Christian's Hunt Read online

  cHRISTIAN’S

  Hunt

  cHRISTIAN’S kISSES #4

  a NOVEL BY

  h.N. SIEVERDING

  Christian’s Hunt: Christian’s Kisses Book #4

  © 2019 H.N. Sieverding

  First E-book Publication: November 2019

  Cover art © 2019 H.N. Sieverding

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.hnsieverding.com

  Chapter One

  House’s Headquarters: Hanton, Central Pargon

  C hristian studied an angel composed of colored glass above his head. Sunlight went through her and covered him in a rainbow of light.

  He examined the chamber of glass and halted on a depiction of a battle between an angel and a demon. The divine warrior held a long saber in his hand, a demon cowering under him.

  Black flames formed the dark angel’s wings, his shadow body transparent. Behind him stood his battalion of underlings helping him storm the gates of heaven.

  Christian thrust his hands into the pockets of his baggy dress pants. He resembled a GQ model, his silvery suit designer and his physical features without a flaw.

  Unlike ordinary men, Christian was a Master Vampire—an angel damned by God with the ravenous thirst for blood and torture. As God’s perfect killer, he was immortal and stronger than any creature who walked the Earth.

  He found peace in this place. The tranquil setting relaxed him. But not today. He was on edge and wasn’t in the mood to contend with anyone. If Magnus mentioned his spouse again, Christian couldn’t subdue his anger this time.

  As if he could burst, his heart pounded, and his muscles tensed. Maybe he detected the impending struggle, or he wished to create one. Either way, this meeting may result in blood.

  “Master Vallore,” Magnus called from behind, his mood bright. The priest idolized the Master and sucked up to him. He was in awe of Christian’s godly powers, and so were many others.

  Christian turned to Father Magnus and his priests. They wore white frocks, crimson sashes over their shoulders and short pointed hats covering their bald heads.

  Christian bowed his head in greeting with a regal air. He spoke in a muted tone and wanted to crush his old friend. “Good afternoon, Father.” His jaw was rigid as he ground his teeth. The hands in his pockets fisted, but his face didn’t show his irritation. On the surface, he was calm and collected.

  “Let us converse in private.” Magnus motioned for Christian to walk with him. He touched Christian’s back but looked up to him when he spoke. Magnus was short, about five-foot-five.

  He was the head of a group called the House. They paid Christian and his vampires to execute the sinners on the House’s monthly lists. The partnership functioned well for them. The vampires received the blood they required, and the congregation “cleansed” the world of sinners.

  Magnus chatted as they walked, but Christian remained silent, his concentration glued on the path ahead. Magnus sought to sweeten him with praises, but nothing would “sweeten” Christian’s mood today except for blood.

  They went to Magnus’ office. Christian parked on the couch and Magnus next to him. Magnus opened a laptop and brought up the new list. The pair talked business and it continued as every session did. But after twenty minutes, the discussion he dreaded came up.

  Addison Vallore, Christian’s wife.

  “The Mistress sent these to me.” Magnus opened a file containing Addison’s drawings. His tone was admiring, but it’s not what distressed Christian. The House wanted her to complete a mission Christian refused to let her do, and Magnus would mention that again today. He always did.

  It was the origin of the hostility placed upon their friendship.

  Indicating a drawing with his finger, Magnus attempted to keep the mood upbeat. “The Mistress is extraordinarily talented. The hand of an artist and the gift of an Oracle. She’s perfect.”

  “That she is,” Christian whispered.

  He sneered at his wife’s sketches. God blessed her with the gift of second sight, but this gift was a burden she despised. She had visions of the Wickeds God wished to add to the list. This upset her, and without a taste of his holy blood before bed, she’d have dreadful dreams.

  When she was alone, she would send him several illustrations and had nightmares every time she slept. He despised it and felt responsible.

  “She’d make a great hunter, too, I bet,” Magnus added, a hint of sarcasm in his approach. Magnus wanted Addison to hunt and every meeting, he pushed the thought. Christian didn’t agree. He wished to protect and coddle her.

  “My love is many things—” Christian hesitated. He intended to make Magnus uncomfortable on purpose. He struck an aggressive posture, his lip twisted, his brow lowered, and ice in his glare. “—but a hunter, she is not.”

  It didn’t work, and Magnus wouldn’t back down. Adamant, he fought back. “Turning a blind eye to the prophecy won’t make it go away. Monroe needs to be stopped.” He slammed the lid of his laptop, his lips puckered as he sucked on them. The dirty laundry was aired, and the fight Christian avoided emerged.

  “I agree.” Christian leaned his elbows on his knees, his hands clutched. He spun the silver wedding band on his finger and attempted to relax. Addison was his soft spot and the fire igniting his fiercest anger.

  “I think—”

  When Magnus tried to talk, Christian interjected. “But my wife will have no part in it.”

  Magnus rotated his body toward Christian, his knees banging into the vampire’s. Christian wiggled his nostrils and sought to still his heavy breath. He bit his teeth and pressed the sides of his ring.

  “She is destined to kill him. It is the only way to stop the prophecy.” Arguing with passion, Magnus became desperate as if the world depended on this.

  Magnus raised his voice and flipped the sash on his waist over his opposite knee. He wore white robes worthy of his holy status in the church. Made of stiff fiber, they were heavy.

  “No.” Christian’s words were firm as he stood. He needed to leave before he hurt his friend.

  “Please, hear me—” Magnus argued with urgency, as he followed Christian to the exit.

  He spun and confronted Magnus. “We don’t discuss my wife and Monroe.” Christian pointed a rigid finger as he snapped. He exposed his fangs and hissed.

  Magnus didn’t back down. “You made a promise to me.” He straightened his ropes with jittery hands.

  Christian scoffed at Magnus’ words, his breathing heavy. “And I made a promise to her.”

  “I didn’t think I’d have to do this, but—” He sighed as he stuck his hands up in surrender. Defeated, this argument drained him as much as it did Christian. “You leave me no choice.”

  Magnus snagged a sealed envelope from his desk with a swift hand. He held it out to Christian. Magnus was hurt, his lips tight, his forehead creased, and his eyes wide. “If I can’t persuade you—” He hesitated as his fingers stiffened on the parcel. “—then you will be disciplined. Not by me—” He gulped and murmured his last words like they were unpleasant to say, “—but by God.”

  “What?” Sneering, Christian’s tone was sharp. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and jangled his keys.

  “If she doesn’t kill him—” Magnus grimaced and waved the envelope. “—he’ll take what’s precious from you.”

  “What’s more precious to me
than my wife?” Christian seized the letter and ripped it open. He read the statements of several Oracles. “No—this—” Christian’s breath deepened as he read, his scowl transforming into a frown. “This isn’t—”

  A few moments of silence passed between them as Christian leafed through the papers.

  Magnus touched his lips, as he observed the great vampire’s pain. “I’m sorry.”

  “He can’t do this!” Christian threw the envelope to the ground, the documents in it littering the floor. “It would devastate her!”

  “That’s the idea. She has to kill Monroe.”

  “She doesn’t. There are alternative means,” Christian whispered, his hand paused under his nose.

  Magnus’ voice lightened as if he felt he won the argument. “But if she prevails, the Lord will reward her—and you.”

  Christian’s reluctant gaze met Magnus’. Parched, his hands quivered. “How can he be so heartless? How—”

  “He created her for this mission. She must kill Monroe and stop the Armageddon prophecy. She is not solely meant for you.” Magnus’ words were rude, and it infuriated the vampire.

  “She is not your soldier—” Christian growled as he kicked at the notes near his feet. “—nor God’s. She’s my mate and if she doesn’t wish to fight, I won’t force her. Fuck God and his stupid prophecy!”

  “Christian!” Magnus’ eyes widened, his mouth open wide in disbelief. He set a hand over his heart, his breathing rapid. “How dare you speak that way of the Lord?”

  “You forget, Father,” Christian seethed, “he and I aren’t friends. They cursed me to this place for a reason.” Baring his fangs, he lunged and pinned Father Magnus against the distant wall, his speed like lightning. He spoke through ground teeth. “And it wasn’t for being a good, obedient little boy.”

  Magnus cowered under the Master vampire, his body quaking. Hearing a tinkle and noting the stinging stench of urine, Christian saw a wet spot on the front of the priest’s vestments and a puddle on the floor.

  “If Monroe lives—” Magnus choked out, Christian’s thumbs digging into his throat and making it difficult for Magnus to breathe. “He-will-kill-you.”

  “Liar!” Christian dug his fingers into Magnus’ shoulders. “Talk of her mission further, and next time, you shall not wake.” He silenced Magnus with his palm and plunged his fangs into his neck.

  He drank enough blood to make Magnus pass out. Christian stepped backward and let the limp body sink to the ground. Licking his lips, he went over to the papers on the floor and gathered them.

  *

  Winters Residence: Honeyville, Caron

  Today was a brisk morning. Fall brought cold winds and burned the olive leaves changing them to brown. Mrs. Winters loved this weather.

  She spent the morning resting on a porch swing drinking her morning coffee. Always lively, the street she lived on was great for people watching. Her deck was her favorite place in the house.

  When she spotted a pair of police walking up the road, she watched them. If they were here, there was trouble in the neighborhood. One had light blond hair styled in a surfer boy fashion, highlights of white hiding within the locks. Heavyset, he reminded her of a security guard.

  His tight uniform outlined his muscles and made her blush. She never met him before and guessed he was new.

  She knew the fellow with him, though. Officer Hogan isn’t much to gawk at. He was in his late fifties and covered in cuts and bruises. Poor guy. She wondered when he’d retire.

  Even though her boy, Josh, had run-ins with the neighborhood cop, she respected him. He protected the neighborhood. It made him good in her book.

  Josh. The thought of him made her fume. As a kid, he caused trouble regularly. From skateboarding in the freight yard, spray painting buildings, and doing many nasty drugs, he did it all. It astonished her he wasn’t in prison.

  His dad said Josh would give him a heart attack and maybe he succeeded. He passed years ago, and she since remarried. The kids hated their stepdad, and it caused tension between them.

  Her gaze narrowed as the officers entered her lot. This was unexpected. She stood and forced a smile.

  Last time Hogan came, he notified her of her daughter, Kelly’s, death. She swallowed the sad image. It happened two weeks ago, and it hadn’t sunk in she was dead.

  “Good morning, Officers.” She spoke in a chipper tone even though she felt the opposite.

  “Mrs. Winters,” the blond addressed her as he withdrew his sunglasses and exposed a pair of striking green eyes. “May we talk inside for a few minutes?” He gestured to the house. He had a thick Sarvonese accent, his tone gruff and deeper than most. It added to this handsome rogue’s charm. On top of being gorgeous, he was foreign.

  “Certainly,” she answered. She signaled for the men to follow as she picked up her coffee mug. She sought to open the front door, but the blond beat her to it.

  “After you.” He held the screen door open and suggested with his hand for her to pass through first.

  “Oh, what a gentleman.” Shying, she stepped into her home. He may be a policeman, but his mischievous grin was criminal.

  She searched the room and realized she was unprepared for guests. Her spouse’s empty beer bottles from last night’s binge littered the table.

  She dashed in ahead of them, set her coffee on the table, snatched the bottles, and whisked them to the kitchen.

  Her Pomeranian barked at them, hopping off the ground and cornering the police near the front door. She had a loud, piercing bark, one hurting her ears. Unfazed, the officers were likely used to dogs by now.

  “She’s friendly, so she won’t bite.” Mrs. Winters swooped up the pooch. “Please, sit. I’ll put her outside.” She pointed to the couch. When they sat, she took the dog outside and returned to the living room.

  She parked next to the blond on the couch. He smelled marvelous, and it made her blush. She kept her hands in her lap and acknowledged Officer Ken Doll and Officer Hogan. “What can I help you with? Is this about those missing girls? I heard those Santo girls down the street are gone. If you ask me, they’re fine. They left with boys.”

  “First, let me introduce myself. I’m Officer Valentine.” The blond held out his hand, and she shook it. His palms were rough and calloused. They were working man’s hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Winters.”

  She clutched his hand, her voice giddy. “And a pleasure to meet you, too, Officer Valentine.” She checked his left hand for a ring but didn’t see one. “What can I help you with?” She cupped her knees as she sat on the edge of the couch.

  “Do you know where your daughter, Addison, is, Mrs. Winters?” Valentine’s brow creased, but his approach was professional. He placed a lot into his image, his teeth a shining white and his skin tanned. He likely spent hours at the gym a day. To keep that massive build, he had to.

  “Addison?” she spat out, irritability in her voice as she sought to guess where this would lead. She grabbed her coffee and took a swallow. It was lukewarm. “Why are you searching for her? She never gets into trouble.” Mrs. Winters put a fist to her breast, concern in her tone. “Oh, my god—nothing happened to her did it? My baby’s okay, right? I lost a daughter two weeks ago, I can’t lose another.”

  “It’s what we’re checking on.” Valentine interrupted her hysterics. “Do you know where she is?”

  “Um…” Mrs. Winters paused. Since her daughter, Kelly’s funeral, she hadn’t communicated with Addison. The pair wasn’t close, and she had no idea where her child was. So, she responded as best as she could. “If I had to guess, she’s with that husband of her’s jet-setting around the country.”

  “Husband?” Valentine’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide as headlights. The news floored him.

  “She’s married? There is no document of her being wed.” Hogan gestured with his hands, his gaze bouncing between Valentine and Mrs. Winters. “How long has she—”

  “Who’s her husband?” Valentine’s wor
ds wobbled as he butted in.

  “Christian Vallore,” she responded as she gushed and bit her lip. “You know, the gazillionaire guy.”

  She informed everyone who her daughter wed, but most didn’t believe her. Addison was a shining star, and it was clear she’d marry rich. But because her mother told fibs from time to time, her friends didn’t trust her. Not having a picture of the pair didn’t help, either. But these were the police, so they’d have to trust her.

  “Christian Va-va—” Valentine attempted to speak, but couldn’t push out the words.

  “Are you all right?” She checked Valentine over further. He was fixed to keel over, his skin pale and his breathing rapid.

  “He’s diabetic.” Hogan stood and gestured to her. “I think his sugar’s low. Do you have anything we can give him?”

  “I’m fine,” Valentine snapped as he held a hand to his face and hid his eyes. Embarrassment reddened his cheeks.

  Hogan sat next to her, planting his rear on the arm of the sofa. When she didn’t act, he asked again. “Mrs. Winters?”

  “I got something. I’ll be right back.” She dashed to the kitchen and foraged in the fridge for a treat. The miserable fellow. Mrs. Rogers down the road had low blood sugars often, and she went into convulsions. This condition was dangerous. Rogers got mean like a horse beforehand, as the officer had.

  She returned to the living room with a can of dark soda. Hogan whispered to Valentine, his arm around Valentine’s shoulder. Valentine was on the brink of tears.

  “Here.” She handed Valentine the drink.

  Valentine swallowed hard as he examined the can and was slow to consume it.

  “Drink it before you pass out.” Hogan forced Valentine to sip the pop. “I’ll take over the interrogation.”

  “Is he okay?” Mrs. Winters sat in the armchair near them.

  “Yes, he will be. He needs a few minutes for the sugar to work.” Hogan’s turkey neck wrinkled when he looked down on her. He had a jolliness to him, and it softened his edges. “I apologize for this.”