Hunted

charity, as long as I was well protected. Which was how Darius had gotten so involved with me and my group. So, I’d chosen Street Cats, well, ’cause what with all the cats at the House of Night, it just made sense.
    Sister Mary Angela and I had hit it off from the moment we met. She’s cool and spiritual, and wise and nonjudgmental. She even thinks that Nyx is just another version of the Virgin Mary (and Mary is majorly important to the Benedictine Sisters). So I guess you could say Sister Mary Angela and I became friends, and when Grandma was attacked by the Raven Mockers and ended up in St. John’s Hospital in a coma, it was Sister Mary Angela I called to sit with her and protect her from the Raven Mockers hurting her again. When all hell broke loose at the House of Night and Neferet killed Shekinah and had Stark shoot Stevie Rae, Kalona rose, and the Raven Mockers became substantial, it was Sister Mary Angela who got Grandma safely belowground.
    Or at least in theory she was supposed to have gotten Grandma, and the rest of the sisters, underground. I hadn’t talked to her since last night, just before our cell service was cut off.
    So, in order of importance, I needed to call Sister Mary Angela—assuming my phone was working again—and then get directions to Damien and Jack so I could relieve them. Figuring I could kill two birds at once, I retraced my path back down the tunnel, heading for the basement entrance and Darius. He’d know how to get to the boys, and I could probably get cell service in the basement—unless the aboveground world had gone all postapocalypse and cell service was out forever. Thankfully, being filled with blood made me feel slightly optimistic, and even the possibility of a disgusting (and unattractive) I Am Legend -type world didn’t seem utterly hopeless.
    One thing at a time. I’d just take it one thing at a time. First, I’d find out how Grandma was. Then I’d relieve Damien and Jack. Then I’d try to think my way through that awful nightmare.
    I remembered the dark angel’s voice and the way pain and pleasure had somehow melded into one when he touched me and called me his love. I jerked my mind from those kinds of thoughts. Pain couldn’t equal pleasure. What I had felt in the dream was just that, a dream , and by the definition of “dream” (or nightmare) that meant it wasn’t real. And I was definitely not Kalona’s love.
    It was about then that I also realized some of the nerves skittering through my body were fearful, and that had nothing to do with Kalona. While I’d been preoccupied with thinking about him I’d been pretty much ignoring the subconscious tightening in my body. My heartbeat had sped up again. My stomach rolled. I had the distinct and terrifying feeling that I was being watched.
    I spun around, expecting to see—at the very least—bats flapping nastily around. But there was nothing except the dead silence of the deserted, lantern-lit tunnel stretching behind me.
    “You are utterly freaking out,” I said aloud to myself.
    As if my words had caused it, the lantern closest to me went out.
    Dread filled me, and I started backing down the tunnel, keeping my eyes open for anything that might be more than my imagination. And I backed into the metal ladder that had been welded to the wall and led up into the basement of the depot. Giddy with relief at finding the end of the tunnels, I balanced my can of brown pop in one hand and smooshed the big bag of my breakfast Doritos noisily in the other. I had just started to climb when a strong male arm appeared from above, scaring the bejeezus out of me.
    “Here, give me the pop and chips. You’re going to fall right on your butt trying to hold on to them and the ladder.”
    My gaze flew up to see Erik smiling down at me. I swallowed quickly and gave him a perky “Thanks!” Handing him the pop and chips, I made my way more easily up the rest of the ladder.
    The basement was several degrees colder than it was in the tunnels, which felt good on my fear-flushed face.
    “I like that I can still make you blush,” Erik told me, stroking my hot cheek.
    I almost blurted that I was freaked by shadows and unseen crap down in the tunnels, but I could imagine him laughing and accusing me of jumping at bats again. And what if I was just ultrasensitive because of the dream? Did I really want to talk to Erik, or anybody, about Kalona right then?
    No.
    Instead I said, “It’s cold up here, and you know I hate