Page 68 of The Huntress

“Evening.” Mike thrust out his hand for a quick shake. “I assume you’ve dispatched your men to hunt for news of her?”

“Yes, my skilled fingers are thorough, and they know this city well.” Dimitri gestured to his dispersing men.

“I appreciate any help you can provide. Please excuse me. I have my men looking as well.” Mike scurried to his car. Seconds later, he spoke to Callie’s captain.

“So, we wait?” Standing around and doing nothing didn’t sit well with Gabriel.

“Yes, I have many fingers…pal’tsyin many pies. It won’t be long.” Dimitri turned, and within a blink of an eye, stood at Mike’s opened car door. “Detective, send your men to scout the harbor. Water confuses our senses.”

Mike fired commands down the line. He nodded at Gabriel, hopped into his car, and with a burn of rubber and a siren’s whoop, he drove off.

“Leo, can you communicate with any brain?” Gabriel asked. “This city has millions of rats scurrying through gutters and infesting every nook. Can they not be our eyes and ears?”

“You want me to…? I’ve never tried, to be honest.” Leo raised his face to the moonlit sky, and a painful grimace crossed his features, worrying Gabriel. It could mean many things—failure, success, but he knew better than to assume, not with Leo.

“Their minds are individual,” he whispered, and if Gabriel didn’t know better, with awe. “I’m scanning as many as I can. One of them must have seen something.”

“Good,” Dimitri said. “Tell me, Gabriel, is your woman strong enough to withstand this? Leonardo indicated you have yet to convert her?”

“My Callie is impressive, Dimitri. You will see. One or two more feedings and she’ll be mine for an eternity.”

“I am pleased for you, my friend. Now let us find her.” Dimitri shot into the air, flying toward his fast-disappearing fingers.

That his infamouspal’tsywere aiding in the search for Callie had Gabriel breathing easier.

Chapter Twenty-Five

ALONE

Callieawokewithastart, inundated with fierce darts of discomfort when she fluttered her eyes open. This wasn’t the pleasant awakening she’d become accustomed to. No warm blanket cocooned her, no pillow to rest her head upon. Most certainly no Gabe sprawled alongside her, his warmth reaching through her slumber to offer comfort.

She was lying on a dirt floor of compacted sand, each granule rubbing her skin like coarse sandpaper. The cold seeped into her bones, along with the realization of where she was—an unused cellar or basement. She shivered, rubbing her hands along her upper arms, hoping to wipe away the goosebumps that had taken up permanent residence there during her unconscious state. A horrid taste claimed her mouth, and she struggled to swallow past a swollen tongue. A sharp pain gripped her, hot and piercing, ripping at her belly as if it had realized she was awake.

She hungered.

Her blood sugar must have dropped over the last few hours. An image imprinted itself on her mind, and no matter how much she shook her head or attempted to dismiss it, it remained. Red, rare, juicy steak with a baked potato on the side, and a green salad. Her mouth watered, and at last, she could swallow.

She struggled into a sitting position, grimacing as her bare backside grated along the dirty floor. She shuddered and thrust down thoughts of uncleanliness, preferring to assess her situation and possible escape routes. Her limbs were intact. She was thirsty too, which didn’t surprise her.

No light illuminated the three-by-four room, but she could see well. That was strange, as if she wore night goggles. Studying the concrete ceiling, there were no skylights through which moonlight could penetrate the room. A scratching sound to the left drew her attention. She whipped her head to look, too fast, and swirling dizziness welled nausea in the pit of her stomach.

A rat scurried toward her and sat there blinking, unafraid.

“What’s up, little fellow?” she said, her voice above a rasp.

Its nose twitched, and his whiskers flickered.

“You won’t be nibbling on me, so you can just scoot. Where did you come from, anyway?” She glanced at the wall, at a circular drain large enough for a mouse, but not for a rat this size.

She’d read somewhere that their flexibility was remarkable. They were able to fit through tiny spaces and narrow pipes.

“I can’t fit through there. Got any other suggestions?”

He blinked and glanced at the door as if he understood her.

She rose to her feet and pressed on the solid-looking door. Pain lanced through her, and she yanked her hands away, peeling skin off in the process. The stench of burned flesh now saturated the dank air. She stared at her palms in disbelief, wincing at the scars, pink and stinging. Before her eyes, her skin healed, becoming smooth and soft. Then her knife scar healed.

“What the hell?” She’d had that scar since her first year as a detective.

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