Page 4 of A Hunter Cursed
Nodding, a tight smile stretching her lips, Keegan quickly jumped up from the chair. “Sorry, I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
“That’s quite all right, happens all the time.”
She was pretty sure the woman was just telling her that to make her feel better, but she appreciated the effort.
Remnants of the chilling dream stayed with her while the dental technician cleaned her teeth and continued to tug distractingly at her mind on the drive home as she tried to figure it out. Worse than that was the question as to whether she had really been so tired that she’d nodded off in a waiting room, despite having felt almost jittery thanks to the amount of coffee she’d had before going, or whether the vision had purposely sucked her under. A truly frightening thought, that. What if she’d been driving at the time? Keegan shuddered at the possibility.
She’d been prone to vivid dreams for as long as she could remember. Her parents had once confided that even as a baby, she’d frequently wake in the middle of the night or from one of her naps crying, looking fearful, practically inconsolable over whatever she’d encountered in those dreams. It had been Destin Jourdain that had suggested keeping a dream journal once she was old enough to do so. The problem was in deciphering them. What was a nightmare? What was prophecy? And if it was prophetic, how much of what she saw was merely symbolic of something else? Her parents’ death had been a prime example of the last. In her dream, she’d seen their bodies lying broken amidst the rubble of what looked like some post-apocalyptic nightmare, when in reality, they’d died in a structural collapse when they were helping to rebuild after the devastation of Katrina.
A prophetic dream tended to be recurring, though that hadn’t been the case with her parents. She’d dreamed their deaths only once, right before it happened. Prophetic dreams also could not be changed. Through necessity, she’d trained herself in the art of lucid dreaming, learned how to manipulate dreams to be able to control them, and thus differentiate between the two. Still, it was an imperfect art. This most recent nightmare smacked of prophecy. But a dark Bourbon Street? Black ooze? What did that mean? All Keegan knew for sure, was that something was coming. And whatever it was, it was evil.
Chapter Three
“According to the file Destin Jourdain sent me, you’ve suffered losses at the hands of vampires,” Morgan Rhys stated as she eyed Keegan from behind her desk at the new training facility. The famed Hunter had been a surprise. Keegan had pictured the vampire in her head as a stocky, brutish-looking woman with mannish features and bulging muscles. The reality that sat before her was nothing like she’d envisioned. The Born vampire was a gorgeous creature, lithely built, with long dark hair, blue eyes, and perfect features. She looked like she should be posing for photoshoots or walking a fashion runway in Milan, definitely not someone to inspire fear in other vampires. Apparently, looks could be deceiving.
Meanwhile, Keegan probably looked like the human equivalent of a rung-out dishrag. Thinking her usual attire of shorts, tank top and flip-flops would be inappropriate for this interview, she’d paired low-heeled black pumps with black dress slacks and a crisply pressed, white button-down. Or, at least, it had been crisply pressed when she’d donned it in the comfort of her air-conditioned apartment, but she now saw the noticeable, damp wrinkles around her waist from the car ride here.
Keegan had also taken great care with her hair and make-up. She should have known better. In the time it took for her to go from her apartment to her car, sweat had broken out all over, pretty much melting her make-up and leaving wisps of hair sticking to her forehead and neck. She was also pretty sure her attempts to fix it in the rearview mirror of her car once she’d arrived at the facility had been in vain. So much for making a good first impression with her appearance.
“While I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Morgan continued, steel edging her voice. “I can’t have someone here who’s holding a grudge. Will you be able to work with vampires?”
It was a valid concern. What better way to get a little payback, had she wanted it, than to insinuate herself into a situation of power over the very creatures that had killed her host family? As an instructor in the facility, she’d have that.
Holding Morgan’s gaze, Keegan told her, “The vampires that killed my family were nothing more than tools, weapons wielded by the witch, Evangeline Duvalier in her bid for power.”
The woman nodded approvingly. “There are many that wouldn’t see it that way. I’m glad you do.”
Keegan dipped her chin to acknowledge the statement before changing the subject to satisfy her own curiosity. “I was surprised to learn the Hunters were admitting witches into the program.”
“Witches as well as shifters,” Morgan told her, pushing Keegan’s file aside. “After the confrontation with Evangeline, it seemed foolish not to make the training fully inclusive, especially considering the benefits that could be brought to the table – shifters with their tracking abilities, and witches with their magic.”
Standing, the woman motioned for Keegan to do the same. “I’ll show you around the facility and where you’ll be spending most of your time.”
The place was huge and so new it still carried the scent of cut lumber and freshly painted walls. Situated on just over five acres of land near Lake Pontchartrain, the facility had to have cost a fortune to build. It had the look of a fancy boarding school, but considering it would be housing trainees as well as staff should they choose, for an indeterminate amount of time, Keegan supposed it would have to be large. Dormitories, classrooms, a gymnasium, a weight room – they even had an indoor pool and a shooting range – not to mention a huge dining hall and industrial-size kitchen.
“How many trainees are you expecting?” Keegan asked, unable to disguise the awe in her voice as she was shown one of the rooms in the wing that was the women’s dormitory.
“For this first class, we’re at full occupancy of thirty trainees. Fifteen vampires, seven witches, and eight shifters, mostly wolves.”
“Wow.”
Morgan grinned. “I know. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this level of interest from the witches and shifters. I kind of feel understaffed now.”
“How many instructors?”
Keegan never heard Morgan’s reply if the woman had even given one. They’d turned, intending to continue the tour when she’d asked the question, and there in the doorway, leaning in, hands braced on the walls outside, was the man from Keegan’s dream. His eyes weren’t glowing, and he wasn’t snarling, but there was no mistaking him.
Keegan let out a gasp of surprise and tripped over her own feet which led to both Morgan and the man quickly reaching out to steady her.
“Are you all right?”
Keegan nodded, swallowing hard as she attempted to get her heart rate back under control.
“Keegan Bishop, this is Jeremiah Durand, second to Alpha Archer Langley. He’ll be in charge of the shifters,” Morgan told her before motioning toward Keegan and telling the man, “Keegan will be training the witches in combat magic.”
Jeremiah shot Keegan a closed-lip smile and a nod. “Nice to meet you.”
She had meant to say, ‘You too,’ but it came out a garbled, inarticulate murmur that had her cheeks heating with embarrassment. But, holy shit, she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that part of her vision was standing right in front of her in the flesh. Well, not literally in the flesh, he was fully clothed after all, though that T-shirt he was wearing should be illegal the way it stretched over that muscular chest and those thick biceps.
