Hunt for Two. Kai Parker

The wooden floor chilled my skin through the torn fabric of my police uniform. I lay there, face pressed into the rough boards, damp and soaked with something metallic — the smell of blood hit my nostrils, mine or someone else's, I couldn't tell. My clothes clung to me, drenched in dirt and crusted crimson stains. My head throbbed, like someone was hammering from the inside, and my thoughts tangled, slipping away like smoke. I tried to push myself up, leaning on trembling arms, but the world tilted before my eyes. The last thing I remembered was the chase. Kai Parker. His name echoed in my skull, sharp and venomous, like a blade. I'd been hunting him, cornered him — or thought I had. Then — nothing. Fragments of memory started piecing themselves together, rebuilding what happened. The morning had started normal, almost dull. I was driving to the station, gripping the wheel with one hand, the other holding a latte from a roadside joint. The plastic lid had cracked, hot coffee scalding my fingers, but I barely noticed. My mind was elsewhere — on Kai. Two months I'd been trying to catch that bastard, scraping together anything: evidence, statements, leads. But he slipped away like a shadow, leaving chaos and my fury in his wake. Witnesses flipped their stories, evidence vanished from lockup like it never existed, and the brass looked at me with tired annoyance, like I was obsessed. Maybe I was losing it. But give up? Never. My phone buzzed on the passenger seat. I glanced over — unknown number. The text was short: I can help you catch Kai Parker. I slammed the brakes, tires screeching, coffee splashing onto my jeans. My brows furrowed as I reread it. Who was this? Some prankster? Or... a chance? My fingers hovered over the screen, then typed fast: Meet me at 6 at Mystic Grill. I shoved the phone in my pocket, heart kicking up a notch. This case was too big to let a lead slip. I'd ditch work early — let them grumble, I didn't care. Mystic Grill hit me with a buzz of voices and the smell of fried potatoes. My car — not new, but trusty, a beat-up Honda with a worn interior — sat out front, headlights blinking as I locked it. A man stood by the door, mid-forties, tall, with a touch of gray in his hair and tired eyes. I knew him — Alaric Saltzman, head of some private school for troubled teens. We'd crossed paths on minor cases before. He waved, and I knew: it was him. I walked over, keys clenched in my pocket. "Hello, officer," he started, offering his hand. His voice was steady, but there was a nervous edge to it. "Alaric Saltzman." "Dasha Baker," I replied, shaking his hand. It was quick — his fingers trembled slightly, his skin clammy with sweat. I filed that away, cop habit, always noting the details. We went inside, took a corner booth. The noise — laughter, clinking glasses, scraps of chatter — drowned out everything, and that worked in our favor. No one paid us any mind. I leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. "How can you help me catch Kai Parker?" I asked, cutting to the chase. Patience was never my strong suit. Alaric gave a small smile, but it was crooked, like he wasn't sure he should keep talking. He coughed, rubbed his temple. "Look, Dasha... Kai's not a normal guy." "He's a psycho," I blurted, unable to hold it in. "Belongs in a padded cell. Sorry, go on." I bit my tongue, cheeks burning. When it came to Kai, I lost my grip. "He's playing with you," Alaric went on, his voice dropping, careful now. "He likes your obsession. But it's not gonna lead you anywhere good." I swallowed, a lump sticking in my throat. His words hit something raw, but I kept my face blank. "What do you mean, 'not a normal guy'?" I asked, leaning in. He still hadn't explained, and it was starting to grate. Alaric met my eyes, like he was testing if I could handle the truth. "There are things in this town science can't explain," he said slowly. "Kai... he's a vampire. And a witch. They call it a heretic." I froze. My brows shot up, and a thought flashed: Looks like Kai's getting a roommate in the psych ward. But something in his tone, in that weird word "heretic," shut me up and made me listen. I remembered seeing Kai in action — killing those kids right in front of me. Brutal, with that damn smirk, like it was a game. And me... I'd stood there, unable to move. Not shock, not weakness — something held me, like invisible chains. It didn't make sense. It was unnatural. "Kai's dangerous," Alaric pressed, his voice hardening. "And if he's not stopped, more people are gonna die." "So what's your plan?" I asked, arching a brow. Believe him or not, I hadn't decided, but he clearly knew more than he let on. "I've got a hunch," he said, rubbing his temple harder, like he was fighting a headache. "Tonight, some kids are throwing a party at the cemetery. Small, just a few from rough families. I think Kai'll be there." "Why?" I squinted, waiting for more. "Just trust me," he said, sliding a bag under the table with his foot. I glanced down — a worn backpack, nothing special, but heavy. "Don't open it here. It's got vervain, wooden bullets, and a stake." I arched my brow higher. Was he for real? "It'll stop him," he added, catching my skepticism. "Get there in a couple hours." He pulled up a map on his phone, jabbed a spot. "Bring him here. There'll be a circle, candles — you'll see it. We'll handle the rest. Then get out. The bag's got vervain syringes — they'll weaken him. Wooden bullets too. Don't be afraid to shoot." I thought back to firing my service pistol at Kai. Bullets hit him, and he just laughed, wiping the blood off his shirt like it was nothing. Maybe there was something to this insanity. "You in?" he asked, locking eyes with me. "Yeah," I said, though I wasn't sure. "Good," he exhaled, relieved. "I'll text you the spot. Meet me there in two hours." He got up and left, leaving me alone. I sat there, staring at my cold tea, fingers gripping the bag. My head spun. Vampire? Witch? Heretic? Bullshit. But if it meant catching Kai... I stood, grabbed the backpack, and headed to my car. Consciousness snapped back like someone yanked me out of dark water. My head buzzed, pain clamping my temples. I was sprawled on a floor — cold, wooden, cracked, with dust and grime packed into the gaps. My uniform — my pride, my shield — was shredded, soaked in blood and sweat. I propped myself up on my elbows, wincing as my ribs screamed, and tried to look around. I was on the floor of a living room, a fireplace crackling to my left, an old leather couch nearby. Where was I? How'd I get here? "Welcome to my personal hell, Dasha," a voice cut through the silence, low, laced with venom and mockery. It came from the shadows, and I flinched, jerking my head toward it. Kai stepped forward, his figure emerging from the dimness. Tall, dark hair, eyes burning like a predator mid-hunt. His shirt hung open, pale skin peeking through the fabric, and that damn smirk played on his lips — the one that sent ice through my veins. "Or, more precisely, our hell," he added, taking a step closer. "Thanks for dragging me back here. Again." His voice was a knife — sharp, cutting, dripping with hate. I tried to stand, but my legs buckled, a shiver ripping through me. He loomed over me, and his gaze promised pain — cold, merciless. "I didn't mean..." I started, but the words died. He raised a hand, and the air thickened, turning heavy, suffocating. An invisible force clamped around my throat. I clawed at my neck, fingers scrabbling, but there was nothing — just his magic, that cursed, damn magic! My breath caught, lungs burned, I gasped for air, but it wouldn't come. Kai watched me choke, his grin stretching wider. Then he clenched his fist. The world went black. Consciousness crept back slowly, like I was surfacing through thick fog. The same smooth wooden floor of that house chilled my skin, the same dimness wrapped the room, heavy with the scent of old varnish and something metallic — blood. I lay curled on my side, my uniform — torn and stained crimson — clinging to me, restricting every move. My head throbbed again. I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was Kai. He sat across from me in an old leather armchair, casually twirling a knife in his hands. The blade glinted in the faint light, casting flickers across his face. That smirk — sharp as broken glass — was fixed on his lips. His gaze slid over me, slow, appraising, brimming with predatory anticipation. I recoiled, instinctively pressing myself into the floor, eyes wide with horror. "Did I die?" My voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper. "But why... why am I back here?" Kai laughed — short, sharp, like my question was the best joke of the day. "Oh, Dasha," he drawled, spinning the knife between his fingers with a magician's ease. His tone grew serious, but mockery still rang through it. "You've got so much to learn." He lunged forward, grabbed my wrist, and yanked up my sleeve. I jerked, trying to pull free, but his grip was iron, fingers digging into my skin like a vise. Panic flooded my chest, my breath hitched. "Kai, please," my voice cracked, a shaky exhale as I tried to stop trembling. "Don't." He smiled — slow, locking eyes with me, not a shred of mercy in it. "You shouldn't have messed with my plans, Da-sha," he said, stretching my name like he was savoring it. The blade flashed, and he sliced my wrist — quick, sure. I cried out, pain searing my arm, hot and burning like molten metal. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I clenched my jaw, holding them back. Blood poured from the cut, dark and glossy, running down my skin. Kai didn't let go — his fingers still clamped my wrist as he reached for the coffee table. A glass of bourbon sat there, amber liquid sloshing at the bottom. He lifted it to his lips, downed it in one gulp, then held it under my hand. Blood dripped into the glass, mixing with the leftover booze, and his smirk widened, watching it with some sick satisfaction. My head spun, the world blurring at the edges. He did the same to my other arm — a swift slash, another cry, another wave of pain. I sat frozen, too scared to look up. Blood flowed, the glass filled, and I felt my strength draining, drop by drop. When it was just over half full, Kai set it down carelessly, grabbed my shoulder, and drove the knife into my stomach with force. I screamed — loud, raw, tears finally spilling, hot and salty. My hands, sticky with blood, pressed to the wound, but it gushed through my fingers, warm and relentless. The room tilted, my vision clouded. He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear, cold and sharp. "I'm gonna make you regret what you did," he whispered, and those words sent chills across my skin, ice creeping down my spine. Kai pulled back, picked up the glass of my blood, and flopped onto the couch, kicking his feet onto the table. He took a sip, savoring it like some fancy cocktail, and watched me die — slow, agonizing, bleeding out on the floor. Every minute stretched into forever, pain blending with despair, and I waited for the darkness to take me again. It kept happening. Over and over. He killed me — sometimes with magic, crushing my throat with invisible force, sometimes with his hands, snapping bones or choking me with sadistic glee. Each time I came back, and each time I didn't know why. Why couldn't I die for real? Why wasn't anyone looking for me? Did no one care? This house's living room became my personal torture chamber, and Kai — the executioner, his cruelty boundless. One time I woke up tied to a chair. Ropes bit into my wrists, rough and tight, but the pain wasn't sharp anymore — it dulled, just background noise. No more tears, my voice hoarse from screaming, I didn't beg anymore. My eyes scanned the room, weary. I knew what came next. Pain. Death. Return. Endless cycle, no point. I sat there maybe twenty minutes, looking around, waiting, but Kai wasn't there. The silence pressed on my ears, heavy and oppressive. I tugged at the ropes, trying to loosen them, but I had no strength left — my body was too worn out. The front door slammed, and he walked in — chipper, almost cheerful, a paper bag in hand. He set it on the kitchen table and started unpacking, like it was any normal day. "Oh, you're awake," he tossed over his shoulder, not turning, that familiar mockery in his voice. "Bet you've got a ton of questions." "Main one's when you're finally gonna croak," I spat, my voice shaking with anger but weak. Kai laughed — loud, ringing, like I'd said something brilliant. "So feisty, I like it," he said, pulling a bottle of bourbon from the bag. He poured himself a glass, strolled to the armchair across from me, and sat, eyeing me head to toe. "You look rough," he added, fake-wincing. I exhaled, letting his words slide past. He was clearly loving this — my helplessness, my rage. "Let me guess," I started, meeting his gaze. "Today's torture's your annoying voice?" He laughed again, leaning back. "Listen, that's kinda harsh," he said, fake-frowning. "But I'll let it slide, given your situation." I glanced down at myself. The shredded police uniform was gone — I was in someone else's clothes, clean but unfamiliar. A sick thought stabbed my ribs. "You changed me?" I asked casually, hiding the disgust. "Yeah, sorry," he grimaced, sipping his bourbon. "Your stuff wasn't smelling too great. And my nose, you know, it's sensitive these days." I rolled my eyes, swallowing a curse. "Well," he began, setting the glass on the armrest. "You're probably wondering: where are we, why's no one saving you, why don't you die?" He smirked, relishing my silence. "When you lured me into that trap..." He paused, lips tightening like the memory stung. "Honestly, I was gonna kill you that night. Our little game was getting old." I tensed but stayed quiet. He went on: "We're in a prison world. Like a copy of the real one, except we're stuck reliving the same day. That's why I can't kill you for good, by the way," he chuckled, taking another sip. "Not that I'm not trying. But you won't die here. Neither will I. It's a cage." He leaned back, watching me with lazy curiosity. "I've been in places like this... thirty, forty years maybe," he mused, scratching his chin. "Who's counting? Life sentence, kinda." I sat silent, digesting it. That explained his madness — or maybe he'd always been this way? A prison. A repeating day. No escape. "No one's here but us," he added, shrugging. "So no one's coming to save you." His words echoed in my head: no one's coming to save you. No one. Cold gripped my chest. I'd trapped him here — and he was making me pay with twisted cruelty. I could only rely on myself. Only myself. Memories of that day, when I fell into this hell, crashed over me, forcing me to relive what happened. I pulled up to the cemetery right on time. Alaric's bag sat on the back seat, and I gripped a pistol loaded with wooden bullets — cold, heavy, unfamiliar. Vervain syringes weighed down my jacket pocket, the stake tucked into my waistband scratched my skin. I parked a little ways off to avoid notice and stepped out, tuning into the hum of music and teenage laughter. They were somewhere beyond the headstones — drunk, high, unlikely to spot me, but I stuck to the shadows anyway, circling the cemetery through the woods. Where the hell's Saltzman? And where's Kai? I thought, checking the map spot. The circle Alaric mentioned was ten minutes on foot. I memorized the route and moved, clutching the gun. Then a scream shattered the silence — sharp, full of terror. I bolted toward it, heart hammering. In the dimness between the trees, two figures flickered. One was bent over the other's neck, and I froze, thinking it was just kids caught up in each other. I turned to leave, but the one facing me looked up. Kai. His mouth dripped with blood, dark and gleaming, running down his chin. He grinned — feral, unhinged — and dropped the body like a rag. Dead. The kid was dead. "Freeze!" I shouted, raising the gun. My hands shook, but I held the aim. "Don't move!" "Next in line, officer?" Kai arched a brow, stepping toward me. His voice oozed mockery. I tensed, but suddenly the gun burned hot — unbearably hot. The metal melted, searing my palms, and I dropped it with a yell. It hit the ground as a shapeless puddle, and I stared at Kai in horror. His grin stretched wider. In a blink, he was on me — too fast, unnaturally fast — and sank his teeth into my throat. Pain ripped through my neck. I fumbled for a syringe, stabbed it into his back. He hissed, staggering back, and I shoved him off, sprinting away. I reached the circle — candles blazed, symbols on the ground pulsed like they were alive. I stopped, catching my breath, but the earth dropped out from under me — Kai tackled me from behind. He loomed over me, smirking. "What's your game?" he asked, eyeing the candles with surprise. I hooked his legs, he crashed down, and I jammed the second syringe into his thigh, then drove the stake into his chest. His face twisted with pain and rage. Got him! flashed through my mind. I bolted, but figures stepped out from the trees — Alaric and some unfamiliar teens. Witches. They held an object, chanting a spell. An invisible force yanked me back. Kai ripped the stake free, rasping, "Moris." I flew into the circle, right to him. He grabbed my throat, pinned me against him. "Seriously, Ric?" he taunted, voice dripping with defiance. "Think you'll ditch me? Trap me in a prison world with the officer?" Alaric said nothing, his eyes landing on me, heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry," he forced out. A flash blinded me, the world vanished, my head spun, and I plunged into darkness. I snapped back to reality with a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest — like a red-hot spike piercing my heart. My eyes flew open, breath ragged, and I saw Kai — still sitting across from me in that armchair, legs crossed casually. His lips moved, soft, almost silent, muttering something in a language I didn't know. His palm aimed at me, eyes sparking with sick delight. I looked up, meeting his smirk — sharp as a blade, brimming with anticipation. "Looks like you're lost in thought," he drawled, tilting his head like he was studying me from a new angle. "Doesn't matter. I picked up a new spell. Think you'll like it." His voice dripped with venomous excitement, and that gleeful smirk turned my heart into a cold knot. I knew what was coming. Knowing didn't help. He started whispering again, the words flowing smooth as poison, seeping into the air. The pain in my chest grew — dull and throbbing at first, then sharp, unbearable, like someone gripped my heart and squeezed the life out slow. I clenched my teeth, trying to stifle a groan, but it broke free — hoarse, fractured. It felt like a heart attack, only worse — slower, deliberate, like Kai was stretching every second of my agony for his own thrill. My chest burned, air stuck in my throat, fingers clawed at the ropes binding my wrists. I wanted to scream, but couldn't — all I had left was to glare at him, at that damn smirk that never left his face. A minute later, my heart stopped. One last gift. Silence. Darkness. But that day, I decided: enough. After waking again, while he turned away, I bolted. Ran without looking back, through the endless corridors of the prison world, until I stumbled into an abandoned house. Inside was quiet, dusty, but there was water — an old bathroom with a trickling tap. I shed the clothes, washing off the grime and fear. A towel on a hook became my only cover. I tried to catch my breath, heart pounding like mad. Then I heard footsteps. "Seriously, Dasha?" His voice was closer than I'd hoped. I spun around, clutching the towel to my chest. Kai stood in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame. His dark hair was mussed, shirt unbuttoned a couple notches, pale skin showing through. "You really thought you could hide from me? Here? In my world?" I stumbled back, my heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. My heels hit the edge of the tub, and I tripped, barely catching myself. Fear locked my body, icy fingers gripping my chest, but something else flickered in Kai's eyes — not just malice, but hunger. Raw, untamed, like a beast scenting prey. He stepped closer — slow, with terrifying confidence, his movements smooth but laced with menace. I threw up a hand, trying to push him off, create some barrier, but he snatched my wrist in one swift motion. His fingers clamped down like a steel trap, and he yanked me toward him, erasing the space between us. "You piss me off," he growled, his voice vibrating with barely contained rage. His face hovered an inch from mine, his breath scorching my skin — hot, sharp, laced with bourbon and something dark. "But you know what? I'm starting to like it." His fingers slid to my throat, wrapping around it — not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to choke me with tension, with the weight of his control. He shoved me back, pinning me to the cold tiled wall. The towel, barely clinging to my chest, stretched tight, threatening to slip, and I couldn't tear my eyes from his — dark, almost black, blazing with a mad fire that swallowed both hate and something I couldn't name. My fear tangled with another feeling — sharp, forbidden, clawing up from somewhere deep — and I didn't know how it happened: his lips crashed into mine. The kiss was rough, furious, like a blow. It wasn't tender — it was punishment, a demand, a bid to take everything he wanted and break me in the process. I bit him back, sinking my teeth into his lower lip, and the taste of his blood seared my tongue. Kai growled, low and animalistic, tightening his grip on my throat, but he didn't pull away. His hold grew harsher, fingers digging into my skin, leaving hot marks. The towel slipped to the floor, landing soft on the tiles, and in an instant, his hands were on me — impatient, rough, burning. He shoved me back against the wall, pressing his body to mine, his chest crushing mine, his breath scorching my neck, hot and ragged. I clawed at his shoulders, nails tearing through his shirt into skin, drawing blood, and it only spurred him on. He ripped his shirt off, buttons scattering, fabric crumpling to the floor, followed by his pants — all in a mess, in chaos, like us. His movements were sharp, almost feral. His hands hooked under my thighs, squeezing so hard I gasped from the mix of pain and heat. He pressed himself flush against me and thrust in — sudden, no warning. I cried out, arching in his grip, but in that moment, everything else vanished: the pain, the fear, the endless deaths he'd dealt me. All that remained was his heavy breathing, jagged and beastly, the rhythm of his thrusts — rough, relentless — and the way his fingers dug into my thighs, bruising. I panted, gulping air, but for the first time here, it wasn't from pain — it was pleasure, fleeting, insane, wrong. It hit me like a breath of fresh air in this suffocating hell. He sped up, thrusts sharper, more desperate, and the tension between us — taut as a wire — snapped. I trembled in his hands, gripping harder, and he let out a low, raspy groan, burying his face in my neck. I clung to him as the world dissolved into heat and the pulse of our bodies. The old house's walls shook, like the prison world itself couldn't handle the intensity. For a few seconds, we froze like that — panting, pressed together — before reality seeped back, cold and unforgiving. It wasn't gentle, wasn't romantic — it was a storm, a clash of hate and desire, something primal and unhinged. When it was over, we collapsed to the floor, breathing hard. Kai lay beside me, his hand resting carelessly on my thigh. He turned his head, flashing that same venomous smirk. "So, Dasha," he rasped, "kill you again, or let you live... for now?" I just exhaled, words failing me. The hate between us hadn't faded, but now it burned with a new spark. And I knew: this was just the start.