Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Two



She hadn't slept. Not a damn wink.

It was the vampire's fault. Izzie had no idea from where he'd come or why he'd been there. The entire encounter left her shaken and with a tingling sensation in her stomach. Normally, she didn't let anyone under her skin, much less a pale bloodsucker with twinkling eyes and a sensuous smirk. Granted, Izzie hadn't met many vamps who came out of the shadows with a wink and a nod, and intervened on the behalf of whoever she was about to kill. From her experience, vamps typically had the preservation of numero uno in mind. She'd never been approached so openly.

She'd never been followed before.

Perhaps that kept her awake—the possibility that Mr. Tall Dark and Deadly knew where she camped at night. The possibility she may well have led the enemy to home territory, and that Wright and Berlie could be caught unawares.

But, then, he said he'd followed her for days now. Why hadn't he made himself known before?

Or better yet, why hadn't she sensed him on her trail? Wright had taught her better than that. A whole hell of a lot better.

"And you know better than to keep shit like this to yourself," she muttered, kicking her legs over the side of the bed. From the way light hit the blinds, the afternoon was advanced. Wright wouldn't give her a night off from the hunt—"Evil doesn't take vacation. We sleep in, and someone gets hurt"—and she couldn't well sit still knowing what she did.

"Anything interesting?" he'd asked over their final phone conversation last night. Wright always asked. Most commonly, she answered with a resounding, "No." Last night had been no different—only, yes it had. She'd lied for the first time. She had no idea what had prompted her to keep her mouth shut.

She should have told him about the vampire. The slim, dark-haired, high cheek-boned, too-pretty-for-his-own-good vampire. He'd known her, followed her, provoked her, and yet he hadn't attacked. He hadn't even flashed any fang. No, he'd stood and watched her and she'd watched back. He'd known she wouldn't lunge into a fight without warrant. How had he known?

"Ugh." Izzie shook her head and searched her travel bag. "Okay, so we've learned a lesson."

Saying so felt good, but she had no idea to what lesson she referred, or anything that could be considered remotely constructive. She'd dropped the ball in a big ole way, and not letting Wright know could likely get her killed.

"Now, that's positive thinking," she said, her fingers fumbling through her dirty clothes before sliding over something clean. Tomorrow, she would have to drag Wright to a Laundromat. She was down to her last clean tank top and pair of cargo pants and, unlike him, she couldn't revisit bloodstained clothing. He told her she was such a girl about some things, though Izzie suspected difference lay in their natures. Wright wore bloodstains like trophies, while she did her best to scrub them out.

Perhaps the vamp had known that. Perhaps that was why he followed her.

Or perhaps she was an idiot with a death wish. After last night, anything seemed possible.

Izzie had her sports bra half on when Daniel Powter's Bad Day blasted through the silence. Wright's ringtone. Aside from his daughter, he was the only soul who had her phone number. She fished the phone out of the front flap of her duffle bag and flipped it open.

"Feeling impatient?"

"Where the f*ck are you?"

She didn't skip a beat. Wright typically blew past pleasantries, opting not to mask his intent with small-talk.

"In my room," she replied. "Why? Where the f*ck are you?"

"Don't get cute with me."

"I'm naturally cute. That's how the Lord made me."

"All right, I'll rephrase. Where the f*ck have you been?"

"I decided to get boozy last night after we packed it in. These guys from WU invited me to a frat party, and things got a little hazy after the beer bong."

"I f*cking swear, Izz, don't pull this shit on me."

"I'm not pulling anything, jackass." Izzie rolled her eyes and tossed a glance to the window. Still light outside. "Why the hell do you care anyway? It's not time to meet yet."

"I know that."

"And yet you're calling me."

"For the third f*cking time today. I don't hear your television going."

Izzie licked her lips, her argument fading. It figured. With Wright's vocation as a hunter, not to mention a father, he was freakishly aware of every sound that went bump around him, and even more alert when there was no sound at all. Since they did their best to ensure they shared a wall whenever they went, he knew what to listen for. Hell, by now, Wright likely knew Izzie's habits better than she did.

"I overslept," she answered. It seemed more plausible than the truth, the one wherein images of a slim vampire had rendered her night sleepless.

The line went quiet for a few seconds. When he spoke again, he sounded somewhat placated. "That doesn't happen often, does it?"

She shrugged, a sick feeling stirring in her gut. She hadn't had reason to lie in years. "Guess I was tired."

"Yeah. You gonna need extra time?"

"I was just getting ready."

"Yeah. Okay. Just do me a favor and turn your goddamn TV on or I'm gonna think you're dead in there."

Izzie bit back a soft smile and reached for her tank top. "We need to do laundry tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . ."

"My clothes are well past gross. We're talking f*cking nasty."

"And they'll just get gross again after we clean 'em. We ain't exactly posh people, Izz."

Her nose wrinkled. "But we're still people, so if it's all the same to you, I'd like to smell like one."

"You're such a girl sometimes."

"Thanks." Izzie's gaze drifted to the mirror almost unwittingly. Yes, she was a girl. A young girl with old eyes and snow-white skin. She was the ghost in the mirror. "Running out of daylight. I'll see you later, right?"

"F*ckin' A, you'll see me later."

Wright hung up without another word, leaving her to the quiet.

Leaving her to the confines of her imagination, which was more frightening than any reality waiting outside her door.



* * * **



Zack Wright didn't look his age. He wasn't old, by any means, but, at thirty-eight and in their world, he really couldn't be considered young. At times, hunting seemed a lot like a professional sport. The late teens and early twenties saw heavy training and hands-on experience, but the prime athletic years were short and too soon spent. The peak typically came just after turning thirty, and then time caught up with a tired, overstressed, and abused body.

Apparently, Wright hadn't received the memo. He looked not a day older than he had six years ago when they'd first met. When Izzie had targeted him as her victim, only to end up pinned against an alley wall. He'd surprised her. A pickpocket by trade, she had enjoyed a successful three-year streak and regarded herself as little more than a specter. And then Wright had smacked her with a healthy dose of reality.

"Lookin' to be killed?"

"Looking for your wallet."

Some men would leave a young girl dead without thought, especially if they caught her with a hand in their pocket. That risk had been a part of the thrill, she supposed—the rush of knowing the wrong selection of victim could render her a cold, lifeless body. She'd had a death wish even if she hadn't realized it.

Zack Wright had—he said he'd seen it the second his hand closed around her throat, the instant her back hit the cold brick wall.

He'd surprised her. The block and a half in trailing him hadn't shown much body language to betray his nature. He'd seemed rather subdued, even oblivious, which had made him a perfect target.

The aloof pedestrian vanished the second she touched him, replaced with angry eyes and a grip tight enough to give Hulk Hogan a run for his money. Still, even after he pinned her to a wall, Wright's gaze showed he hadn't the stomach to hurt her. And though it hadn't mattered at the time, Izzie had known right off she stood in no danger of meeting the business end of a gun or a switchblade.

He could have left her very damaged very easily, but he hadn't. Instead, he'd loosened his hold. His hand had remained at her throat, though, a silent warning not to run.

She wouldn't. He'd catch her.

"What are you after?"

"Whatever you got," she'd replied, drunk on bravado and her own stupidity.

The thrill of the hunt in no way compared with the thrill of getting caught, or the knowledge of what he could to do her. But he hadn't done a thing. He'd searched her face and found something Izzie hadn't even known to look for, and then he'd asked her to come with him. She hadn't hesitated, though she knew she should. Following a man home was a dangerous play, but she hadn't cared. She'd welcomed whatever came.

That night could have well been the last of her life. In many ways, she supposed, it was. She hadn't stolen to eat since then.

Wright had shown her mercy and shaped her aimlessness into a cause. She was good, he said. Had he been anyone else, she would have snagged his wallet and any other valuables with no effort at all. But he hadn't been someone else. He'd been aware of her and everyone else around him well before he drifted into sight. Wright never went anywhere without knowing his surroundings, or considering what possibilities the night could bring.

Six years had passed since that night, though it felt more like six centuries. Imagining her life before the one she lived now never came easily, even though she dwelled on those days more than she should. The death wish had faded with time, and, while the never-ending fight Wright had introduced to her never felt like hers, she appreciated his efforts all the same.

Wright made an art of blending in, which never failed to amaze her. She supposed his success came with not accentuating his strengths any more than needed. He let people find out for themselves exactly where his talents lay. Still, she didn't understand how anyone could pass him on the street and not look twice. He didn't look like he belonged anywhere. His shoulder-length brown hair remained forever ragged, and his five o'clock shadow seemed damn near tattooed onto his skin. Point of fact, Izzie had never seen his face clean-shaven, nor did his whiskers ever mature into a beard. He had a strong build and well-muscled arms, and those hands had known more blood than hers ever could.

He was an in-betweener, with his hippy hair and bristly face. Always on the verge of something. Izzie supposed he'd been that way since his wife's murder, marooned in the stages linking denial to acceptance, settling firmly on anger and refusing to move.

Wright greeted her tonight the same way he did every night.

"You're late."

Izzie snorted. She wasn't late; Wright just liked to pretend everyone should show up exactly when he did, no matter how early he was. "Nice to see you, too."

"Have any trouble getting here?"

Considering they were a block away from their motel, the question seemed ridiculous. However, Izzie knew from the experience just how much bad could happen in that stretch of road, especially considering their location. East St. Louis was about the worst place in the country to be stranded, let alone as a single white female. She'd had her problems here and there, but, like Wright, she made blending in an art.

Or so she'd thought. Izzie had made it a priority to be extra careful tonight, though, for all her caution, she felt eyes on her. His eyes.

The vampire's.

"Mugging near Collinsville," she said. "And a hit and run. Nothing unusual."

Wright's eyes narrowed. "You were careful?"

The sick feeling returned, but she did her best to ignore it. "Don't insult me."

"I wouldn't if you were on time."

"I'm always on time."

"That's a matter of opinion." His gaze dropped to her empty hands. "What are you packin'?"

Izzie glanced at the crossbow at Wright's feet. At times, she suspected he'd been born with the weapon in his arms. Save the first night she'd seen him, Wright had not once gone on the hunt without his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

"The one blade," she replied. The one she'd buried in her father's chest a lifetime ago. "And my cross."

Wright's gaze dropped to her neckline, unimpressed. "You really need to bring more."

"I know what I'm doing."

"What happened to the crossbow I gave you?"

"In my room."

"Load of good it'll do you there."

"I fight better up close," Izzie replied. "Crossbow's your style. It won't do me any good, regardless of where it is."

He nodded at her cross necklace, his features darkening slightly. There were certain things Wright would never understand; in his world, the only way to fight was his way. He didn't understand the benefits of touching the enemy.

Not like Izzie did, at least. She couldn't kill unless she met the bastard's eyes before she shoved her blade through his chest. She wasn't certain what she searched for, but what she found was never enough. Perhaps when she found the elusive it, she would know some peace.

"More good than that will do," Wright said finally, his gaze still locked on her necklace.

She had no reply for him, but that was okay. They had this argument at least twice a week. Izzie never brought enough weaponry with her, and what she did bring held higher sentimental value than practical. The dagger had once been painted with the first blood she'd ever stolen, and the cross was the last gift she'd ever received. The last real gift, at least. The last one that had come in a box wrapped in pretty paper and a bow.

Wright hated the cross. While he acknowledged sentimental value, he hated what it represented. He hated who had given it to her. He saw her unwillingness to part with it as weakness, whereas Izzie saw it as a solemn reminder of everything that had passed. She couldn't ignore Harrison Bennett's ghost if she carried it with her wherever she went.

"You put too much stock into that powerless piece of shit."

"I fail to see how that's your problem."

"I don't wanna have to train someone new, is all. Berlie likes you too much."

"So your concern for my well-being is selfish. Good to know."

"I just don't get it."

"Well, Zack, we have had this conversation a time or two." Izzie fingered the stretch of silver almost fondly. Aside from her need for connection, she'd grown too accustomed to its weight to leave it on a nightstand. "Just leave it alone."

He shrugged. "Right. Where you heading tonight?"

"Warehouse district." Back to the scene of the crime. He'd be there. The vampire. She knew he would.

Wright's nose wrinkled. "The lofts? Again?"

"I got a couple leads last night."

"About the lofts?"

"Couple kids gone missing. College age, and about as bright when it comes to picking friends as you were about picking me."

That much was the truth, but she heard the spike in her voice, the one that triggered whenever she felt she was being dishonest. Catholic guilt, however suppressed, shot through her veins like an old friend. She hated when that happened. Made her think she had a taste of what living inside Berlie's head might feel like, and that was something she'd like to avoid.

Wright's daughter was freakishly intelligent, but plagued with unwanted dark thoughts. Berlie constantly worried she would hurt someone against her will, and, while her father attributed the fears to the life they led, Izzie couldn't help but think it was something more.

But that had to wait for another discussion. Tonight she had room for only one problem, and her vampire friend posed a more immediate threat than Berlie's spectral obsessions.

"Same story wherever we go." Wright sighed and collected his crossbow, strapping it on his shoulder. "All right. I'm headed to finish last night's rounds."

"The strip, right?"

He nodded. "You want me to make sure you get across the river all right?"

Izzie snickered. They'd been in East St. Louis a few weeks now, though their hunting took them across the Popular Street Bridge. Wright didn't like staying where they could be easily sniffed out, and since East St. Louis's reputation minimized the tourism, it seemed the best bet. Their motel, Royal-something-or-other, was seedy and inconspicuous. Wright reasoned no vamp would expect them to retreat to the gutter after taking out the trash.

Only a vamp had found them. Found her. And she was determined to find out why.

"I'll make it fine," she said.

"You're a woman—"

"And anyone who messes with me will have their ass handed to them. Come on, Wright. Do you want to take me on?"

That question bordered on uncomfortable. Thankfully, he didn't touch it.

Instead, he looked down and heaved another sigh. "Right. Right. You takin' the bike or the Chevy?"

"Bike."

"'Kay. Meet me near Laclede's Landing by four a.m."

"You got it, Boss."

Wright flashed a rare grin. "Be safe."

Izzie did her best to match him with her return smile, but knew she lacked the spark he possessed.

This had never been her fight.



* * * * *



"Yer sure?"

Ryker shrugged, tossing back a healthy gulp of whatever brew Connor had slid under his nose. "Gave the girl ample opportunity to stick it to me," he replied, smacking his lips. "Aside from the beauty mark she left on my eye, she didn't take the bait."

Connor's gaze drifted to the eye in question. "If yer sure . . . ."

"I'm sure."

"A hunter who don't hunt 'less she's hunted." The bartender inhaled deeply and nodded. "Right then. Guess she's okay. Tink she'll be in t'night?"

Ryker grinned. "I'm counting on it. Only so many places she could've picked up a tail, and I can tell you she doesn't frequent other bars."

"Don't mean she'll be in."

"She will. She'll be looking for me."

"You tink so?"

Oh, he thought so. The look she'd flashed him before her fist connected with his eye left little to the imagination. Something had spooked her, something that would burrow under her moonlight skin just as surely as she'd tunneled under his. She hadn't been followed before, and she certainly hadn't been confronted . . . and, dangerous as it was, the seed of curiosity had been planted. She'd be back.

Which was just fine. Seeing her, talking with her, being in her space had only fueled the hunger. He needed to know more—why she fought if she had no reason, how strong her ties were to the man with whom she traveled, what had happened to her family, and why any girl her age would choose her life over actual living.

He wanted to know her. Honest enigmas weren't so easy to come by when one had an eternity to wander the Earth. And while discovering what lay beneath Izzie's dainty exterior might disappoint him, he was willing to bet the house it would be worth the trouble of investigating.

"Tink I'll make her sumfink special ta eat," Connor said with a toothy grin. "Poor ting's all skin an' bones. What do ya tink?"

"She getting the royalty treatment 'cause she's not a threat?"

The bartender shrugged. "Could use some security every now an' then."

"I doubt she wants to go on salary, Conn."

"Never know, do ya?"

Ryker shook his head and nursed another sip. No, he supposed you never did.