ryker came in. He could follow her without being detected and determine once and for all her objective.

Not that she needed continued surveillance. No, Ryker felt he had enough information to placate Connor. Yet, he couldn't tear himself away. Hell, these last few nights, she'd dominated his thoughts. The more he saw the more he needed to see, and damned if he knew why. Izzie wasn't like the other hunters who passed through town.

She wasn't like much of anyone he'd ever seen, hunter or not. For starters, she didn't go after vampires—she waited for them to come after her.

And come they did.

Ryker had seen vamp hunters from all walks of life. Young, old, male, female, fat, thin, red, yellow, black, and white, they were equals in his sight. And no matter how unique they seemed, they were linked by one commonality. Something that remained entirely theirs.

A cause.

No one stumbled into demon hunting for the thrill of it. Sure, a certain subset of teens enjoyed roaming cemeteries and pretending they were Blade, but once they got a taste of the real deal—a true-to-life f*cking vampire—they typically bolted fast and hard in the opposite direction. Real dedication to the cause was born through personal suffering. Those who hunted had once been hunted and more than likely had seen a loved one murdered at the hands of a night monster.

The hunters were easy to detect. For a group of people who enjoyed thinking they blended in, they constantly gave themselves away. Looking tough and cautious, concealing excessive weaponry behind baggy clothing, doing all those things that helped them blend among humans while never realizing they stuck out like the proverbial sore thumbs to their targets.

An old vampire could see a hunter coming a mile away. The clothes, the attitude, the fire in their eyes. The heated need to extract a pound of flesh in return for what they had lost.

All hunters looked the same where it counted.

All except Izzie. For the first time in nearly a hundred and fifty years, Ryker saw a hunter without a driving force. Without the flash. The motivation. The cause.

The same could not be said for Izzie Bennett's traveling companion, a man Ryker had taken to calling 'Butch.' Every night following her sweep of St. Louis's current hotspots, Izzie would retreat to The Wall, watch the interactions of the vamps and demons who wandered in, then leave to meet Butch. The man was not her husband, as Ryker had first assumed. At least if he was, it wasn't a happy marriage. They had rented separate rooms in their East St. Louis motel.

Ryker hadn't made an effort to get to know Butch as he had Izzie, particularly since the guy didn't seem to have the first clue about The Wall, which made him no threat to Connor. Still, Ryker had seen enough to determine the man could be trouble should they ever cross paths. The cause missing in Izzie's eyes blazed in his. Whatever happened to Butch, whatever provoked his warpath through the underworld, had been horrible enough to earn the hydrogen bomb.

Unless Connor made a new request, Ryker intended to leave Butch alone. His interest in Izzie and her mysterious motivation left little attention for anyone else.

He sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his duster. She was something else, all right.

For the third night in a row, every free inch in the Washington Avenue loft district crawled with undead predators. This happened every so often—there'd be a rush of tourists or an influx of new college students, and suddenly the residential undead were out and about, searching for a fresh neck and a dark corner. The lofts were particularly popular during the spring and fall—recent grads of southern Missouri who didn't want to get too far outside the blanket of home made their way northward to go to school or search for employment. Bloodsuckers had new conquests at their disposal, and, in a city with such a sizeable crime rate, local authorities overlooked the disappearances of new residents.

Hell, a metropolis of any particular size was bound to attract night crawlers. Blending in was beyond easy, and, unlike in smaller havens, no one really gave a damn if a tourist disappeared.

Izzie Bennett, however, was no tourist. She moved with cool grace and fluid ease, like a performer lost in the dance. Her black hair was pulled up in an inelegant ponytail that bounced and flopped with every fancy twist her small body made. Unlike other hunters, she wore a skintight black tank top and black cargo pants, which emphasized her moonlight skin. She looked little more than flesh and bone, though her muscles were well defined, and she knew how to utilize the strength she possessed. She had the make, build, everything a skilled hunter needed—everything except the conviction. She swung and stabbed, but it wasn't personal. She showed no outrage or disgust, nothing to suggest she fought for any reason other than to be the one who walked away. She was something he'd never seen: a hunter—and a skilled one at that—without a cause.

It was extraordinary.

Tonight was the night. The night he'd step out of the shadows. The night those gorgeous eyes would land on him. Ryker didn't like jeopardizing his parts any more than the next guy, but sometimes a good mystery was worth the risk.

In the meantime, he wanted to watch the fight. He wanted to see her in action again, especially if it was the last time. Once he made himself known, his stint as a voyeur ended. She wouldn't be caught unawares after this. The lady was a professional, no doubt about it.

"Pretty little thing got lost," one of the vamps snarled to his companions. He was a tall guy with a goatee, dark hair, and shabby wardrobe. He seemed every bit the type to pick the slow and stupid out of a crowd for a quick buzz. "Whaddya say we escort her home, boys?"

"No thanks, Romeo," Izzie said flatly. "You're not my type."

Another vamp roared a mocking laugh. "Think we got ourselves our own personal Anita Whatserface."

"Not quite as slutty, but I'll take it." She landed a high kick on the third vampire's head before whirling to catch the flying fist of the vamp behind her. "Must be a slow night." She twisted his wrist to leverage a harsh kick to his back. "All three of you taking on someone half your size."

The first vamp growled and backhanded her hard enough to send her to the ground. "Seemed like a fair fight."

She was on her feet again in a blink. "And here I thought one of the perks to being skinny was not looking like an entrée."

"Typically means you don't struggle as much."

"Sorry to break the norm."

There was a blur of movement and a flash of fang. Then a horrific, blood-bubbling gasp rang through the otherwise empty alleyway, bouncing off buildings and dumpsters.

"Son of a bitch!"

Ryker craned his neck, and was supremely unsurprised to see the blade handle protruding from the first vamp's chest.

These clowns were exactly the sort of vamps that gave his kind the shit-ass rep they had in the first place. Bloodthirsty pricks who thought with their fangs drew all sorts of unwanted attention and tended to bite off more than they could chew. Izzie was just that. She wielded her dagger—the only weapon he'd seen her carry—like an artist might wield a brush. The things she did with it, the strokes she made, were downright inspiring.

Ryker's eyebrows hit his hairline, a steady breath rushing past his lips. The others stood in dumb shock as she strolled to a nearby dumpster and recovered a discarded restroom sign in the shape of an arrow, reading "MEN." All the while, her expression remained indifferent, and no one seized the opportunity to leap to their friend's defense. For her part, Izzie returned to the vampire's side with a grunt, jerked her blade free, and thrust the sign into his chest in her knife's stead.

She'd been doing this a long time.

"Hey!" one of the other vamps cried belatedly. "You killed Ricky."

She arched a brow. "And welcome back. Ricky?"

"Dan, she killed Ricky!"

Izzie blinked and shook her head, her expression taut as though fighting off a grin. "You all sure are a perceptive bunch."

"Dude," said Dan the Vamp as he climbed to his feet. "Not cool. No one kills Ricky and gets away with it."

At that, she laughed. Hell, so did Ryker. Not only were these vamps clumsy, they were young. Youth always betrayed itself, one way or another.

"Was Ricky your ringleader?" she asked. "Big brother? AA Sponsor?"

"We don't go to AA," said Not Dan. "We're vampires."

"Ah-huh." She rolled her eyes and leveled a harsh, showy kick in Ricky's side. "Well, for vampires, you sure don't know a lot about your own kind. For starters . . . Ricky here? Not dead so much as incapacitated."

"What?" demanded Dan.

"He looks dead to me," the other said.

Ryker smothered a snort, his focus remaining on Izzie. She didn't look much impressed either.

"Vamps die three ways, boys. Just three ways." She held up a hand. "Decapitation—which is really gross and takes more time than you'd think. There's fire—but, honestly, what doesn't that kill? And sunlight. Stabbing the heart is only effective insofar as sending the body into a state of paralysis. If Ricky gets his two bestest chums to get him out of this sticky situation before morning, he might just live to annoy me another night. Survey says, though, that neither of you are the brightest bulbs in the box, so I'm going with a really long last few hours to think about what he's done before Mr. Sun comes and burns him to a nice, overcooked crisp."

Ryker couldn't help his grin. No, she most definitely wasn't like any hunter he'd encountered. What the hell brought her out here at night?

"Unless . . . ." Izzie twirled her blade and scuffed her boots along the ground. "One of you wants to prove me wrong."

"Yeah." Not Dan growled. "We're gonna prove you wrong, all right. Dan?"

"Ricky doesn't look good, bro."

"Well, let's take care of the she-bitch, and we'll get him outta here."

"Take your time deciding," said the girl. "I've got all night."

Ryker cleared his throat. Not that he didn't enjoy watching a good ass-mopping every once and a while, but these last few nights had been a little one-sided. Now seemed as good a time as any to man-up and introduce himself. It wasn't like she had anything pressing going on.

"You forgot one," he said loudly, earning a feminine gasp.

He liked that. Most female hunters thought it necessary to downplay their sex. Not Izzie. In a moment of pure reaction, she responded with a very womanly sound.

"Way to kill them, that is."

For a long second, they just looked at each other. He knew she recognized his kind immediately. Once one became familiar with vampires, they were easy to pick out of a line-up. As for Izzie, with escaped strands of dark hair in her face, sweat beading down her arms, her chest rising and falling with her rhythmic breaths—she seemed ethereal, herself, in that moment. Ryker had forgotten the power of a human stare. He rarely looked at ordinary people this way.

Of course, Izzie was far from ordinary.

"Oh yeah?" she replied at last, her shoulders straightening. "What's that?"

"Through the heart."

Izzie frowned. "No, Special-Ed, I believe I covered that. Paralysis—"

"Try swabbing the blade in holy water next time," Ryker offered.

"Dude!" whined Not Dan. "Don't tell her that. Aren't you, like, on our side?"

"No," he said shortly. "Your side makes our kind look like a load of drunk Goth wannabes. If any one of you had taken a second to give her a look, you would've known what you were getting into."

Izzie didn't crack a grin. She just stared at him and twirled her blade.

"She's tiny, bro," Dan said. "Didn't seem like much."

"Then you weren't paying attention."

"How long have you been following me?" Izzie demanded. Her inflection left room for question, but the flare in her eyes told him he'd be wasting breath.

"Few days."

She nodded, huffing a deep breath. The look on her face betrayed more than she probably intended. Anger, acceptance, and curiosity. It was a delicious combination.

"Well, shit," she muttered.

"You've been following her?" Dan asked. "Whoa, dude. Why didn't you say something? Ricky might still be here."

Ryker rolled his eyes. "As the lady pointed out, he's not dead yet." He glanced back to Izzie. "Seriously, try the holy water thing. You'll be surprised."

"Gee, that'd be the most helpful suggestion ever if it wasn't a bunch of bull." She indicated the cross dangling around her lovely neck. "Crucifix is decorative, meaning I know it doesn't do shit, but thanks ever so for taking me for a moron."

Ryker grinned. "Anyone ever tell you you're cute when you're pissed?"

"Not if they wanted to live." Her cheeks flushed and her gaze broke from his. "And are you gonna stand there all night or what?"

"Just here to help, is all."

"Yeah."

Not Dan raised his hand. "Help who?"

"You, actually." Ryker stepped forward. "Take your friend and get out."

"Yeah, that's happening." Izzie fisted her dagger, her eyes darkening. It was the first time he'd actually seen her angry, and damn if she wasn't a sight. Still, while conflicted with a variety of clashing emotions, she didn't betray a cause. "Look, friend, why don't you just turn around and I'll pretend I didn't see you."

Dan whined. "Why does he get to leave?"

"Because he didn't try to tear my throat out."

"That's usually not a requirement among your kind," Ryker observed. "Haven't heard of many hunters that let vamps off with a warning."

"Well, I'm not your average bear."

He inclined his head. Understatement of the century.

"However," Izzie continued, "if you keep chatting, you might just change my mind. So why don't you make like a tree and yadda yadda."

"You always this charming?"

"Sometimes, I can be downright rude." Her eyebrows perked. "It's not very becoming though, and I try to avoid it. Can I get back to work, now, or is there something else?"

"Told you already." Ryker crossed his arms. "These gents have had a rough enough night. Why don't you let them take their friend and scamper? Doubt any one of them will pick a fight with you again."

"I can guarantee they won't," Izzie said, raising her blade.

"No fun in that." He nodded to Dan and the other one, both of whom remained stupid and motionless with nearly identical vacant expressions. "You boys better get moving."

A muscle in Izzie's jaw ticked. "You have no right—"

"Why don't you stop me?" Ryker spread his arms and took a step forward. "Shove that knife where it belongs. Come on, give us a swing."

He didn't miss the way her breathing hitched. She hadn't been challenged like this before—not with an open confrontation or anything that didn't come with swinging fists or empty threats. She stared at him long enough to clue in Dan and Not Dan that if they wanted to escape, the time was now. Their pounding footsteps echoed off the pavement.

Izzie snapped out of her stupor and turned with a groan to her scattered prey, but they were a good ways down the alley.

She could chase them. They might have enhanced preternatural speed, but she would catch up. Ryker had no doubt. She was trained to hunt and kill. The night belonged to her.

"Come on, sweets," he coaxed as her gaze drew slowly back to him. "You know you wanna."

Izzie favored him with another long, confused stare before sighing, her shoulders falling slack. "Who the hell are you?"

"A friend."

"Whose friend?"

"That's for me to know."

"A friend who wanted you to follow me?" Her eyes narrowed. "And you haven't tried to take me out?"

"Haven't had a need." He glanced at the blade. "You're not gonna put that somewhere painful?"

"You gonna give me a reason?"

"Already told you, those in your line of work don't need a reason. Never seen it before." Ryker took another step forward. "Why do you?"

"Why do I what?"

She was stalling but Ryker didn't mind. "Need a reason."

Izzie was so close, now. Her scent flooded his nostrils—a combination of sweat, deodorant, and cheap motel shampoo. No frilly perfumes or girly body washes. The scent didn't surprise him. The best way to attract a demon was to give it a whiff of human au natural, though he couldn't be sure if that was the reason Izzie relied on little more than Lady Speed Stick. At once, her eyes were large and vulnerable, as though she didn't know her right from her left. As though she realized just how alone she was, and how far she stood from Butch's shadow.

Which went a long way to explain why Ryker found himself on the ground the next second, his eye burning from her punch and his ears ringing with the hard race of footsteps as she tore her way home.

Poor thing spooked easy, it seemed.

He'd have to do something about that.