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She’d dropped her baseball bat in the hallway. Drew looked around, ignoring the curious looks she was receiving from some of the tenants, and decided she was going after her bat and then she was going after whoever had decided to rob their apartment. They’d picked the wrong damn day, and the wrong people!
***
Max arrived in Vivienne’s bedroom to find it as he’d expected: trashed. He did a quick check, even behind the door. The room was deserted. Vases were broken. Her bed was ripped apart. It was obvious someone had been searching for something. Her jewelry was tossed carelessly across the room, the first indication that this was no ordinary robbery. He felt anger pulse in his veins.
Hearing a slight shuffle, he ran from Vivienne’s room into his own. A man, dressed from head to toe in black, ski-mask included, was holding a framed picture in gloved hands. Max immediately knew which one: their graduation. Vivienne stood between him and Drew as they all smiled happily for the cameraman. As soon as he entered, the man dropped the frame and ran toward him. The first blow caught him in the jaw, and sent him spiraling backward before he regained his footing and charged the man.
Max had landed a few solid punches to the man’s face when he was thrown backward by an unseen force. He attempted to move but couldn’t. An unseen force pressed him down. The man was suddenly over him, staring with eyes as pitch black as night. Max’s gut coiled. Suddenly the man pulled the ski-mask from his head, revealing pale skin, black eyes, and a tattoo of a cross on his neck. He’d seen the man before, one of the questionable ones in his father’s employ.
“Pathetic.” The man’s voice was slightly disoriented but Max understood him well. He stooped, so that he could lean closer to Max, and shook his pale hair. “And you call yourself a tracker, half-breed?” He chuckled in disbelief, lips parting farther as if to say something else. Before he could speak, he was flung backward, his body hitting the wall with a resounding thud. A groan escaped his lips.
Max bounced onto his feet, and quickly followed, lifting the man and slamming him against the wall once more. Another groan came from the intruder as his lips peeled backward to reveal his now bloody teeth. The force of the impact had split his lip.
“Who sent you?”
A smirk touched the man’s lips and Max concentrated on his trachea. He willed it closed. The man’s eyes widened and he began to struggle, his hands clawing at the invisible restraint at his throat.
“Your father,” he croaked out and Max allowed him to breathe as that information sank in. The bastard! His father had specifically assigned him the task of locating Vivienne but he’d obviously never trusted him enough to see it through. This only reaffirmed his reasons for keeping her a secret.
“How many trackers were sent?”
The man hesitated only a few seconds before he said, “Two.”
Max narrowed his eyes. As far as he knew, there were trackers in every race. By nature, weres were trackers, as they depended on their animal instincts to help them locate creatures. The vampire race had its fair share of trackers as well, though it was unknown how many. The witches trained their trackers, putting them through years of grueling and intense hardships before the title was bestowed. They were skilled fighters, quick at deadly spells, and extremely good with mental shields. They were also very at ease telling lies. He’d been lying for more than five years now….
“Where’s the other?”
“Following the girl.”
“Where is she?”
The man shrugged his shoulders and Max used his hands this time to cut off his air circulation.
“Okay, okay.” Max eased his hold ever so slightly. “She’s with a man.”
He knew that. What he didn’t know was whom. When midnight passed to reveal no Vivienne, he’d had a strange feeling. It wasn’t like her to stay out so late, especially as she had work the next morning. Still, he’d given her the benefit of the doubt, deciding that she was a grown woman, and perhaps, just perhaps, she was out with her colleagues. He’d waited until two before he decided to call, and that was when a man had answered. Through the phone, Max had felt the man’s anger, his rage, all of it directed at him. There had been no ill feeling toward Vivienne. He’d attempted to find them, but was blocked by a witch, one he hadn’t been able to trace.
“Who?”
“We don’t know. I swear.”
Max almost scoffed. He could swear on Luna herself and Max wouldn’t believe him.
“How did you track her here?”
The tracker blinked and Max stared into red-tinged brown eyes. He repeated his question and squeezed lightly at the man’s throat.
