“Absolutely not.”
It’s what Shaun had said to Honey, roughly an hour ago. Specifically, they were absolutely not taking the hunter back to the apartment they were technically, sort-of, not really renting from a dead woman named Shirley Hagle. Strictly speaking Shirley was still renting the apartment from the Happy Homes Rental Conglomerate, they just had no idea the woman had died of a heart attack and was buried under the roses in the back.
He’d known it was a lie as soon as it came out of his mouth but he said it anyway, and then he argued with Honey about it for almost five minutes.
All of her arguments were sound but not a single one of them mattered. He knew they were taking him as soon as he looked at him, way before she’d said anything. The stake he’d managed to peel off the body of the crumpled pile of bones and meat that used to be the third hunter had gone home into that vampires body. Before the dust of her had settled Shaun had zipped over to Honey, afraid either the first hunter – the one who had run away – had come back or that the second one had woken up and was being a dick.
There was something about the way they carried themselves. Hunters. How Shaun could always find them. Like they were just so God damned right about everything. You couldn’t beat it out of them, either. They’d be lying there on the ground, inches away from death, and still every muscle would be taut, every joint a sharp angle, and their eyes would flame with the sort of righteous fury you only ever saw in action movie heroes, or incredibly pissed off nuns. Baked into every cell, their essence, their soul. If that was even really a thing.
It had been in the hunter before, stalking down the street with the others, practically strutting as he tried to carry the weight of being so fucking perfect.
Thinking back, maybe there had been cracks. A little too tall, his stride a little too long. Trying too hard. Forcing the perfection. Forcing himself to match the two hunters he walked between. Because all of that holy roller bullshit was completely gone.
Honey was knelt on the ground and had put his head on her thighs. He didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem to notice anything. He was looking up to the washed out city night, eyes swimming, dazed, occasionally chasing something that only he could see. His shoulder was at an incorrect angle. He was covered in bruises and bleeding in more than a few places.
More than anything else, he looked wrong. Not a great hunter, knocked back but ready to bounce back at any second. Not a strong hunter, capable of ignoring the damage. And not a purposeful hunter, refusing to give up.
He was just a man. A kid, really, couldn’t be more than twenty. Maybe not even old enough to drink and he’d completely given up. Ready to die. His heartrate went up as Shaun approached but not because he knew what Shaun was or that Shaun was even there. He was still in the fight. He was waiting for the woman in the silver dress.
He’d been a hunter a few minutes ago. Now he was just a broken sad sack in desperate need of a shower and some stitches and probably some alcohol.
Anyway, that had been an hour ago. Shaun had argued because he didn’t want it to seem like Honey could win everything without putting up a fight.
Leave him here.
What if another vampire comes? Or he bleeds out or something?
Take him to the hospital.
We don’t know how this city works. They could find him, kill him in his bed.
He’s not our problem.
He’s supposed to be the hunters’ problem but one’s dead and the other fucked off.
Probably he’d come up with a few other arguments but they were also probably shit. Eventually he decided he’d put in enough effort and picked the kid up.
Now he was getting blood all over Shirley’s couch. They’d tied up some ripped shirts around the bleeding spots but that was about it. Neither of them had a firm grasp on first aid. If he made it through the night – if it didn’t turn out he had a brain bleed or something – they would figure out what to do when he woke up. Probably get his shoulder back in its socket.
“He’s going to try to kill me,” Shaun said.
Honey shrugged. “Yeah. At least we know he’s bad at it.”
High Urban Fantasy Jazz 