Mistwalker by Fraser Naomi

Author:Fraser, Naomi [Fraser, Naomi]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Naomi Fraser
Published: 2013-04-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

The scent of thick traffic fumes clouded the air, kicked up from the heavy rain, along with the smell of petrol, motor oil and dirt. The street had that wet road smell Carlo always associated with gloomy weather and hunting humans with Lorena.

He stopped and stared down at his tennis shoes. He’d always preferred comfort over style, unlike his bride, but he couldn’t think about Lorena now. He would never get her back; never hold her hand as they hunted the streets. Nor listen to her wild, free laughter; ringing through the air that so distinctly embodied everything about her.

Nothing could hold her. Not the night. Not right or wrong. Yet, somehow death had stolen her from him.

The weight in his heart made him sick. He frowned down the closest alleyway, at the people who scurried to escape the driving rain. Their quick footsteps echoed, and combined with the downpour, the symphony hurt his ears. It was life.

He couldn’t go home. Not yet. That made the pain too close, too unbearable. His throat burned from hunger, heart throbbed with a black poison. He’d gnawed the inside of his cheek, and the corner of his lips dribbled with blood. He wouldn’t have bothered with Master’s directive, but for the fact he’d end up as a shell in the pits. Carlo had only left headquarters and had a few hours before they would be on mission to get the mist. He must eat. Their task wouldn’t be easy with him on an empty stomach and the royal guards on notice.

The stink of humans was inescapable—sunlight and grease, bad breath and bacteria-ridden sweat. Only one way. He trudged past piles of flattened boxes and puddles to the far dark corner of the alleyway. There, he waited under a ratty awning, hidden by night’s shadows. More footsteps and voices, that human music which sounded so garish and useless. As useless as Lorena’s death?

He clenched his fist and looked down at his rain soaked hand. The pale skin, unlined and strong, looked to be from a man in his prime. Strangely, he shook from the cold. Drenched in his blue jeans and sports jacket, a heavy thickness iced in his veins.

Tears dripped down his face, mixing with the rain. The stupidity of humans had brought this about. If only they could live longer and truly see the world.

Then came the familiar click-clack click-clack of a woman’s heels on wet stone. The scrape of her stockinged thighs as they rubbed together. The sound mimicked his heartbeat, his breaths. He looked up. Then he stepped forward. Otherwise, he’d stay here and die. Die fast or slow. What was the difference? Time? He possessed too much of that. The anger throbbed there, deep down in his belly, and slowly he brought it all the way to the surface.

*Down here,* he ordered on his mind-link. *Stop. Come back.*

The footsteps faltered, and then silence, until the sharp tap of her heels hurried toward the alleyway. He breathed out. *Closer.*

At the first sight of her, he trembled, his mouth working silently.

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