The Hunter and the Hunted: Two Stories of the Otherworld Read Online Free

weakness.
    I squeezed the water from my hair as I moved out of the spray and looked down at the pitted rut of scar tissue. All these years of fighting without a permanent injury, and what finally does it? One little scratch from a rotting zombie. At the worst of the infection, I’d been in danger of losing my arm, so I couldn’t complain about some muscle damage.
    But if rumors were already circulating, I had to squelch them. And maybe even that wouldn’t be enough. Was Theo Cain’s son only the first in a new generation of mutts who’d heard the stories about me and fluffed them off as urban legends or at least ancient history?
    I’d first cemented my reputation to protect Jeremy. Now I had fresh concerns—a mate, kids . . . and a fucked-up arm that was never going to get any better. So how was I going to convince a new generation of mutts that Clayton Danvers really was the raging psychopath their fathers warned them about?
    I rubbed the face cloth over my chest, hard and brisk enough to burn. I didn’t want to go through that shit again. What the hell would I do for an encore? What could I do that wouldn’t have Elena bustling the twins off to a motel while she reconsidered whether I was the guy she wanted raising her kids?
    Elena understood why I’d taken a chainsaw to that mutt. If pressed, she might even grudgingly admit it had been a good idea. Anesthetic ensured that the guy hadn’t even suffered much—the point was only to make others think he had. Still, only in the last few years had she stopped twitching every time someone mentioned the photos. Admitting I might have been right didn’t mean she wanted to think about what I’d done. And she sure as hell wouldn’t want me doing it again.
    I shut the taps and toweled off, scrubbing away any remaining trace of Cain.
    As I got out, I could hear the television from the next room. So the news wasn’t over. Good. I had no interest in local or world events—human concerns—but Elena would be engrossed in them. Distracting her was always a challenge . . . and a sure way to clear my head of thoughts that didn’t belong on a honeymoon.
    I draped the towel around my shoulders, then eased open the door to get a peek at the playing field. Through the mirror, I could see the bed. It was empty, the spread gathered and wrinkled where Elena had sprawled to watch the news.
    A sportscaster was running through scores. Shit.
    I tried to see the sitting area through the mirror, but the angle was wrong. It didn’t matter. If she was finished with the news, I’d lost my chance to tease. I gave my dripping hair one last swipe, tossed the towel on the bathroom floor, walked into the suite and thumped onto the bed, springs squealing.
    “All done with my shower. You still ready to work up an appetite—?”
    The room was empty.
    I rose and strode to the door, heart thudding as I sniffed for Cain. I knew my fears were unfounded. No way would he get Elena out of this room . . . not without blood spattered on the walls and carpet.
    But what if he’d been lurking outside the door? If she’d heard him? Peeked out and he bolted? She’d give chase.
    I opened the door and was crouching at the entrance when a yelp made me jump. Down the hall, a middle-aged woman stumbled back into her room, chirping to her husband. For a moment, I thought, Hell, I wasn’t even sniffing the carpet yet . Then I remembered I was naked.
    I slammed the door and stalked into the bathroom for a towel. Humans and their screwed-up sensibilities. If that woman saw Elena dragged down the hall kicking and clawing, she’d tell herself it was none of her business. But God forbid she should catch a glimpse of a naked man. Probably on the phone to security right now.
    Towel in place, I cracked open the door. When I was certain it was clear, I crouched, smelling the carpet. No trace of Cain. A quick glance around, then, holding the door open with my foot, I leaned into the hall for another sniff.