Chapter 4
Abigail had spent her entire life bracing for the moment when she'd see Sundown Brady again. Over the years, when she wasn't training to kill him, she'd played every imaginable scenario through her mind. Them meeting by accident. Her breaking into his house in the middle of the day to murder him in his sleep. A smoky, crowded bar where she walked up to him and then stabbed him in the heart and watched him fall to her feet as he died in utter agony. Even an abandoned movie theater where she trapped him inside and burned it to the ground. All to the tune of him begging her for mercy.
Yet none of those imaginings had prepared her for this.
For one thing, he was a lot larger than she remembered. Not just tall, which he was, but wide and extremely well muscled in a way very few men were. It was the kind of build that said he could snap her in two if he got close enough. His dark hair fell just past his ears and was a bit shaggy, as if he'd missed a haircut appointment. Two days' growth of whiskers shadowed a face that was so perfectly formed, he didn't look real. His eyes were black, and the intelligence there said nothing, absolutely nothing, escaped his notice.
Even with her new powers, she swallowed at the thought of fighting him. He wouldn't go down easy.
He'd probably take her with him.
But all she had to think of was her parents and the merciless way they'd died by his hands, and the fiery rage in her ignited to a level that wouldn't be intimidated or denied. It demanded his blood.
Sundown Brady was going to die tonight, and she was the harbinger who'd deliver it.
Jess froze as he saw the woman close up. Her black hair was pulled back from her exotic features into a tight ponytail. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a dark purple shirt, she was armed from head to toe. But that wasn't what stopped him dead in his tracks.
For one instant, he could swear he was looking into Bart's face.
Time seemed to freeze as he took it all in. Her deep blue eyes that were shaped like a cat's. The dimple in her chin. The way she looked at him as if she could kill him.
It was like he was lying on the ground wounded again, looking up at Bart right before he pulled the trigger one last time.
"You bastard!" she snarled in a voice that was hauntingly familiar. One that brought back excruciating memories.
Before he could recover, she lunged at him.
Jess jumped back and twisted, sending her into the wall. He looked at the two Daimons, who were staying out of the fight for some reason. But he didn't have time to contemplate that as she came back at him, slashing at his body with a black KA-BAR.
He blocked her slash with his forearm across hers, then grabbed her hand. Dang, she was strong. Supernatural strong. Not to mention, she kept kicking at him. She fought like a well-trained wildcat.
"Let go of me!" she snarled, head-butting him.
That rattled his senses, but he refused to let go of her. She was too quick and too close for that. If he released her, she'd get a shot in someplace that was going to hurt.
She looked past his shoulder to where the other two were sidelined. "Get him!"
Great. He slung her toward the Daimons. She collided with them, but it didn't slow them down.
His phone buzzed again, warning him he was running out of time. I'm going to be a crispy critter if I don't do something quick. While he could probably hole up here, he didn't want to chance it. Police and workers did occasionally venture down into the drains. All he needed was for one of them to find him loaded up with weapons.
Or worse, a flash flood could swoop down on him. Lionel had warned him on his first night here about seeking daytime shelter in the drains. Every year, there were a number of homeless who died from the flooding. While he couldn't drown, he could be swept into daylight, which would really suck for him.
He had to get out of here. Fast.
The really bad thing was he couldn't kill her. Dark-Hunters weren't supposed to kill humans, even when they were attacked by them. Stupid rule, granted. But it was one Acheron would have their ass over if they violated it.
And then there was the terrible suspicion he had about her identity. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be right or wrong. "Abigail?"
Anger darkened her blue eyes. "You do remember me."
How could he forget? "I thought you were dead."
She shrieked in rage before she attacked him with a fury that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her. It was the same force that he'd had when he went for Bart.
Now that he knew who she was, there was no way he could hurt her. He choked on conflicting emotions. Relief, sorrow, and the deep need not to let her end his life. "I take it you're the one who's been killing Dark-Hunters?"
She lifted her chin proudly as she swung at him. "With relish. But you're the one I really want."
Why? All he'd ever done was protect her and her family.
He caught her arm and yanked her closer. "Ah, sugar, for that, all you had to do was get naked."
She curled her lip before she attacked even more viciously.
He staggered under a couple of well-placed blows. She was very well trained.
But then, so was he.
Jess twisted the knife from her hand and managed to finally catch her in a sleeper hold. She was harder to grip than a hungry greased pig. Luckily, he was used to pinning such ornery things. But if he'd been human, she'd have freed herself and been back on him.
He turned to the Daimons. "One step closer, and I snap her neck."
They exchanged a doubting frown.
"I mean it," he said as they looked like they were about to pounce. He increased the pressure on her carotid and jugular. Within seconds, she was out. Still, he waited a few seconds more, in case she was faking. At this point, he wouldn't put anything past her.
Once he was sure she was unconscious, he slid her to a dry spot on the floor. "All right, punks. Bring it."
The moment he took a step forward, they ran deeper into the tunnel.
Well, at least they weren't the infected Daimons who could convert him.
Jess started to go after them, but rethought it. It was too close to dawn, and right now he had the prize of all time.
The woman who'd been hunting them.
A woman he'd once known ...
"I can't believe you survived." But how? He had so many questions, they made him dizzy.
Best thing to do would be to interrogate her and find out what was going on and why she had such a hard-on for them. Hoping he didn't live to regret this decision, he picked her up and carried her back to the street. Now that she wasn't trying to kick his jewels into his throat, he realized just how tiny she was. Very well muscled, but short.
Like Matilda.
He squelched that comparison quick. She was nothing like his mild-mannered, soft-spoken bride-to-be. No one was. It was why he'd fallen in love with her and why all these decades later, he still ached from the loss of her friendship.