Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Three



The ride had never been steady, but each spin she took on the Harley brought it closer to retirement in the big scrap pile in the sky. Three years ago, the grateful owner of a pawnshop in South Central LA had given Izzie the right to any bike in his inventory after she cleared out the nest of vamps squatting in his storage shed. She'd been in need of a ride and the Harley seemed as good a choice as any. Truthfully, she hadn't anticipated it lasting six months in its condition. Now she didn't know what she would do the day she took it for its last ride, and she always held out for disappointment when straddling its worn leather seat. The bike provided freedom Wright's Chevy could not, and it was the fruit of her own labor.

Izzie sighed and leaned into the corner at McPherson. The alley stood vacant, without even a sign of the vamp she'd nailed through the heart. She forced down the lump in her throat and shook off what she refused to call disappointment. Finding no sign of Mr. Personality was a good thing. It meant she hadn't been followed.

Of course, if she were wrong, she'd have to bite the bullet and tell Wright they were compromised in a big ole way, and then St. Louis would be a memory.

She didn't want to think about that. She loved the city too much to give it up. St. Louis had personality other cities didn't; it made her feel close to home, even if the idea remained elusive.

And it had The Wall. She loved The Wall. The bar was her one sanctuary—the only place she knew about that Wright didn't. Let him think he had a beat on her wherever she went if it made him feel safer. Izzie acknowledged the wisdom behind the buddy system, but she also accepted that trouble would find her no matter how careful she was. Assuming otherwise in her line of work was unrealistic, and, quite frankly, set the expectations a bit too high.

She knew the source of Wright's obsessive over-protectiveness, however, and she had too much respect for him to call him out on it. No man could have seen what he'd seen and done what he'd done and emerged any better. Yet for all her understanding, certain things became clearer as she grew older—things she knew she would one day have to confront. Things she one day wouldn't be able to ignore any longer.

Her history wasn't as colorful as Wright's and she didn't bear his grudge, which occasionally steered them into brick walls. He viewed everything that went bump in the night as a threat to eliminate, no questions asked. And though she understood his methods and reasoning, there stood between them a defining ideological difference. His mission would always be search-and-destroy, and she couldn't say the same. Not when the darkest evil she'd ever encountered had possessed human hands.

A certain cadence thrived in larger cities, echoing through the streets and pounding through the air. The larger the city was, the less conventional its curfews and the more engaged its nightlife. By their nature, metropolises were demon magnets—they provided more places to lurk, more people to eat, and enough noise to let the demons go unnoticed. Unless one of Wright's elusive contacts caught wind of something particularly nasty brewing, he never made extended plans to stay anywhere that lacked a solidly disturbing reputation.

Yet despite its rather considerable crime rate, St. Louis felt familiar and safe, even when Izzie ventured through the sketchier neighborhoods. Of course, she took some measure of comfort in knowing she could handle herself if need be, and, though Izzie certainly knew she was mortal, the terrain was hers. She knew how to make her way without being seen.

The streets were alive with college students, tourists, whole families, and single men and women avoiding home for the company of strangers. The Wall sat in the heart of a cluster of restaurants. City consensus labeled it an eyesore, but Izzie couldn't help but admire its charm. The business survived largely by virtue of word-of-mouth since the owner, Connor O'Malley, didn't have the money to advertise. And, while he'd received numerous offers for the property, he refused to sell for the sake of family pride.

Izzie could admire that, even if she didn't understand it. Family and pride were two concepts that had never gone hand-in-hand for her.

The Wall was also a demon hotspot, and it was easy to see why. The pub's location was prime for picking off pedestrians. Izzie had scoped out the pub and almost immediately made a habit of dropping in to observe. While by no means the only popular demon haunt in St. Louis, it was one that always produced results. If Izzie had to guess, she'd say Connor O'Malley hadn't had a good night's rest since opening the doors.

After parking the bike in a nearby garage, Izzie made her way up Central West End's trademark cobblestone streets before ducking through the familiar entrance. She met Connor's gaze, offered a soft smile in greeting, and retreated to the shadowy corner she made home during every visit.

Izzie wasn't shy of company long. Within a few minutes, Connor approached her booth, a plate towering with cheesy fries and a greasy burger in one hand and a frothy beer in the other. Before she could utter a word, he plopped both items onto the table.

He grunted his hello. "Yer too damn skinny. Bin wantin' ta do this sinch ya firs' come in."

She looked from the food to his eager face and forced a smile. Connor was a bear of a man, standing a few inches over six feet and packing at least four hundred pounds. His receding hairline betrayed deep worry lines in his brow, and the sweaty wife-beater tank stretching across his globular chest had might been white once, but that time had long since past. Yet, despite his size and appearance, he was one of the fastest men Izzie had ever met. No matter how drunk, loud, and offensive the regulars became, they knew not to take their disagreements beyond a verbal level—they'd never get the second swing in before Connor would toss them out.

"I don't have much cash," Izzie said at last, despite her stomach's hungry growl.

"Not askin' fer cash. Can tell by da fact I din't take yer order." He placed a chubby finger against the rim of the plate and edged it forward a few inches. "Eat up, girlie."

Her stomach rumbled again and swayed her decision. Wright would have a cheeseburger ready for her when they met later, but that was hours away and she couldn't remember having much of anything the day before. And, while she didn't make a habit of accepting food from passing acquaintances, she found herself liking Connor too much to think ill of him. Granted, Wright didn't approve of befriending people who knew too much about them . . . or anyone for that matter. He didn't like much of anything he wasn't already acquainted with, and his comfort zone was rather small. However, Wright's rules were not her own.

Izzie flashed Connor a grin and popped a cheesy fry into her mouth.

"Thank you," she murmured between chews.

Connor didn't move. He stood and stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable.

"What?" she asked.

"Whuddya mean, 'whut?' Innit good?"

"Oh yes." She licked her lips. "Very tasty."

He snorted. "Knew that, din't I?"

"I guess so, yes."

Connor didn't seem to hear her. Instead, he tapped the frothy beer glass he'd set beside her plate with his pudgy middle finger. "Drink up. Norml'y charge six bucks fer that."

Izzie looked to the perspiring glass, her grin fading. The last time she consumed anything alcoholic, she'd blacked out. It had been her twenty-first birthday and her only experience with anything alcoholic save communion wine. Though Wright wasn't one to lighten up more than once or twice a decade, he'd seen it as his personal duty to ensure she experienced one coming-of-age ritual.

However, drinking on the job was a different matter.

"No, thanks," Izzie said, shaking her head. "I don't drink."

Connor grunted. "Old 'nuff, ain'tcha?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't have an ID."

"Not a cop, are ya?" He shifted his weight to his other leg, his brow furrowing and confusion flooding his somewhat glossy gaze.

Now this was getting ridiculous

"Really, Connor, I appreciate it, but I don't drink. A glass of water would be nice."

"Ain't nufink wrong with my beer."

His typically pasty skin had started to burn a light pink, and, though his expression hadn't changed, he was genuinely agitated, which shocked the hell out of her. She'd never seen Connor upset over anything, and she might have laughed had she not been acutely aware of how quickly this could develop into a full-blown scene. As it was, this was the sort of place she went to blend in, and her plan had backfired. Connor's raised voice had drawn every set of eyes under the roof. Of all the attention to attract, this was the worst.

"I'm sorry," she heard herself say. "I just—"

Something rustled in her peripheral vision, casting whatever she'd been about to say aside. Her attention wrapped itself around the man now approaching her table, and everything around her stopped. Him.

The vampire—her vampire—from last night's patrol was right the hell there, taking long, confident strides toward her booth with a cool grin stretching his sinful lips. And, before she could blink it happened again—the strange paralysis from the night before. The same foreign tingle itched through her veins and spread across her skin like a virus. She felt hot and self-aware in ways she never had been before. The sensation was strange and confusing, and she didn't like it. If she could find her strength, she'd kick in his teeth and make a beeline for the door.

Only she couldn't find the strength. She couldn't find anything. She just sat and stared, soaking in all the details she thought she'd already catalogued, things shadows and weak streetlights couldn't do justice. She'd remembered his cheekbones, high and prominent, accentuating his strong jaw. His skin was moon-pale like hers, and, under the light, his features had an aura of being too perfect. That perfection was a common trait among vamps, one she'd recognized but never truly comprehended until now.

Then her wandering gaze clashed with his, which shone a bright sea-blue—a splotch of color on an otherwise white canvas. His hair was short and jet black, and he wore a Matrix-style leather duster that billowed behind him with every lengthy step. He looked pristine, even in a dirty place. Cool, collected, encompassed with a familiar sense of old-world power. Had she seen him immediately, as she should have, Connor and his plate of instant heart attack would have been the least of her worries.

"Don't mind the lady, Conn," the vampire purred.

He spoke with a cool, refined timbre, his lips pulling tighter on his smirk. Though he addressed the barkeep, his eyes never left her face.

The vampire continued, "No sense letting good spirits go to waste."

Connor's giant head jerked at the new voice. Then his shoulders dropped. "Evenin', Ryker."

Izzie slumped in her seat. Well, f*ck.

The vampire inclined his head politely. "Evening," he replied. He stared at Izzie a second longer before his long fingers slipped through the mug's handle. "You don't want this?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Getting free drinks, so it seems." He nodded at the glass. "You sure you don't want this?"

"Bite me."

Ryker chuckled. "Dangerous words. Guess that you won't mind if I help myself."

"Knock your socks off."

He raised the glass in a toast before tossing back a healthy gulp.

"Personally, I don't think you know what you're missing, but all's the more for the rest of us." He consumed the beer at a speed that seemed downright unnatural, then shoved the empty glass against Connor's chest. "I'll have another. And bring the lady an iced tea."

"The lady can order for herself," she said pointedly.

Ryker grinned, helping himself to the vacant seat across from her. "I'm sure she can."

"And I'm not staying."

She would have sounded at least partly convincing had she budged an inch. The most she could hope was he wouldn't notice the lack of conviction behind her words.

"Shame," he said, plucking a cheese-drenched fry off her plate. "All this goes to waste."

"I didn't know you people ate real food."

He shrugged. "What you don't know about us people could sink the Titanic. Weren't you leaving, anyway?"

Izzie stared at him, shock fading into older, more familiar irritation. "What the hell is this?"

"Dinner?"

"Last night—"

"I followed you."

"Yeah," she replied shortly. "I caught that part."

"Didn't tonight, though. Got the answer I needed."

"Ah-huh." She eyed Connor, who had made his way back behind the bar and kept shooting them furtive glances. "Your friend, I take it?"

"You sniffed around his bar. It's bad for business."

"Bad for business?"

Ryker held out his hands like scales weighed against each other. "Demon hunter in a demon bar. You do the math."

A long breath rolled off her shoulders and any lingering thought of an early night abandoned her completely.

"So you knew," she said. "What I was."

"Sorry to break it to you, but you're not exactly inconspicuous." He waved at her. "Connor had it figured the first night you popped in."

"Did he?"

"Rang me up almost immediately. Said he either had a demon hunter or a groupie looking for a rush on his hands, and since you hide in corners and don't talk to anyone . . . ."

"Groupies are more upfront."

"Exactly."

Izzie licked her lips. "Funny," she said. "All this time, I've operated under the assumption that I'm only visible when I wanna be."

"Most hunters are like that."

"Not Zack."

Ryker domed an eyebrow. "Zack? This the fella you travel with?"

A rush of panic tore through her before she fell slack. If the vampire knew where she retreated at the end of the night, finding out about Wright and Berlie wasn't much of a stretch. She doubted Ryker was a problem since he hadn't done much beyond lurk and annoy her. Still, sitting with the enemy—let alone disclosing information—was definitely on Wright's You-Will-Be-Killed-For lists. While they differed on many ideological points, she owed him her life and wouldn't disrespect him by over-sharing with someone she barely knew.

Someone Wright would kill on sight.

As though sensing her discomfort, Ryker flashed a grin. "Don't worry. It's not him I'm interested in."

"Great. My lucky day."

He continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Sure you won't have a drink?"

Izzie scrunched her nose and shook her head. "No thanks."

"Your loss."

"I take it Connor decided I was all right, if he wants me fed."

"I told him you were all right," Ryker clarified. "And don't mind how he acted earlier. Connor's a different kinda guy. He doesn't put himself out there often, so you telling him 'no' really shook him up."

"To beer?"

"This is his bread and butter. He doesn't know anything else. 'Cept those he keeps close, like me. And I vouched for you."

"Yeah, 'cause all it takes to get to know me is a few nights playing stalker."

"Cutie, you got nothing I haven't seen before."

"Aw, and I try so hard not to be like the other girls."

Ryker grinned. "You don't have to take it personally. We just wanted to make sure you wouldn't be a bother. Wouldn't be good for business if you started butchering the clientele. This here"—he nodded at the cooling plate of grease between them—"was just Connor's way of saying he thinks you're all right."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be."

Izzie crossed her arms and leaned forward. "And what's your take in all this?"

Ryker shrugged. "Got free spirits, which is always good. And you for company."

"My lucky day." Izzie glanced at the door. She was nowhere near fast enough to make it there without the vampire catching her or her breaking something valuable in the process. While her demon radar had stopped tingling the second Ryker opened his mouth, she knew better than to get comfortable. Older vampires excelled at disarming their prey—not at all like the clowns she'd battled the night before. And though she didn't know this guy from Bob Barker, she could tell he was old.

Much older than the sort of vamps she usually tracked.

"I'm not holding you here," Ryker said softly.

"What?"

"You're thinking of making a run for it. Go ahead. It's a free country, as they say."

A rush of idiotic bravado raced down her spine. "Thanks for the permission, jackass, but if I wanted to move, you wouldn't know it until I was gone."

Ryker chuckled. "You're just adorable."

"What?"

"Like I said, I know my hunters. Been around as long as I have and you pick up a thing or two."

"And that makes me adorable?"

"You talk a good game, but you know most of what you say is bullshit. And you know I know it, too. But what gets me the most, darling, is your eyes."

Izzie felt herself sinking back into her seat. Whatever this was couldn't end well. Ryker had a look about him that made her feel all too aware of herself. Whether it was sexual interest or a predator sizing up dinner didn't matter to her; she didn't like knowing people were looking at her. The entire pub kept tossing her curious glances, even as they feigned interest in their own conversations.

"You're not out here fighting the good fight because you think it's what my kind deserves," Ryker went on. "You're out here for something else altogether, aren't you?"

Something stirred within her. Her senses rallied to object, but she couldn't. It would sound phony in her voice, and she was a terrible liar when it came to things that really mattered. Therefore Izzie said nothing and instead studied a French fry.

The door seemed farther away now.

Wright was so going to kill her.

"Is it him?"

Izzie started. At some point, her left hand had wormed into the side pocket of her cargo pants, fisting the handle of her blade. The movement was reflexive, instinctive, and she felt stupid for having not reached for it sooner.

"Is what him?" she asked, hoping the vamp didn't notice.

"The reason. Is he the reason? The reason you're out here risking your neck." Ryker frowned. "You're not lovers, are you?"

Izzie recoiled in horror. "What? No!"

Well, that wasn't entirely true. A long while back, at least five years now, she had approached Wright and asked him to be her first. It wasn't about love or sexual interest or anything beyond wanting to taste something fundamental to the human experience. Her life wasn't like anyone else's, and, though no two people walked the same road, she felt it safe to say she had it a bit different than the average Jane Doe. She wanted to know what sex felt like. She wanted to know what the fuss was about. And, since she lived in the moment, she doubted she would find herself in a position to trust anyone the way she trusted Wright.

Though the interlude hadn't been about love or anything more than exploration, it had taken a while before things felt normal again.

Izzie understood now how sex changed things. She did her best not to think of that night. Revisiting it made her feel exposed and soft, while she preferred to be hidden and hard. Furthermore, Wright was a friend. He was more like her big, protective brother than anything else. Having felt him inside her seemed horrendously wrong in retrospect, but she couldn't claim regret. At least she had snagged that basic experience.

"Ah," Ryker murmured.

"What?"

"I had it wrong."

"You had what wrong?"

"I figured him as just a friend. Don't often miss calls like that, but it has been known to happen." He grinned. "You do the dirty with Mr. Broody, don't you?"

"I just said no!"

"With your mouth, yeah. Your eyes tell a different story." He cocked his head. "It's amazing what you can tell from someone's eyes."

Heat spread over her skin. She really needed to get out of here. "What can you tell?"

"Already said it. You fight, but you don't have a reason, 'cept now I know you're in it with Butch." Ryker paused. "Just seems off, though. Maybe you're not in it by much. You two don't seem like lovers."

"We're not."

"Mmhmm. But you have been."

"It's usually at this point when I'd throw my knife through your chest."

"Lucky for me we're in a bar full of my friends."

"Yeah," Izzie replied indignantly. "Lucky for you."

Fortunately, Connor decided to waddle back to their table at that moment, tea in hand, before Izzie did something rash and stupid, like make good on an otherwise empty threat just to feel something other than useless. This wasn't her. This was a caricature of her. Vamps didn't just waltz up, introduce themselves, then give her a psychological analysis. Ryker needed his ass handed to him, and she needed to be the one who did the handing.

First, she needed to move or blink, or do something that indicated she still occupied her own skin.

"Evertin' all right here?" Connor asked, setting the drink down.

Ryker's eyes didn't leave hers. "Just fine. I was just explaining to the lady your policy about keeping the peace. I think we have an understanding now."

"She hasn't ate nufkink."

Izzie looked again to the proffered food on the table. For whatever reason, her stomach had ceased rumbling the second Ryker sat across from her. Perhaps because eating seemed intimate or at least came with some basic human vulnerability. She didn't know, but she couldn't eat now. When hunger inevitably returned later, she'd have that promised cheeseburger from Wright. Better to eat with friends than unknowns.

"Look at her." Ryker waved at her. "She doesn't eat much at all."

Connor mumbled grumpily and stormed off, at last providing the vampire with a distraction. Perhaps Ryker wasn't as accustomed to the pub owner's mood swings as he'd indicated. His puzzled gaze followed Connor back to the bar.

At any rate, the diversion gave Izzie the opportunity she needed—the break from Ryker's hypnotic stare. She bounded to her feet and raced for the door.

She didn't believe he'd follow her. He'd said he wouldn't, and she had no reason to doubt it. Yet, as she reached the cool night air outside The Wall, she didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved when she realized he'd kept his word.

Tonight was a strange night, complicated by strange feelings she didn't know how to interpret and thoughts she didn't think she could handle.

This must be how Berlie felt on a daily basis.

Izzie forced a laugh, her face falling into her hand. One little vampire had shaken her up by treating her like a person rather than a snack. He could be very dangerous to her if he wanted to be, and perhaps that was why he had her mesmerized.

Last night he'd stepped out of the shadows. Tonight he'd shaken her on territory she thought familiar.

"Damn," she muttered.

When the whistle of a projectile tickled her ears, it was too late to react. It was too late to do anything but raise her hands just before something pierced the skin at her throat, and the world around her went dark.