THE HUNT

CHAPTER-TWENTY SIX

Dagan flipped the intercom switch on the computer's console, allowing him and the witch to have a little chat.

"You realize you're making things more difficult for me?"

"Don't . . . care . . . asshole." The young woman's voice was low and raspy, and Dagan's vampire ears had to strain just to hear her.

"Speak up, witch. This isn't a church service."

"Screw You!"

"What's that? Do you want more of this? He asked, with a scowl. He stood and walked the length of the computer's console. He saw her eyes widen.
Just like a little lab rat, she'd figured out where the poison came from.

"No," she said, and this time there was more punch, strength to her voice.

Good witch.

"So, tell me about your mother. I heard she's a powerful seer. And the guardian to the bloodstone?"

"The Bloodstone?"

"You're a witch, are you not?"

"Yes. But—"

"But, exactly. Don't play coy with me.

"I—"

He was alone in the lab, and for a moment he considered killing her. But this was an unusual moment. Just him and the little witch. She could still be of some use. He hadn't given up on her yet. And he was enjoying tormenting her.

"I can smell werewolf blood in your veins. Why?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled.

"Don't try my patient's witch." he sneered. "You have one last chance to answer my question." His fingers tapped on the top of the table. "Are you betrothed to one of those filthy mongrels? Or did you let one have a taste of you?"

"No."

"Then how do you—"

"I was born this way."

He stood. "Born?"

"Please—please, let me go."

He put his fingers on the switch. Do you remember how it feels?"

She swallowed, her face slack. Her spirit was weakening, which was a pity. But she was almost useless to him now, and he was quickly sliding beyond caring.

"Now tell me," he said, his finger dancing above the switch. "Was your father a werewolf?"

"I—he. . . no."

This was getting better and better. "Your mother?"

"Yes."

"And where is Mommy?"

"She died when I was ten."

Dagan clenched his hand so tight he almost broke the corner of the stainless steel table off. Why did his luck continue to be so miserable?

"And how did your mommy, encounter her demise?" he asked.

"Vampires. They took her—and killed her."

"Did they now? Did she tell you where she hid the bloodstone?"

"No." The word was a whisper. Even so, it cut right through him.
"You Bitch!" he said. "You're not helping! Are you trying to die? Do you want me to kill you?"

Tears rolled out of her eyes. "No. Please. All I know is those blood-suckers needed a witch's blood to mix with their blood."

"Those bastards." He mumbled to himself peering hard at her. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to rip apart every last one of those vampires.
"Do you know the names of the vampires, who killed your mother?"