But he was alive. She knew it the same way every parent must know, regardless of how much time or distance separates them from their child. Deep in her marrow, she was certain her little boy was still breathing.
Somewhere ...
The hopelessness of finding him when she didn't even know where to begin looking pressed down on her as she sat alone on the concrete slab, staring out at the vast, empty wasteland of what had probably once been a pleasant neighborhood on the outskirts of New Orleans. Now there was next to nothing left of it. Displaced families, homes in neglect and ruin, countless lives rent apart by a force they had been powerless to stop. She had weathered her own storm in the decades Dragos had imprisoned her. He hadn't beaten her yet. He hadn't won. Nor would he, so long as she had breath in her body.
She could only pray that her son was equally resilient.
Hunter had managed to get away and start a new life, after all. But then, Hunter'd had the Order there to help pull him out of his previous existence. He'd had Mira to instill that muchneeded glimpse of hope that he might have a chance, a way out. What did her son have?
He didn't know there was someone who loved him and wanted him to be free. He couldn't know there was hope, slim as it was, that someone longed to find him and give him the life he deserved.
As for Corinne, she didn't know where her son was, let alone if he could be salvaged. And then there was Hunter and the Order. To them, her son was just another of Dragos's deadly assets. One they were all pledged to destroy - most of all Hunter, who knew better than anyone how dangerous the others like him were. The Order had declared war on Dragos and all who served him, and for good reason. They would view her child as an enemy. Although she didn't want to think it, there was a terrified part of her that worried they might be right.
Corinne wiped the back of her hand across her damp cheek as Hunter came out of the house next door. He saw her sitting there and strode over through the ragged, mud-choked grass. He was darkness against the dim shadows of the approaching dawn, his big black combat boots chewing up the turf as his long, muscular legs carried him nearer. His coat flapped behind him like a black leather sail with each rolling stride.
He scowled as he drew close. "Why did you leave the vehicle?"
She dashed away the last of her tears. "I don't like tight spaces. Besides that, it's been a long night, and I'm tired."
He paused in front of her, staring down at her in question. "You are crying."
"No." The lie was likely too brisk to be convincing, but to her relief, Hunter didn't press the issue. His gaze was rooted on her mouth, his brows furrowing deeper.
"Your lip is bleeding again."
Instinctively, she darted her tongue out to find the small cut she'd sustained earlier that night. She tasted blood - only a faint trace, no cause for alarm. But Hunter's eyes were fixed on her still. His pupils narrowed. Amber glinted in the gold of his irises.
"Dawn is coming," he said, his voice a low, raspy growl. "Come with me. The house has been vacant for some time. It will provide us adequate shelter."
She got up and followed him. The abandoned residence smelled of mildew and the sour tinge of brine and dried mud. Hunter walked ahead of her, pulling together the stiffened drapes that still hung over the broken window in the living room. Above their heads, a ceiling fan drooped like an upside-down tulip, its wooden blades warped from the floodwater that had risen to engulf them for God knew how many days before it had finally receded. Only a few items of furniture remained in the place amid the smashed mementos, peeled wallpaper, and dust-covered debris that littered the floor. Hunter stepped over it, navigating the best path for her. At an adjacent, open doorway down the hall, he paused to motion her forward.
"I've cleared a spot in here where you can rest a while."
Corinne walked to him and glanced inside. Most of the floor space was empty, swept clean of the filth that plagued the other areas of the house. A thin, mud-stained mattress had been shoved upright on its side against the far wall, held in place by a substantial but storm-wrecked chest of drawers.
Hunter took off his long leather coat and spread it out in the center of the cleared floor.
"For you to sleep on," he said, when she turned a questioning look at him.
Chapter Eighteen
"What about you?"
"I will report in to the Order, then stand guard in the other room while you rest." He pivoted to move past her, back into the hallway.
"Wait. Hunter ..." She wrapped her arms around herself, already feeling too much alone in the confines of the dreary little room. "Will you stay with me here ... just until I'm asleep?"
He stared, unspeaking, for almost longer than she could bear. She knew he was probably the last person she should look to for comfort, especially after what she'd seen him do tonight. After all she'd heard of his upbringing and his personal mission for the Order, she knew this deadly male was potentially the worst ally she could have in her need to find - and save - her child.
Yet when she looked at Hunter in the soft shadows of the storm-ravaged house, she didn't see ruthlessness or savagery. She saw the same restraint and tenderness that he'd shown her at the jazz club in the city, in the moments before he'd kissed her so unexpectedly on the dance floor. His golden eyes simmered with that same heat now, the warmth of his gaze drifting slowly to her mouth.
Now Corinne had gone speechless, motionless, unsure what disturbed her more: the thought of kissing him again, or the thought that he might simply turn away and leave her standing there by herself.
"Lie down," he murmured, his voice thick and rough-edged. The points of his fangs gleamed behind his lush upper lip as he spoke.