Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Six



The warmth in her belly and the cadence in her chest made her feel more aware of herself than she had in years.

Emotions were weak, according to Wright, and relying on them often got one killed. Living without emotional burdens had given her a sort of addictive freedom, and, though she'd always known on some level it couldn't last, she had enjoyed it as long as she could.

Of course, Izzie respected Wright too damn much to give him grief about the philosophy by which he lived, but she had learned to take most everything her friend said with a grain of salt, especially in the latter years.

Wright had learned the hard way how attachment could lead to destruction, and in his world, that made it gospel truth. Izzie knew the real Zack Wright had died alongside Amber years ago. That man had buried his wife and son, and had taken his daughter away from any form of normality to seek vengeance on a boogeyman who would never go quietly into the night. Izzie honestly didn't know how much of Wright's convictions resided in Amber's dead breast—if he truly fought on because of what had happened, or if his hatred for the undead burned deeper than his loss.

Ryker said most hunters had a cause, and it was true. Though Izzie didn't make friends with others in her field to know this beyond Wright's experience, she figured there had to be a damn good reason to leave behind the civilized world and retreat to the shadows. No one would willingly choose this life. She hadn't. She'd been aimless and desperate, and Wright had saved her from herself.

Saved her, claimed her, owned her.

Until now.

Wright's obsession with monsters had not once struck her as exaggerated. He told her what happened, and she believed him. Her gratitude had fueled thought and action, though a bit of herself remained in every move. While she hadn't known for certain until the other night, she had suspected not all vampires were created equal. Some were truly twisted, as was the case of the woman who had gutted Wright's pregnant wife, but others were mere citizens of the world, living the only way they could. Izzie never targeted anyone who didn't have it coming, and though she'd been selective, she hadn't understood what separated the sinners from the saints until Ryker.

And then she understood. God, she understood in ways she couldn't have fathomed two nights ago. Ryker had not only refrained from lunging for her throat, he'd also breached the invisible line between the dead and the living and talked to her like a person.

There it was. Vampires were no different than humans, save their biology. Some were good, some were bad, and all were trying to survive.

Suddenly everything was in question. Wright and his motives. Izzie and her alliances. Could her friend, the man who had pulled her off the streets, be more dangerous than the father she'd put in the ground? Nothing seemed certain anymore. Harrison's demons might have been imaginary, but that hadn't stopped him from entering her room that night with a dagger. Wright's demons were real, but not all of them bore the face of his wife's killer.

She set aside the questions for later. She knew one thing for certain: she was finished relying on others. Harrison was long dead and Wright, regardless of what he meant to her, had poisoned her actions long enough. She was through being the tool used by damaged men. It ended now. Tonight. She would find Ryker and do something for herself.

She would save a vampire's life.

Izzie shivered. Her footsteps felt heavier than usual. The night itself seemed different, open and liberating. Soon her gaze found the rusted welcome sign above The Wall's front door. Her heart skipped.

No rules now. Just those she set, and those she chose to follow. If she wanted a cheeseburger and a beer, it was her decision to make.

Goddammit, it always had been.

Izzie sighed. No point in berating herself over that she could not change. Instead, she pushed the bar door open and immediately scoured the seats for Ryker.

He wasn't there, of course. Wouldn't want to be too convenient and actually show up when she wanted to talk with him. Izzie sighed and navigated slowly toward the bar.

Connor stood on the other side, jotting down some blonde bimbo's order. Izzie had the feeling he'd been staring at her, though, instead of his message pad.

"Connor," she said, taking another glance around the room.

"Wow, rude much?" the bimbo drawled. "I was, like, ordering here."

"Yer done," Connor growled. His gaze never left Izzie's face. "Din't tink I'd see you here t'night."

"Has Ryker been in?"

"Nar. He out lookin' fer you."

Izzie quirked a smile. "I might've guessed. Anyone ever tell that guy he has a major stalking fetish?"

"Weren't nuthin' bad," Connor said. "He bin worried."

"Worried?"

"Umm, hell-o." The blonde waved her hand. "Like, paying customer here."

Connor ignored her. "Sumfink grabbed ya, right?"

Izzie wet her lips, a chill racing through her body. "Umm, how did he . . . how did you—"

"Nose, girlie. They got wicked senses. He smelled it or sumfink."

"And what?"

The bear of a man shrugged. "Got worried, I guess."

The word seemed odd. Why a vampire she barely knew would worry about her? Then again, she had just left the only family she'd ever bothered to claim on a hunch that Prentiss might try to kill her undead stalker, so maybe she shouldn't question Ryker's concern. Strange as it was.

"Dunno where he went," Connor continued. "But he meant ta find ya."

Izzie frowned, then shook her head with a sigh. "Thanks," she said. "If he comes by—"

"Ya. I know. He said the same to me 'bout you." He huffed. "Not a ruddy messagin' service."

"You people are so rude." The blonde slipped off her chair and aiming her nose at the ceiling. "If this is how you treat customers—"

Connor made a face. "Ah, get," he said, shooing. "This ain't the place for yer kind, anyway."

Izzie had no idea what that meant until the blonde poked her tongue out, shook off her skin, and transformed into a pink lizard.

"That's racist," the lizard said. "You're a racist."

"Get outta here, hisser." Connor's nose wrinkled. "Last time I had one of you in here, ya ate my Fluffy."

The lizard shrugged. "Shouldn't keep cats."

"Get!" He looked back to Izzie. "Better find him. Looks ta be a wild night."

Yes, that seemed for the best. As it was, Izzie was at a loss for words. There was so much about this world she didn't know or understand.

But she had plenty of time to learn.



* * * * *



If these alley walls could talk . . . .

Ryker didn't get worried. He didn't. It was fact, damn near law, and he hated breaking the law. Well, his law. Those rules he established and obeyed, particularly when needed to cover a part of himself he didn't care to reveal. He wasn't a touchy-feely kind of guy. That self had died long ago, buried in the place his body allegedly rested according to his great-great-great nieces and nephews. He didn't form bonds and he didn't worry about humans. They were soft, fragile, breakable, and they didn't live very long.

He didn't worry. His life, better or worse, remained the same. It had for decades. Generations. Already he'd spent a hundred and seventy-five years on the earth, only twenty-seven as a human, and he planned on many more. Brief as his humanly stint was, it had taught him never to take anything for granted . . . or at face value. Affection, admiration, respect, support, fidelity were all things that could be bought or sold.

Ryker had certainly entertained human relationships over the years, but he knew enough not to get attached. Nothing ever changed where the lesser race was concerned. They lied, cheated, ate, f*cked, squandered, professed, bought, sold, and whittled themselves into miserable sacks of skin before night finally came. True, he'd met one or two humans over the years that he had missed once their time arrived, but even if those humans made up for the rest, death was a part of the process—the cycle—and he knew better than to mourn what he could not change.

Izzie Bennett, mystifying as she was, meant nothing to him. Nothing. She was a face Connor had wanted explained. Therefore, Ryker had tracked her, watched her, and learned her well so his friend knew The Wall's patrons were not at risk. The fact that she had disappeared last night after running scared was no one's concern, least of all his. Humans spooked easy, even the tough ones. Throwing Izzie off her game was bound to manipulate her comfort zone. She had reacted instinctively, and her instincts led to danger.

Easy peasy. Ryker's hands were clean. He didn't care.

And f*cking yet.

None of this made a lick of sense. Not the alley, not Izzie, and certainly not his interest in her. So she was different—there was bound to be a slightly more evolved human one of these days. The fact remained she was a child in a monster's world, and though her attitude might be enlightened, her actions would get her killed one day. The girl simply had no idea what was out there. What lay beyond the world of fanged fiends. What truly made the night so precarious.

Yet unlike any hunter Ryker had ever seen, unlike any human contact he'd ever known, any mortal association he'd ever entertained . . . Izzie acted on behalf of herself and no one else. She wasn't like the groupies—those women who either knew about vampires or desperately wanted to know about vampires. The women Ryker fed from got a killer high off his fang, and their blood was rarely missed. Similarly, Izzie wasn't anything like the woman to whom Ryker had once been engaged, the woman who had given his chest the first of many stab wounds. Maggie hadn't taken kindly to Ryker's new body or disposition, nor had she been eager to join him in undeath.

The women he met were either addicted to the rush or determined to end his life. Izzie was the first person to embody neither quality.

That was why he'd come out here, Ryker told himself. He didn't need to find her because he cared what happened to her—he needed to find her because she was too damn intriguing to just let die.

Whatever she'd encountered after leaving The Wall was not a friend, nor a coincidence. He'd lived too long, seen too much, to believe in chance. Any trouble she'd found was his fault. He should have sensed someone on his trail. He should have been more careful.

Immortality didn't excuse clumsiness or arrogance, and through one or the other he'd led some predator right to her.

"Damn," Ryker murmured, his hands sliding into his pockets. "Where are you?"

Footsteps bounced off pavement and carried through the alleyways, stirring him from his reverie and directing his gaze toward the area where Izzie had left her vampires the night before last. Her scent filled his lungs and, as though answering a prayer, she appeared. Her midnight hair was wrapped in a sloppy ponytail, her usually pale skin was flushed, and she had a bag slung over her shoulder. She skidded to a stop, apparently as taken aback to see him as he was to see her.

Ryker blinked. "Well," he said. "Guess that answers that question."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

She was visibly flustered, and the knowledge gave him comfort. As confused as he'd been since she wandered into his life, it was reassuring that she hadn't escaped unscathed.

"Thought a midnight stroll sounded fun," he replied with a shrug.

"You're a few hours early."

"Yeah, well, it's always midnight somewhere." He smirked, the pressure in his chest alleviating, but not as much as he would have liked. The notion anyone, especially a human female, could have any power over him was disconcerting, and the quicker he shook the sensation the better. "Your turn." His gaze dropped to her duffle bag. "Something send you running scared?"

"Why?"

"Looks like you're all packed."

"I'm leaving town, and you might wanna think of doing the same."

His eyebrows perked. "Oh yeah? Any reason why?"

"Look, I don't have time to explain. I just—"

"If you're scampering, why is it that you're here and not with Butch?"

"Because that's the way it is. What are you doing out here?"

Ryker spread his arms. "Already told you. Midnight stroll."

"Connor said you were looking for me."

Dammit. He didn't want her knowing that. He didn't want her knowing anything. Connor had a bit of a problem with the truth, in that he liked telling it too much. It would have been an admirable quality were it not so damn annoying.

Ryker sighed and shrugged, doing his best not to look bothered or tense. "And if I am?" he asked. "You're the one that bolted like a bat outta hell last night."

"And what? You decided twenty-four hours later you'd give a damn?"

"Oh, is that what this is about? You wanted me to come after you? Sorry, sweets, you don't really seem like the damsel type."

Izzie's eyes hardened. "I'm not."

"Then why ask at all?"

"Because I—ahh, f*ck it, it doesn't matter." She scowled, bouncing her duffle bag. "You're not safe."

"Well, yeah. I'm a vampire."

"I mean you're not safe here. They're after you."

Ryker frowned. All right, so that wasn't exactly what he'd expected. "After me?"

"Some guy named Prentiss and the two hussies he works with."

That name . . . . He did his best not to react, but the pounding in his head deafened.

"Look," she continued, "I don't know much. They say they're with something called C.R.O.S.S., but I forget what that stands for. Anyw—"

"Community Representatives of Subhuman Species," Ryker supplied, his jaw and his stomach clenching. "Goddammit."

"You know them?"

"I've heard. Seen the flyers. Nice little vamp-run, anti-vamp cult. Not the first, not the last, but definitely the most annoying."

"Yeah, well, they seem to mean business."

"Always do."

She stared at him for a long beat, her expression melting from frenzied to confused. "All right, there's that. I guess. I just wanted to tell you."

"That I'm in danger."

"Yeah."

He smiled tightly. "Didn't know you cared."

"Don't expect a Christmas card or anything. They wanted something and I didn't give it to them." Izzie bounced the duffle bag again. "Not in the habit of lending a hand to bloodsuckers."

"And here you are, delivering a message to yours truly."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't read too much into it. You're just the creep that pissed me off the least, so it seemed a professional courtesy."

"And it would be, if I were in the profession." Ryker frowned and took a step forward, his gaze roaming the length of her body. Clearly, he only had half the story, if that. Something lurked in her eyes, something she kept close to her chest and likely wouldn't share even with the help of a few stiff drinks. Whatever it was had shattered the small world in which she encased herself. She wasn't here with her friend and she wasn't here to hunt. She was here for him.

Something bolted through his body, leaving him burned and rattled.

Who are you, little girl?

But he didn't say that. Instead, he sealed another step between them, his voice dropping. "What happened to you?"

Izzie balked. "What?"

"Something has you spooked."

"I don't get spooked."

"Sorry to break it to you, but the human condition does come with its flaws, and that's one of them." Ryker's head tilted. "Why'd you really come out here?"

"I already told you. These vamps want you dead in a big ole permanent way. I thought you'd wanna know."

"Always glad to hear of a death threat," he agreed. "But it still doesn't answer why you'd care to tell me in the first place."

She tensed at that, but so slightly he wouldn't have caught it were he not paying attention.

"What does it matter?" she demanded. "You know now, and now it's your problem. And on that note, thanks. It's been really disturbing getting to know you. Feel free to not stalk me to the next city."

"Izz—"

The smell hit him then, and whatever doubts he'd harbored, whatever silent wishes he'd sent out effectively evaporated. Missing pieces of a puzzle he'd long ago left unfinished found themselves in alignment.

Michael was here.

For vampires, a familiar scent packed a mean punch. It wasn't a matter of strength or degree, but rather how the senses pulled on the memory. Ryker had known their paths would cross again. He hadn't mortally wounded his cousin that night in the Natchez cemetery, yet reports of his death—and the disappearance of his body—had given Ryker all the clues he needed.

Why Michael had kept his distance all these years was the true mystery. Ryker had always felt him. Always sensed through means he couldn't explain that his cousin had survived the long years. The first time he'd heard rumors of an anti-vampire society run by vampires, Ryker's immediate thoughts had gone to the man he'd left vulnerable, helpless on hallowed ground. Food for the taking, and Natchez certainly crawled with the hungry undead. Had Michael asked to be turned? Had he wanted revenge so desperately he would become what he hated in order to secure it?

If his cousin hoped to keep the element of surprise, he would have to live with disappointment. Izzie had spoiled Michael's punch-line.

Ryker drew a tight smile and focused his attention again on his favorite hunter, trying and failing to ignore the pang that struck his chest at the lost look on her face. She had no idea into what she'd wandered. And no matter what his original motives might have been, Ryker had led her into a blood-war she could not have imagined.

All because he'd followed her at a friend's request.

"If you wanna leave, the time is now," Ryker said. "Your fan club has arrived."

"What?"

He didn't get a chance to reply. A strange whistle sliced the air. By the time he realized what it was, Izzie's eyes rolled up and her body went boneless, a dart protruding from her neck. Her duffle bag hit the ground and she tumbled after it—only he was there before she could smash into the pavement.

Something rustled in the shadows. "Always quick, weren't you, Niles?"

Ryker released a steadying breath and hiked Izzie in his arms. Whatever else, he needed to get her out of here alive. He'd already done enough damage. "You can come out now," he said loudly. "I know you're there."

"Only because I want you to know," Michael agreed as he stepped into the light. He looked the same and different all at once—gone was the shade of the man Ryker had known in life, as well as the drunken buffoon who had followed him to Caroline's gravesite. No, this was a face transposed on a man who no longer existed.

"I'm surprised," he continued, nodding to the unconscious woman in Ryker's arms. "I didn't expect you to catch her."

"It was the polite thing to do," Ryker replied.

"Yes, and you're all about manners now, aren't you?"

"She has nothing to do with this."

"No." Michael sighed wistfully. "I had rather hoped she would help be a means to your end, but the stupid girl got it in her head that you were worth saving."

"Poor thing couldn't help it. It's my natural charm." Ryker glanced at Izzie's face. Her breaths were steady and deep. "So you've moved on to bigger and better things," he said, forcing himself to look away.

"You don't look surprised to see me."

He shrugged. "You were passed out. Some vamp decided to make you his chew-toy . . . or did you think you were different?"

Michael's eyes burned. "I am different."

"Oh, because of your special club?" Ryker's lips pulled into a smirk. "Yeah, I know all about that, too. Gets quite a buzz where I'm from. 'Course, no one takes it seriously. A group of immortal crybabies determined to get justice for a crime that wasn't committed."

"I didn't ask for this," he hissed.

"Of course not. That's exactly why you're still alive."

"I had unfinished business to tend to."

Ryker barked a laugh. "So you suffered through immortality and godlike strength just for me? I'm touched."

"For her, you bastard. She had even less of a choice than I did." Michael made a face. "I knew what you were."

"And Izzie gets the shaft?"

"Casualty of war," his cousin replied, shrugging lazily. "You remember war, don't you? She knew what she was getting into, too."

"Not with you."

"I admit I went to certain lengths to make sure you wouldn't detect me." A smug smile stretched across Michael's face. "You see, working with the government has secured a few provisions. Like C.R.O.S.S., certain people very high on the pay scale think creatures like you need to be eradicated, or at the very least muzzled. They're willing to work with us to attain our goal. We scratch their backs, and so on."

"Ah," Ryker said. "Let me get this straight . . . you're talking with a government you hate after becoming your worst nightmare, duping other vamps into line and forming a members-only club, all just to get me? And here I didn't think you cared."

The smile faded. "This isn't about you."

"Yeah. Can't imagine where I got that idea."

"This is about all of your kind. Those who spit in the face of God and align themselves with evil."

"Don't look now, but you're not exactly in the position to throw stones."

"To destroy your kind, I had to become you, even if it means I am eternally damned." Michael shuddered. "You're just a means to an end."

"Took you long enough to get to that end."

"Good things come to those who wait. And I have waited."

Ryker pulled Izzie closer to his chest. The rush of her pulse and the steady beats of her heart were oddly calming. "Shouldn't have wasted so much time with the overture," he advised. "I—"

Pain exploded throughout his body with all the effect of a cannon to the chest. Ryker gasped, his knees buckling and the girl in his arms tumbling to the unforgiving ground. He watched as Izzie rolled out of reach, her skin scraping against concrete and sending sweet whiffs of blood into the air. The stake in his back dug deeper, hardening his muscles to stone. The world threatened to blink away.

"Sorry," Michael said. "Juliette must have gotten bored waiting for my cue. Don't take it personally. She has a short attention span."

The pressure in his head exploded. Ryker forced his eyes to stay open, lingering on his demon hunter's still body. He had to stay awake. He had to move. He had to do something.

For her.

Fight it, fight it, fight it.

Shadows swallowed the alley. Izzie's face carried him into the dark, and then he saw no more.