Page 92 of Cruel Destinies

“You distract him with your expert extroverted-ness,” I said. “I’ll take him from behind.”

She blew out a long breath. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Why? All you have to do is distract him for two seconds. That will give me plenty of time to—” I pounded my left hand with my right fist.

“That works,” she replied, flaring her brows like she was impressed.

Tobias turned a corner, instantly concealed by one of the larger apartment buildings. Julian was half-tempted to say that we’d lost him, that we should turn back around and wait for him to go back to the subway station. But Piper pulled me forward, hurrying her pace.

“We’re going to lose him!” she hissed.

A gunshot sounded, and I instantly felt a tear burning at my free arm, making it go numb. That numbness did nothing for the pain that rapidly escalated. It was enough to make me cry out and wrench my hand away from Piper as I pressed against a wall and felt at my wound.

As quickly as it had hurt, it healed, and I was relieved to discover that the bullet that hit me had merely grazed me. I’d been lucky. Judging by the pain I’d experienced, I hadn’t beenhit by an ordinary bullet—the shooter was firing copper bullets. If one landed in just the right place, I’d be dead.

The numbness remained, though, and would for the next several minutes—perhaps the rest of the day. Copper was a vampire’s greatest weakness, and my past was riddled with terrible experiences with the red metal.

A stream of panic flooded my gut. Whoever was shooting at me knew I was a vampire, but the gunman also knew I was a daywalker. And anybody with that kind of knowledge was a serious threat.

Screams erupted all around and pedestrians ran into the nearby buildings to get out of potential danger.

“Julian!” Piper cried. “You’ve been shot!

Instinctually I pulled on nearby shadows to hide myself, but my abilities would only protect me. Piper was merely human. Moving quickly, I hastily pushed Piper behind a nearby bench.

“What’s going on?” she squeaked, trembling with fear.

“Stay there,” I commanded. “And keep out of sight.”

Had we been baited? Was the Dracul boy part of a shifter trap that we’d just set off? Had Caesar betrayed me?

Another shot fired, and I felt a slight displacement in the air next to my cheek. My shadow concealment likely saved me, but it also marked me in broad daylight. I needed to get to the gunman before a successful shot was fired.

My rapid senses caught sight of the next bullet’s origination as it zinged through the air, striking the bench Piper was behind.

So she’s been marked, too.

But now I saw the gunman, peeking his head around the corner of a nearby store decked out with Christmas decoracross the street. He was just one hundred feet away, aiming a rifle our way.

The shooter was a young man, wearing a brown coat and a brown beanie with small locks of brown hair crossing his forehead. What was most noticeable was a marking on the back of his right hand—a tattoo I was all-too familiar with from my earlier days working for Hadrian. The dark mark consisted of a blade pointed downward, encircled by five dots. I’d learned years ago that each dot represented the four main shifter genuses, as well as the vampire race.

“A hunter,” I hissed. So, the attack was separate from the Dracul boy’s emergence.

I began moving to intercept the attacker, and I could tell the hunter had realized he’d been spotted. Fear flitted over the hunter’s youthful face, and he flung his rifle over his shoulder, its strap catching around his back so the muzzle pointed up in the air, then ran out of sight. The store exterior provided him excellent cover.

However, I was faster than any human.

Using all my speed, I sprinted across the street, dodging cars in the process, receiving a chorus of honks—no doubt wondering what this misty form moving through the street was—then stopped at the corner of the store.

Not wanting to step out into the open and risk getting shot again, I peeked around the side and saw the young man throw his rifle through an open window in the back of a small, gray sedan. Through the back windshield, the barrels of several guns could be seen sticking up, likely mounted to a gun rack installed inside the vehicle.

The panicked brown eyes of the hunter spotted me, and he rushed into the front passenger seat and slammed the door. A half-second later, the car peeled away, kicking up rocks and leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber. The last thing I sawon the car was a black decal on the bumper that matched the hunter’s tattoo.

My rush of adrenaline urged me to chase after the car—it would be easy to keep up—but I was in daylight, and passersby would see me. Most of all, I needed to protect Piper. She couldn’t protect herself in her weak, human form.

Releasing the shadows that concealed me, I waited for traffic to stop at the nearby intersection and crossed legally.

Upon reaching the bench Piper was cowering behind, I held my hand out. “Hey, you okay?”

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