Targeted

  Then she was on him—seizing him like a wild animal that scents its prey. Grayson made a strangled noise of surprise and stumbled backward. The shift in his balance gave Emily the advantage and she lunged forward hard and fast, bearing him to the ground despite their height difference.

  He tried to push her away but she was feral—the other taking over completely. Locking her teeth to the side of his throat she bit as hard as she could while scratching long, bloody furrows down the sides of his face. He flailed wildly but he couldn’t buck her off.

  “Ow! Get off me, you bitch! What the hell is wrong with you?” Grayson’s howls would have been comical if she could have felt anything but fury. But a red curtain of rage clouded her vision and the hot, coppery blood in her mouth only seemed to fuel her fury.

  Kill him! whispered the voice of the other in her head. Kill him now so he can never do it again!

  Emily obeyed mindlessly, looking for a better grip on his neck in order to rip his throat out. It didn’t occur to her that the mild-mannered kindergarten teacher she believed herself to be would never do such a thing or even think of doing such a thing. She only knew that she would kill or die before she allowed herself to be taken against her will again. Grayson was a threat so he had to be eliminated.

  Now.

  Chapter Four

  Tragar’s vehicle skidded to a halt in front of the little domicile shielded by the lush tropical vegetation. He’d been held up on a one way street by a slow, elderly driver he couldn’t get around which seemed to be a very common problem here in Emily’s part of Earth. Normally the delay wouldn’t have bothered him but by the time he finally got around the slow driver, he was nearly frantic with worry.

  She’s just a target—it doesn’t matter what happens to her, he tried to tell himself. But he didn’t believe the lie for a moment. The knot of tension in his gut just kept growing every time he remembered the tears in her eyes and the way she had rushed away from her school. Not to mention the blond male who had been following her. Who was he, anyway? Tragar had been casing her school for days and had thought he knew all the instructors and support staff. But who was this bastard and why had he affected Emily so deeply?

  Could it be another hunter? Another assassin out for her blood? The thought made him even more uneasy. When he had taken the job, the Dark Kindred named Two had said that he might not be the only one hunting Emily. Though Tragar had assured him he could take out one lone female—no matter how dangerous—with ease, he seemed the type to leave nothing to chance.

  “I will give you ten solar days from the time you take the contract,” he’d told Tragar, those metal teeth of his gleaming. “No more. After that, others will be dispatched with the same goal as yours—to kill the girl. I mean to see her dead, Verrak, and it must happen soon…”

  Tragar tried to push back the disturbing memory. He would deal with other assassins if they came. Right now he had to see to Emily.

  When he finally parked his vehicle and made his way quickly but silently up the lawn, staying well hidden in the large leafed plants, he saw what was clearly a bad situation happening right in front of Emily’s front doorway.

  The male with the blond hair and pale eyes was advancing on Emily, speaking to her in a low, threatening tone. Tragar’s first instinct was to jump out of the bushes and knock the bastard flat with one punch or maybe even kill him outright with a single shot of his sonic rifle. Terminating people other than the target during an operation wasn’t exactly forbidden by the Verrak but it was certainly strongly frowned upon. In this case, however, Tragar was more than willing to take whatever chastisement might come his way for killing the son of a bitch.

  But something stopped him. It was a scent—a scent in the air he’d never smelled before and yet one he instinctively knew. One he would recognize anywhere though he would never have expected to smell it here on Earth, so far away from his home world of Rageron.

  What in the Seven Hells?

  He had to be wrong—there was no way. It couldn’t be. He sniffed the air and scented it again—was it really coming from Emily?

  Hidden by the screen of vegetation, he breathed deeply and watched the scene in front of him unfold.

  “It’s just…I’ve never forgotten that night we spent together,” the blond male said, taking a step towards Emily. Tragar could only see him from the side but he didn’t like the look on what he could see of the male’s face. It was greedy and lustful. “I’ve been with so many women since then but none of them could compare to you, my dear Emily.” His eyes gleamed. “You were so tight.”

  Tragar felt a low growl rising in his throat but Emily’s reply left him mute.

  “That’s because I was a virgin and you raped me you bastard!” she cried, glaring at the blond male. “I asked you to stop—I begged you to stop. But you wouldn’t!”

  Every fiber of Tragar’s being howled in protest. Raped her? This fucking scum had dared to take her against her will? If she was what Tragar’s nose told him she was—what her scent proclaimed her to be—there could be no worse crime. To take any unwilling female was shameful and disgusting—the act of a coward who deserved nothing but death. But to take a Khalla—

  Things were happening rapidly now. The male had her by the wrist and was squeezing hard. Tragar lifted his rifle to shoot—not to kill—that was too good for this bastard. He just wanted to wound him and he would finish the job later. Slowly. But then something else happened—something that confirmed his suspicions.

  Emily ripped her wrist from the male’s grip and her eyes began to glow. They changed from the no-color blue they had been to a pure, fiery gold. Her hair changed color too—going from brownish-blonde to thick, glossy black. And then she pounced.

  Seven Hells! Tragar rushed forward but he wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, it was her right to exact justice for the wrong which had been done her. Taking the maidenhood of a Khalla against her will was a sin punishable by torture and the most painful and prolonged death possible. But if he allowed her to kill this slimy male it would surely throw her body into complete Tenrah and shortly after that, the breeding heat would be upon her. At that point it would be either breed or die. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “Stop!” Grabbing her by the back of her garment, he pulled her off the male as carefully as he could. He didn’t give a damn if it hurt her rapist but he didn’t want to damage her.

  At first she fought him, trying to reach the male who had scrambled away, holding a hand to his bleeding throat and moaning.

  “Emily!” Tragar took her by the shoulders and shook her as gently as he could but she kept struggling. He wished he knew her Kit’tara’s name—that would have gotten her attention—but the name of a Khalla’s hidden or second self was a secret known only to herself. He put his face into hers and tried to catch her eyes. “Emily,” he demanded. “Emily Brooks, see me!”

  Finally she focused on him. Her eyes were still fiery gold and her ripe scent filled the air. When she spoke, her voice had a strange double echo.

  “Who…who are you?” The golden eyes reflected his image back to him—tall and dark and menacing. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “Relax,” Tragar rumbled, trying to sound reassuring. Apparently he failed.

  “Let me go!” She began to struggle again and this time her pure gold eyes were filled not with fury but with fear. “Let me go, I won’t let you!” She glanced at the blond male who was still moaning and nursing his wounds. “I won’t let you do it! I won’t go through it again—I won’t!”

  Tragar felt his heart fist in his chest. Gods, she thought he was a rapist, no better than the bastard that had ripped her maidenhood from her and taken her against her will!

  “I’m not what you think,” he said more roughly than he intended. “I didn’t come to rape you, Emily. I was sent here to kill you.”

  * * * * *

  “Kill me?” For some reason his words calmed her down. Death was better than enduring
what Grayson had done to her again. Anything was better than that horrible violation and the feeling of wrongness that accompanied it.

  “Yes.” The huge, dark man shook her slightly and looked intently into her eyes. “I’m a paid assassin—one of the Verrak. I was hired to hunt you down and take your life.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Emily lifted her chin, glaring at him. She didn’t know where she got the courage—maybe it was the other who seemed to be taking over more and more.

  Her words seemed to have a bad effect on the huge man who was holding her. His eyes glowed with anger and Emily couldn’t help noticing they were the same molten gold she saw herself when she looked in the mirror while the other was coming forward.

  “You don’t mean that,” he said roughly. “The life of a Khalla is immeasurably precious.”

  Emily had no idea what a “Khalla” was and she didn’t care.

  “Why shouldn’t I mean it?” she threw back at him. “Why should I care if you kill me? I’m going crazy anyway. I keep seeing flashes in the mirror—my eyes are changing, my hair is changing—and now apparently I’m turning into some kind of feral wolf girl who gnaws her attacker’s throat.” She cast a glance at Grayson, who was curled up on his side whimpering. Had she really done that? And how in the hell was she going to explain it?

  “You’re not crazy, you’re simply going through your Tenrah,” the huge man said patiently. But was he a man? The more Emily looked at him, the more she thought he might be something else—something more than human. He made Richard Grayson, who had seemed so big and scary when he was menacing her, look like a scared little worm.

  A Kindred, she thought, taking in his golden eyes and the long, black hair that flowed over his broad shoulders. One of the Beast Kindred—he has to be. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose and a neatly clipped mustache and goatee that framed a strong mouth and sensual lips. The result was a face that was both striking and intensely masculine.

  “You’re not crazy,” he repeated, looking at her intently.

  “Not crazy, huh?” Emily gave a sobbing little laugh that hurt her throat coming out. “Tell that to Grayson over there.”

  “Yes—this male—the one you call Grayson…” He frowned, his face like a thundercloud. “It is time to attend to him.”

  He let her go and went over to Grayson who he grabbed by the back of his collar, hauling him into the air as easily as though he was lifting a bag of trash.

  Grayson gave a moan of protest and struggled in the huge Kindred’s grip.

  “Be still you fucking slime,” the Kindred snarled shaking Grayson so hard his teeth clicked together. “I know what you are and I know what you did—you deserve death many times over.” He looked at Emily. “How shall I dispose of him, Khalla?”

  “My name is Emily, not Khalla,” she protested, crossing her arms nervously over her chest. “And what do you mean ‘dispose’ of him?”

  “I mean kill him, of course.” He looked surprised that he even had to explain to her. “He deserves death for wounding you so grievously and while I cannot allow you to kill him yourself, I will be more than happy to kill him for you. In fact, it will be my very great pleasure.” He glared at Grayson, his golden eyes fierce with anger.

  “Hey, now wait a minute—” Grayson began to protest but the Kindred shook him again.

  “Silence, dhag and let your betters speak.”

  Emily didn’t know what a dhag was anymore than she knew what Khalla or a Tenrah or any of the other strange, foreign words the Kindred was spouting meant. But she could tell by looking into his eyes that he meant business.

  “You’d really kill him?” she asked him.

  He nodded shortly. “In any way you see fit. I have a sonic rifle for a quick kill but that wouldn’t be my pick.”

  “It…it wouldn’t?” Emily couldn’t stop staring at him.

  He shook his head.

  “For what he has done, a quick death is too merciful. I also do excellent knife work.” A long, curving silver blade suddenly appeared in one large hand. “But we would need a private location or something to gag him with.”

  “A gag? You’re asking me if I have a gag?”

  The Kindred nodded and looked speculatively at Grayson who was still hanging from his fist, in his rumpled and bloodied suit.

  “There is apt to be a lot of screaming. Would you like to watch me skin him? Or perhaps carve his organs out one by one while he still lives? I can save the heart for last and be certain he feels intense pain to the very end.”

  “Oh my God,” Emily whispered faintly. “You…you’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Grayson seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

  “Please!” He wriggled like a hooked fish in the immense Kindred’s grip. “Please don’t—don’t let him, Emily. I never would have hurt you—I was just playing a joke.”

  Emily glared at him. “Some joke. Following me to my house to…to…” But she found she couldn’t get the words out with the big Kindred standing right there. “It was no joke,” she finished angrily.

  “Tell me how to kill him—what end would best meet your thirst for vengeance?” the huge Kindred rumbled, looking down at her. “Tell me Khalla and it shall be done.”

  For a moment Emily was severely tempted. How many times had she fantasized about a moment like this when she was trying to heal from Grayson’s attack? Well, not a moment exactly like this, she acknowledged to herself. She’d never in her wildest dreams imagined a huge avenging Kindred coming to her rescue and offering to carve up Grayson’s liver and save his heart for last. But still—she’d wished her rapist dead more times than she could count. And yet, now when it came down to it, she found she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t kill him or have him killed in cold blood.

  A moment ago when the other had taken over she could have done it easily—could have ripped out his throat and bathed in the fountain of crimson that pulsed from the ragged hole in his neck. But now that she was herself again and sanity had reasserted itself, a thousand questions came crowding into her mind.

  If they killed Grayson, where could they hide the body? Even if they could find a good place, she was certain the death would eventually come back to haunt her—both literally and figuratively. And how could she explain it when they found his corpse in a shallow grave and some hair or fiber evidence or the DNA she’d left when she bit and scratched him tied her to the case?

  Yes officer, he raped me back in college and I figured revenge was a dish best served cold…no, there’s no record of the attack…no I never reported it… Right. She doubted the police would buy it.

  And then there was the fact that Mrs. Peltz had accused her of being on drugs. Emily could just imagine the story the prosecution would spin…a teacher high on some kind of mind altering substance…a brutal murder…a botched cover up…

  They’ll put me under the jail, she thought dismally. Or else lock me in some mental health facility with padded walls. I’ll never see the light of day again.

  No, she regretfully acknowledged to herself, it wasn’t worth it. As much as she wanted to see Grayson dead for what he’d done to her, losing the rest of her life for revenge didn’t make sense.

  “Let him go,” she told the big Kindred who was standing motionless, waiting to hear her decision. He was holding Grayson aloft as though it was nothing to hold a two hundred and fifty pound weight over his head with one hand. “Just…let him go.”

  “After what he did?” The golden eyes widened and then narrowed. “No—there must be retribution.”

  “If you punish him, the police are going to punish me,” Emily told him shortly. “So let him go.”

  “At least let me cripple him.” His voice was a low, menacing growl. “I can break his spine with ease. He’ll never walk again.”

  “No.” Suddenly Emily was tired of the whole mess. “No let him go and you go too.” She lifted her chin. “Unless you’re still planning to kill me?”

 
The Kindred didn’t give her an answer. Instead he simply glared and shook his head. Then he left her front yard, still holding Grayson by the scruff of his neck. The Mexican Breadfruit bushes rustled with his passing.

  Suddenly all the strength seemed to run out of her legs and Emily sank down on the first step of her front porch. She took the corner of her skirt and wiped at her chin where Grayson’s blood was drying, then spat in the grass until she got the coppery taste out of her mouth.

  “What a weird, awful day,” she whispered to herself and put her arms around her knees. She wanted to go inside and fix a cup of hot tea and then call Anna and pour out the whole crazy mess. Her older sister was the only person she could think of who might even come close to grasping the bizarre details of what she’d just gone through.

  Dimly, through the bushes, Emily heard the big Kindred’s deep, growling voice interspersed with Grayson’s whiney begging and crying and a few muffled shrieks. Then a door slammed and a motor gunned into life.

  That’s it—they’re done and now he’s coming for me. She knew she ought to get up and run into the house—call 911 and beg them to send a squad car to protect her. She thought of the long silver knife in the Kindred’s big hand and shivered. And yet, somehow she couldn’t make herself move. She was too bone weary—worn out both emotionally and physically.

  Let the big Kindred come for her—she didn’t care anymore. No doubt Richard Grayson was on his cell phone right now spreading lies about her to the principal, Ms. Edwards and anyone else who would listen. Her career was over and her life was in ruins—not to mention she was still clearly going crazy. Nothing mattered.

  She rested her head on her arms and waited for the inevitable.

  Chapter Five

  The Kindred came back into view soon enough, moving as silently as a jungle cat through the dense bushes that screened her house. With his golden eyes and long, wild black hair he reminded Emily of a panther. She shivered as she watched him come, her determination not to care about her fate slipping just a little. What if he wanted to kill her the way he’d offered to kill Grayson? What if he decided to gut her like a trout?