Hunting in Hell Read Online Free Page A

save for its odd pallor, there were no clues to be had.  
    Alsvior pawed at the ground with his hooves and whickered softly.  
    She ran her fingers through his mane.   "Impatient, are we?"  
    The stallion tossed his head.
    Sighing, she took stock of her weapons again and nodded.   "Alright, then."  
    She gazed at the factory.   Heat waves from the glaring sun obscured her view.   Like the buildings on the rest of the street, it appeared abandoned, but the voice in her mind whispered otherwise, and for a moment, she had the odd sensation of something slithering inside.
    "You feel that?"
    Alsvior shook until he was coal black again, but stopped short of transforming his mane and tail.   If it was dark in there, riding in on a flaming horse would be akin to strapping a target on her back.   He pawed the ground and snorted.  
    Quite a few men have fallen victim to those hooves.
    She mounted lightly, her hands tight on the grips, and they began their approach.
    * * *
     
    The first time she encountered a feeder, she had taken pity upon its legion of human prey.   She was haunted by images of previous lives—children, spouses, family pets, dream vacations on the beach never taken.
    Riding on the outskirts of the crowd, she spotted a young man, one that couldn't have been older than fifteen.   She was struck by his lost youth and the cruelty of his fate, and she decided to save him.
    Later, she would wonder if she was also trying to save herself.
    She drove Alsvior hard, trusting that he would figure out her intent.   Once she was close enough, she leaned sideways in the saddle, grabbed the youth, and strapped him over the saddle horn, ignoring the way he attempted to gouge out her eyes and spit in her face.   She jumped off and slapped Alsvior across the rump, yelling for him to get clear.
    Once the feeder had been dispatched, she whistled for her mount.  
    Yet when the horse returned, the light had gone out of the young man's eyes.   Vaguely, she understood that the man was just a shell now, that whatever had made him human had already vacated his body.   She refused to give up, ministering to him gently, feeding and bathing him when necessary.   And then one day, she came home to the charred ashes of what had once been the basement.
    It had taken some time for her to sift through the pile for the skeleton.   That night, before she fell asleep, she imagined an errant spark blowing out of the fireplace and igniting one of the wooden planks on the floor.   The fire would have spread quickly to the dry walls, turning the entire room into a blistering inferno.
    In her imagination, the young man, whose name she never learned, would sit there, motionless, either not comprehending or not caring about his impending cremation.
    In her dreams the next night though, it was the teenager who determined his own fate.   In a moment of sudden lucidity, he wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, leaned over to the fire, and pulled out a burning brand, ignoring the way his skin melted to it.   Then, he turned around and deliberately lit the walls on fire, before throwing himself into the fireplace.
    A feeder's prey was already dead, crossed over into something past human.   Still, it had taken her a century before blowing them away didn't drive a stake into her heart and fill her nose with the scent of ashes.
     

 
    FIVE
     

     
    T he barred entrance presented her with no difficulty.   She merely swung her hand in front of her, palm first, and called upon the akra of doors.
    It swung open with a groan, revealing a dark cavern.   She waited for a warning shot, but there was no movement from within.  
    She dismounted, guns drawn.   Alsvior was fast, but she was more nimble and a smaller target.   She gave him the hand sign for "stay" and rubbed his nose, and his head bobbed in acknowledgment.
    Thank you, friend.   My life has depended on you many times before.   Alsvior was also smart enough to know when to