Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Twenty



Connor lived in a flat above the bar—some eight hundred square feet of cramped space and neglect that hadn't been addressed in years. There were two bedrooms—one doubled as a walk-in closet—a single-stall shower, and a kitchen without any appliances aside from a roller dishwasher and a mini-fridge crammed under one of the cabinets. After some digging, Connor unearthed a small twin-bed in his second bedroom, one he'd sworn sideways he'd tossed out years ago after his niece stopped visiting.

"Thar we go," Connor said, dumping the bed's contents onto the floor. "I's sleep 'ere t'night."

Ryker stood in the doorway, only halfway paying attention. His mouth still tingled with the aftertaste of Izzie's blood, and his hands hadn't stopped shaking since he'd laid her down. He'd stood motionless as Connor stripped the sheets off his own bed, providing Izzie with a cleaner, more comfortable place to rest until she awoke.

If she awoke.

There was no reason to think she wouldn't. After all, Ryker's own turning came at the cusp of human death. He didn't remember the first bite or the two that followed; he'd had a blade in his belly and the world was blinking out, and then his lungs were filled with the smell of night and his body coursed with newfound strength. He hadn't been any further from death than Izzie. And yet, so much more was at stake now.

Connor wiped his hands, his brow furrowing. "Is he still down there?"

Mention of Zack Wright, however phrased, set Ryker's teeth on edge. After Izzie's heart stopped beating, they had jointly tackled the a*shole, patted him down, confiscated his crossbow, and tied him to the nearest sturdy fixture. Why Connor would ask whether Wright was gone was a different matter. From where Ryker sat, the trigger-happy bastard wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Still, the vampire refrained from snapping his response. "Yeah. Right where we left him."

"I go back down wit Bessy."

"I don't think he's going anywhere." Still, the idea of Wright bound and playing a game of chicken with a sawed off shotgun was enough to coax a grin.

"I don' like 'im."

"Not a fan, either."

Connor huffed. "Why don' we jus'…"

Ryker's attention drew away from the closed bedroom door long enough to favor Connor with a long look. "You're seriously not about to suggest killing a human, are you?"

Connor bristled. "Naw. 'Course not." A pause. "Man did come 'ere with a weapon an' a mind ta kill. Wouldn't be nuttin' but trespassin'."

Ryker snickered. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but no. That won't help us."

Not now, at least. If Izzie didn't wake up, if the kiss of his fang didn't revive her, then yes. Wright would be tomorrow's lunch, and he'd guzzle every drop.

"Could always turn 'im."

Ryker rolled his eyes. "Do you hear yourself? We got Michael out there, my brilliantly deranged cousin, and he's out to kill me 'cause of something that happened by accident over a century ago. The f*cking premise of his little group is those who were turned against their will. What'll happen, you think, if I vamp Wright and send him on his merry way? Figure a guy like that would just shrug and take it in stride?"

Connor squinted, the wrinkles on his brow standing in firm salute. "Oh. Guess yer right."

"Yeah." Ryker threw another glance to the closed door. Logically, Izzie wouldn't stir for another few hours, and lurking in the hall would accomplish little more than aggravating his patience. Perhaps it was in his interest to try and talk with Wright; it likely wouldn't go anywhere, but it'd kill time and hopefully provide enough distraction to keep his mind off the woman he loved.

It didn't seem possible, but anything was worth a shot.

"You think you can keep an eye out?" Ryker asked, nodding at the door.

"Where ya goin'?"

"Downstairs. Chat with our friend."

"Din't you say we isn't gonna turn 'im?"

"Chatting isn't turning, Connor. We need to go over the difference again?"

Connor frowned again, then nodded. "Naw. I got it. If she wakes, I'll holler."

"Good." He paused. "About Bessy—"

"Ya can't have 'er."

"Not have. Borrow."

The concepts seemed interchangeable as far as Connor was concerned. "She be my Bessy. Whut ya need 'er for, anyways? Yer kind don' die from bullets."

"No, but they still pack a f*cking serious punch." Ryker paused. "Poor Bessy doesn't get much action nowadays. You don't want her forgetting how to do her job, do you?"

The possibility had Connor visibly alarmed. He shook his enormous head, his eyes heavy. "Nar. Ya tink she could?"

It seemed safer to ignore that question. "We'll bring her back in one piece."

"Ya. Okee. But if anyting 'appens to 'er, I ain't gunna be happy."

"When have I ever steered you wrong?"

Connor huffed but didn't reply. Ryker looked again to the closed door, then shook his head. "I'll be downstairs."

"If yer gonna kill 'im, try not ta make a mess."

"I'll try to restrain myself."



* * * * *



The scene that greeted him in the bar was oddly satisfying. Wright sat in one of The Wall's less comfortable chairs, his hands tied behind him, his shaggy hair dangling in his face. Ryker had been adamant on tying the hunter's bindings himself. While Wright didn't possess superhuman strength, he was definitely the antithesis of weak. His muscles were hard, defined, and cleverly disguised, likely to keep observers at ease. There weren't many humans Ryker would credit with the ability to tear him down, and even if Wright couldn't deal a fatal blow in a fight, he could almost certainly provide long-lasting damage.

A combination of shock and self-preservation had landed him in the chair. Wright had stared down Bessy, his rigid body shaking hard, hate spewing from his lips and blackening his eyes. Yet they'd managed to get him here.

It wasn't a permanent solution, but Ryker doubted he'd break free anytime soon. Definitely not without aid of some sort.

Ryker looked at him a long moment, then turned for the area behind the bar. He located an unused glass and filled it with water.

"Is she awake?"

The words were so soft he nearly didn't hear them. "No. Not yet." Ryker returned to the open area and pulled up a chair, straddling it and resting his arms across the back. He offered the glass. "Drink?"

Wright glowered at him and sniffed the water. "I don't eat anything unpackaged."

"Healthy habit, that." Ryker rolled his eyes. "Just admit it: someone's afraid of catching vamp cooties."

"Habit's kept me alive, hasn't it?"

"If this is what you call living." He shook his head, his hand lowering a fraction. "Always knew this is where she got it, but it's really something seeing it played live."

"Izzie?"

Ryker nodded once. "I approached her the first night. She'd been lurking in here like a ghost. Not ordering, not talking, and thinking she could imitate a chameleon by dressing in black and fidgeting every time someone got too close. Connor thought she was a hunter, and hunters aren't what I'd call good for business."

Wright licked his dry lips and eyed the water again. Ryker raised it in offering, but received the brush-off once more.

"So you learned what you could," the hunter said instead. "About her. And me."

"I followed her to see if she was a threat." Ryker shrugged. "She wasn't."

Wright swore under his breath. "Not a threat. The woman is walking death whenever she wants to be, but she comes to a demon bar and she's not a threat."

"No one threatened her. Why should she return the favor?"

A shadow crossed the man's face. "'Cause you're evi—"

"Oh please."

Wright glared at him, his expression tight. "I've seen what you are. I've cleaned it up. I saw—"

"Yeah, Izzie told me. Fella's gotta wonder, though. Have you ever talked to one of us?" He gestured between them. "Like this. An honest talk. Man to man."

"You're not a man."

"That tune's grown stale."

"F*ck you."

Ryker snickered and shook his head. "You know so much about us, don't you? Here I figure at one point the person you used to be would understand that nothing's black and white in the real world. We're not saints, sure, but we're not all monsters, either."

"I've heard that before."

"And it never seems to sink in, does it?"

"So tell me," Wright said softly. "Tell me how you're not a saint."

"You first."

"I have a daughter."

It surprised Ryker the man offered this intelligence so freely; he'd known about the daughter, of course, and that was likely the reason behind the lack of hesitation, but it surprised him nonetheless. "And that's how you're not a saint?"

Wright shook his head. "No, you stupid f*ck. I have a daughter. You think this is what parents do? She hasn't seen the inside of a school building since she was three, and somehow I don't think preschool actually counts. You think I don't realize that? Every f*cking day, you think that doesn't torture me?"

"So stop."

"I can't stop."

Ryker crossed his arms. "You're after the woman, then? The one that offed your wife?"

The mere mention had the hunter's jaw clenching. "You don't get to talk about that."

"Why not? We're sharing."

"Amber is none of your f*cking business."

"And Izzie is none of yours."

Wright's frown deepened. "The f*ck you mean Izzie's none of my business? Bullshit. She's my—"

"Your what?"

He paused and sent Ryker a curious look. Then a slow grin spread across his lips. "I wasn't so far off the mark, myself, was I?" he drawled. "You are jealous. Guess she really did tell you everything."

A growl rumbled through the vampire's throat. He broke his gaze away, his chest tightening. "I don't get jealous."

Wright laughed bitterly. "Obviously."

"Got nothing to be jealous of. She chose me, didn't she?"

"And once she wakes up and sees what you've turned her into. What then?"

"She loves me."

Wright snickered again. "Yeah. She tell you as much?"

"She didn't have to."

"That's a f*cking no." He chuckled, his black eyes gleaming. "Look . . . as much as I love watching you squirm at the thought of me rubbing my hands all over her dainty flesh, she and I do have a history, and hitting the sheets ain't what it's about. That was one night, a long time ago, and it's not something either one of us wanted to repeat."

"This you trying to make me feel better?" Ryker drawled.

"No. This is me telling you what it's not gonna be about when she wakes up and splits you open for turning her into something she hates."

"What part of her loving me don't you get?"

"Loving something's one thing, becoming that thing is something else. If she loves you at all."

Ryker inhaled sharply, hoping he managed to find a brave enough face not to betray the worry living inside his chest. "You're right."

"F*ck yes, I'm right."

"She might not love me. She might hate what I turned her into. Hell, she might never wake up at all." He tried not to shudder. "But if she does wake up, if she doesn't hate me, if it turns out she loves me after all—"

"She doesn't."

"We'll see. If she does, then here's what's going to happen." Ryker tipped the chair forward. "You're gonna let her walk."

Wright's jaw tightened but he didn't object.

"More than that," the vampire continued, "you're gonna help me and her put a violent, bloody end to these twisted a*sholes that sold us up the river. Nothing you wouldn't do otherwise, seeing as they meet your standards by having fangs. Then you and your girl are gonna close up shop and get the f*ck outta my town. You hear me?"

For a long moment, they exchanged venomous stares.

"Yeah," Wright said slowly. "And what happens if I'm right? If Izzie wakes up and guts you."

"Well, the plan's open for revisions, but somehow I doubt she'd forget you're the one who pulled the trigger."

"And you're the one who bit her."

Ryker shrugged. "She didn't have a problem with it the first two times. F*ck, she begged me to give her the second. One way or another, Michael Prentiss is going to the ground in a nice permanent way. If I have to bite the dust to make it happen, that's fine. But it's her choice."

Wright cocked his head. "You cut me free and there's no f*cking telling what I'll do."

"No." Ryker's voice was soft. "There is. You might be a murdering jackass, but you care enough about her. And you know I could've killed you any time. I kept you alive."

"For your own purpose."

"I also know where your daughter is."

Wright's nostrils flared. "F*cking son of a bitch, you touch her—"

Ryker's hands came up. "That, my friend, is entirely up to you."

"This is you not being a monster?"

"This is me playing the hand you dealt me. All I want out of this is Michael dead and Izzie free. Small price to pay." He paused. "Your word, please."

There was no way, of course, to determine whether Wright's word held any value. No way to know if he considered a vow made to a vampire something worth upholding. Yet even though Ryker's feelings toward the man weren't friendly, his instinct was to trust Wright's intentions were pure even if his methods and conviction were not.

Furthermore, should Wright attempt to kill him, Ryker would be more than prepared. Whatever prior advantage the hunter had boasted had vanished the second Ryker knew his name and attached it to his face. Wright was a strong man, undoubtedly, but still a man. And Ryker would have no qualms rendering his daughter an orphan should the hunter so much as look at him the wrong way.

"Okay." Wright's voice was soft but the light in his eyes was not. "You have it."

"Your word."

"Izzie for me and my daughter."

Ryker nodded. "Pleasure doing business with you."



* * * * *



It was nothing like the first time.

Perhaps that had been Ryker's largest fear after all. That her eyes would open and she'd scream when she didn't feel her heartbeat. She'd see Connor or Wright and the pull for blood would tear her mind into pieces that could never be mended. Logically, he understood Izzie was stronger than that—stronger and smarter than any human he'd seen undergo the transformation. He understood, yet his past was riddled with so many mistakes that second-guessing the next step was all he knew. All that made sense.

Even still, it was nothing like the first time.

Izzie didn't start awake, lurch upright or even gasp when her new life took her. Instead, she opened her eyes and found him.

"Ryker?"

He'd been staring at her so long he wondered at first if he had fallen asleep. "Hi," he said awkwardly.

She was quiet for a moment, and they just looked at each other. Then she raised her hand to her face and flexed her fingers. A second later she had fought her way upright, stretching her changed body and feeling around her mouth.

"They slide out," Ryker said. "Your fangs. They slide out when you're hungry. Or excited. I'll teach you."

Izzie blinked. "You changed me."

"Yes."

"Zack shot me, and you changed me. This isn't a dream."

His heart twisted. "No."

Izzie just looked at him, then again at her hands, at her chest and arms and legs.

Shit, this was killing him. "Izzie—"

A sigh, then. A long sigh of acceptance. She looked up again, life at last bursting behind her eyes. "Thank God."

"What?"

The next thing he knew she was in his arms, in his lap, straddling him and pulling him against her. Her mouth captured his, seizing hot, desperate kisses that felt so good he could have blacked out. Izzie's hands were everywhere, touching, exploring, and searching every inch of his worried, exhausted body. He tasted blood a second before realizing her fangs had burst free for the first time, and she consumed him.

"I knew you'd know," Izzie whispered between kisses. "I knew it."

"You knew?"

"No, you did. You knew to bite me. To do this. I knew you'd know."

A startled laugh tore through his throat. "I had no f*cking clue, you silly girl. I was terrified you'd hate me."

Izzie giggled, not bothered by his confession. "I could never hate you."

"He couldn't kill me like that. You didn't need to jump."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I love you." Izzie sat back. She was so beautiful he wanted to cry. "I love you."

For a second, a sliver of a second, Ryker would have sworn his heart started beating again. It was fleeting but delicious, and though he knew it to be a lie, the sensation that bore it became immediately permanent. A rush from which he'd never come down. She loved him.

"You love me," he repeated. "So you decided to kill yourself."

"You know what I mean."

"Hardly ever."

The words were true, but for the moment explanations didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

The worst was over, and they had each other.