Claimed Read online

  Claimed

  By Cammie Eicher

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

  Resplendence Publishing, LLC

  2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349

  Daytona Beach, FL 32118

  Claimed

  Copyright © 2012 Cammie Eicher

  Edited by Wendy Williams and Brenda Whiteside

  Cover art by Les Byerley, www.les3photo8.com

  Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-495-6

  Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Electronic Release: April 2012

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  No words can express how grateful I am to the “Tuesday night group” for their patience and suggestions. Fonda, John and Patricia—you’re the best

  Chapter One

  Chiana knelt in an alley stinking of garbage, piss and despair, oblivious to everything but her desperate need. With shaking hands, she fumbled a syringe from a tired leather case, plunged the needle into the flesh of her belly and leaned against the brick wall, waiting for sweet relief.

  “Anything in there?”

  She started at Mick Hardison’s low and tension-filled voice.

  “Nada!” she yelled, shoving the dead syringe back into the case.

  “So get out here already.”

  Mick’s voice faded as he moved ahead without her. Chiana rose, strength returning to her muscles as the terrible need faded. Her racing heart slowed, her skin cooled and the desperation to hurt someone or something slid away. Opening her eyes, she pushed away from the wall. Time to go back to work.

  She ran toward the street, sensing Mick before she saw him. Guided by the yellow glow of his electronic sensor, she came up behind him and dropped to one knee. He didn’t seem to notice.

  Chiana watched over his shoulder as Mick moved the black box across a thin stream of what looked like transmission fluid but wasn’t. She shared his disappointment as the light turned red instead of green.

  “They’ve been here.” Mick scrubbed the substance into the asphalt with the toe of his boot. “Sometime tonight, but too long ago to track.”

  Chiana stood and scanned the tops of the buildings surrounding them.

  “Might as well call it quits,” she said. “Dawn’s only an hour or so away, and we’ve lost the trail.”

  Mick’s face took on a look she knew too well, the one that said he’d like to argue. She knew he wouldn’t. Chiana was the senior agent, and he respected rank.

  On the move again, she pulled a cell phone from her pocket, hit a familiar number and waited for a reply.

  “Take us off the clock,” she said. “We’ve been chasing a couple of biters for the last few hours and gotten nothing but close. We’ll get ‘em on the flip side.”

  Approval secured, she grinned at Mick. They were officially done working for the next two days. Of course, that didn’t mean they were off duty. They’d be lucky to make twelve hours without hearing from the agency, but she’d take what she could get.

  “I hate vampires.” Mick’s tone was morose.

  “Hey, they’re like the rest of us, mostly good with a handful of bad guys. Last month, it was demons you hated. And before that you hated trolls. No matter what we’re chasing, you hate them. You are one hard man to please.”

  She caught the beginnings of his smile in the glow of the streetlights. He should be happy. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been off for even twenty-four hours, let alone two straight days. There was something to be said for the bean counters throwing a hissy fit about overtime hours.

  Chiana pulled off her jacket and the Kevlar vest before they reached her cherry red Mustang. She tossed them in the trunk and settled behind the wheel as Mick eased into the passenger seat.

  A U-turn in the middle of the street headed them out of Louisville’s industrial district. The only sound as the car rolled north to where the streetlights ended was the music rolling from the in-dash CD player. Like a baby’s lullaby, it soothed them as they wound down from the adrenaline rush of the hunt.

  “There okay?” Mick pointed toward a familiar 24/7 diner. Located where city conceded to suburb, it offered cheap breakfasts and limitless refills of coffee. That was nearly as big a draw as the high-backed booths offering privacy as they switched from freak hunters to some sort of normal.

  Chiana slowed for her turn into the pitted lot, parking toward the back. She’d love her vintage Mustang in any condition, but she preferred it showroom perfect.

  Customers were sparse at this hour between dark and day. They picked a booth away from the cash register, but still near the door, and ordered without looking at a menu. Chiana smiled as Mick’s gaze lingered on the curvy waitress.

  “I bet I know how you intend to spend your weekend,” she said. “With something hot and blond, right?”

  Mick laughed. “And you’ll spend yours with a horror novel or some freaky movie. The world would end if you spent it in bed with a man.”

  Chiana flipped him the finger. He was the only person who knew she was still a virgin at twenty-seven. Long nights in dumpy warehouse neighborhoods led to talks that wouldn’t happen in broad daylight. One of those nights, their conversation had turned to sex and Chiana’s revelation.

  “No offense,” Mick said after a moment of surprised silence, “but wow. Sex is the ultimate trank for people like us. It’s the best way I know to blank out the night before and put me to sleep. I thought everybody wound down that way.”

  “Hey, there’s a whole lot of ways to take the edge off without putting the sprocket in the pocket,” Chiana fired back. “Ask any hooker.”

  They hadn’t talked about it again, but ever since that night, Mick had shown a protective streak. Chiana found it sweet, even if it was unnecessary.

  The steaming coffee that arrived at their table in thick mugs was fresh and strong. Chiana inhaled the aroma as she took the first sip. The stuff was every bit as wonderful as she’d anticipated, and her three-egg omelet was the best breakfast she’d ever had. She sat back, the empty platter in front of her, and eyed the plate across from her.

  “Hungry much?” Mick groused as she snagged a slice of bacon off his plate.

  “Girl’s gotta eat,” she said. The shot had sent her body into hyperdrive, kicking her pleasure receptors wide open and jacking up cell activity. That always happened when she got off schedule. One shot every twenty-four hours was the rule, and she’d hit nearly thirty hours before she’d found a place to shoot up this morning.

  Pink fingers lit the sky by the time Chiana tipped her mug to her mouth for the very last sip. Her body was settling back to normal, and she was turning sleepy. Time to get home and crash.

  “Need a lift,” she asked, “or is the guy working on your truck going to pick you up?”

  “Don’t worry.” Mick patted the cell phone in his pocket. “I can get a ride.”

  “Ah, but what kind?” Chiana asked with a raised eyebrow. Mick had a contact list full of willing women.

  Mick answered with a grin and a shooing motion. Chiana slapped a five-dollar tip on the table, paid for both meals at the register by the front door and stepped out into the pale dawn. The air was warmer now, carrying the hint of a summer storm. She didn’t care if it rained all day.

  Her plans were simple. She’d sleep like the dead for a few hours before hitting t
he gym and working out until she was ready to drop. Exhaustion suited her.

  She was oblivious to everything but the need to sleep as she crossed the lot. She didn’t sense the shadowy form behind her, catch its odor or feel its presence. Shock froze her in place and kept her there when unexpected arms wrapped around her, a rusty voice whispering in her ear, “You’re ours.”

  She instinctively tightened her body and pushed with her mind. In the milliseconds she needed to make that shove, in the time it took for a gasp to escape from her tight throat, the visitor was gone. She staggered forward, trying to reach the Mustang before she collapsed.

  From the other side of the diner’s plate glass window, Mick caught her ragged movements. With one succinct curse word, he was on his feet and running out the door. He barely reached Chiana in time to catch her pale form in his arms.

  “They found me,” she whispered.

  Frantic, Mick looked for a bite mark somewhere, anywhere. Those damn mutants were getting brave. Unlike their vampire ancestors, they had no fear of daylight. Their corrupted blood gave them the viciousness necessary to attack an agent.

  His cursory examination revealed nothing. He picked up Chiana and carried her to the Mustang. Scooping up the keys she’d dropped on the pavement, he slid into the driver’s seat and locked the doors.

  Not much scared Mick. Spending his first dozen years with parents like his then living in a series of foster homes, he’d gone through more than some people did in a lifetime. Yet seeing his fearless, no-holds-barred partner slumped in a seat beside him, conscious but not really there, put him on the edge of terror. Something bad was happening. He didn’t understand it, he couldn’t stop it and he didn’t know what to do next.

  Desperation driving him, he flipped open his cell phone and punched in a familiar number to report an agent down.

  “Don’t.”

  Chiana’s voice came in a weak hiss, her hand slapping the phone onto the seat between them.

  “I’m calling for help.”

  “The agency can’t help me.”

  The resignation in her words deepened Mick’s worry.

  “If they can’t, no one can. I’m calling.”

  “I said don’t.” Chiana’s voice was stronger. “There’s only one guy I can trust, and I have to do this alone.”

  “No.” Mick fired up the engine. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll take you. You’re in no shape to go anywhere or do anything by yourself.”

  “Sometimes you can be an asshole, you know that?”

  “Sometimes you can be stubborn.” Mick dropped the Mustang into drive and headed out of the parking lot. “Give me some directions or we’ll circle the city on the expressway all day.”

  “A lovely ride.”

  “Especially at morning rush hour.”

  “Tank’s full. We might make it into the evening rush hour.”

  “Your choice.”

  “Yep.”

  Calling her bluff, Mick pulled into the stream of traffic. Dropping behind the slowest car he could find, he set the cruise control and stared straight ahead. The only sound inside the Mustang was the radio until Chiana said, “We could go to Nashville if you make that turn.”

  Her voice lacked its usual snap; Mick knew she was trying to pretend everything was all right. He also knew she’d keep on pretending even if they did drive all day. He took the next exit and pulled into an empty parking lot, letting the engine idle. The sun was strong enough now for him to study her. She was sitting straighter, and her face had lost its deathly pallor; her eyes no longer held a feverish glint. Mick noticed all those things in the instant before he saw her arms where she’d been grabbed.

  “What the hell?”

  He shoved up her short sleeves. An intricate design circled Chiana’s flesh, an imprint burned into her skin.

  “Not your problem.” Chiana yanked away and pulled down her sleeves.

  In his eyes, Chiana saw concern, confusion and uncertainty, and she knew she had to get rid of him. Mick was a company man. The agency provided everything he’d wanted in life—discipline, security, a sense of belonging. His first instinct to call in and ask for help would become a fixation. He wouldn’t rest until he’d told someone, and she couldn’t risk that.

  “Get out.” She shoved his cell phone into his jacket pocket. “Call for that ride.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll go.”

  She pushed open the door and swung her legs out. She thought she could stand. She was almost right. She held onto the open door for support in a desperate attempt not to show weakness. Mick had to believe she was okay.

  “Come on, get back in here.”

  “No.” Taking a deep breath, she started to move, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Her muscles ached, and she had to concentrate hard to stay upright, but she kept going.

  “Fine then,” Mick said. “Suit yourself.”

  Chiana turned. He leaned against the car’s front fender, hands in his pocket, staring at her. She read his anger in the set of his shoulders, the hard tap of this foot against the ground, the narrowing of his eyes.

  Tough shit.

  She returned to the Mustang, patted Mick’s cheek and said, “You’re off the clock, remember? Enjoy that blond.”

  She dropped into the driver’s seat, revved the engine and was gratified when Mick moved away. He was right. She had no business driving. She probably shouldn’t be alone. But there was only one man who knew what she really was, and she needed to get to him.

  Fast.

  * * * *

  “Taking my break now!” Caroline Morton called through the window separating the diner’s kitchen from the customer area. She took the cook’s grunt as an assent and slipped out the back door into the morning. She leaned against the storage building at the back of the lot, wishing she still smoked. She could think better with a cigarette in her hand.

  Ignoring the streets awakening around her, she replayed the scene from the parking lot in her mind. It might have been nothing more than an argument. That happened a lot. She’d long ago quit being surprised by what people did in public.

  Yet it felt hinky to her even though she hadn’t seen the whole thing. She’d begun watching when the guy in black high-tailed out to the lot. At first, she thought he took off because someone was trying to break into his car. Then she saw the woman, and the shape of something taller, wide-shouldered and bulky, something that faded into a shadow and vanished.

  She hadn’t paid much attention to the woman as they ate, except to wonder how anyone could look so good that early in the morning. She definitely hadn’t noticed anything unusual about her. Not in her looks, not in her actions and certainly not the dim rainbow of reds, blues and blacks that enveloped her.

  She’d only gotten a glimpse of whatever waylaid the woman. Someone had yelled for a refill, and she headed for his table with a coffee pot. By the time she got back to the window, the Mustang was rolling out of the lot.

  Caroline wondered if it was a hallucination, that she imagined the vanishing figure. The medical cocktail that kept her functioning had funky side effects. Besides, the early morning light could play tricks with shadow and light.

  A garden-variety lovers’ spat, that was all. Except the man and woman had been talking and laughing over breakfast. And she thought she’d overheard the woman ask the guy if he needed a ride, like they weren’t really together.

  She studied the ground, picking at her apron hem while she replayed the scene in her mind. Every instinct screamed trouble. Every bit of common sense said let it go. Her days of worrying about other people were over. Not only had she closed the door on that chapter of her life, she’d locked it.

  The part of her that had nearly gotten her killed by a seven-foot tall black man thousands of miles from here itched to find out what had happened in the lot, even though that part of her life was long over.

  Sighing, she stood, stretched and started back inside
. She’d leave it up to fate. If someone was sitting in booth six, she’d make the call. If it was empty, she’d take it as a sign to keep her head down and mind her own business.

  * * * *

  Mick watched the Mustang roar out of sight before walking back toward the diner. Nothing felt right about letting Chiana go. They were partners. He was supposed to watch her back, no matter how misguided and bullheaded she might be. The good thing was there was a tracer on the Mustang. It could be activated one of two ways, either through his transponder or by the agency. No matter where she went, it would be easy to find her. All he had to do was get the tracker from the glove compartment of his truck to pinpoint her location.

  As soon as he got his truck back, that was. Running through a mental list of women likely to pick him up this early in the morning, he walked back into the diner and dropped into the first empty booth. He waited after the waitress poured him a fresh cup of coffee to call for a ride and text the agency. Busy with his call, he didn’t notice the waitress walk to a wall phone, drop in a quarter and dial, or that she huddled against the wall to speak.

  * * * *

  Creed Davies woke with an agonized cry, sitting bolt upright in bed and drenched in sweat despite the air conditioning chilling the room to refrigerator level. He’d had the dream again, the memory he’d forbidden his conscious self. The quiet night was giving way to the brilliance of another day. He tossed off the thin cotton sheet that covered his naked body and headed for the shower.

  He didn’t bother with a light. He knew where everything was. Some might call his tiny apartment Spartan. He preferred the phrase minimalist. What did a man need, anyway, except a bed to sleep on, a chair to sit in and a cabinet to hold the liquor that dulled the pain inside him?

  The water drilled against his back like fine needles, a sharpness he welcomed. Hands against the tiled wall, he leaned forward to let the water sluice across his head and down his body.