Midnight Hunter Book One in the Midnight Hunter Trilogy

By Bonnie Bernard

Donna McCormick is a smart, pretty college student whose twenty-first birthday is a week away. Unfortunately, so is her murder - unless the mysterious man from the darkness can reach her first.

Donna is pursued in her dreams by a man who claims to be her Eternal Partner. During her waking hours, she’s cornered by another who claims to be the same. There’s only one problem: neither is entirely honest.

Or, for that matter, entirely human.

Eight years earlier, Donna’s life was dealt a terrible blow with the untimely death of a little brother who was left in her care. Ever since, Donna has yearned to get a normal life back – and despite her best friend Mo’s efforts to the contrary, Donna has almost managed it...at least until the Underworld cracks wide open, scattering chaos and spilling out every shifty force under the moon. Most of them want Donna dead, but some will stop at nothing to keep her alive.

Too bad she doesn’t know which is which.

With death following Donna like a shadow, she turns to her best friend for help. But instead of help, Mo offers only more mystery. And she knows more about the Underworld than she's willing to admit.

Now, Donna must choose: Cling to the mortal world where she feels safe, or embrace the Underworld where her dreams – and nightmares – come true.

One thing’s for sure - doing either one might get her killed in both.

Midnight Hunter is Book One in the Midnight Hunter trilogy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bonnie Bernard
• Release date: Oct 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983827245

Bonnie Bernard

I'm the proud birth-giver to The Midnight Hunter Trilogy - a paranormal, suspense-thriller that features a dash of romance, a sprinkle of mystery, an occasional murder, and a full, fun cast of Underworld characters. Some of them are kind, others are wicked - but all of them will tug at your heartstrings. The Midnight Hunter Trilogy is published by Fin-S Press and is available in softcover and most ereader-device forms.

Book preview

Midnight Hunter

Bonnie Bernard

Copyright 2011 by Kymberly J. Lewis

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 0983827249

ISBN-13: 9-780-983-82724-5

I dedicate this book to Gilligan

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to thank my ever-patient husband, Doug and my best friend, Kristy. From financial backing to emotional life-support, those two make me feel like the luckiest person on earth. They also picked me up and dusted me off when I felt hopeless. Thank you to my nephew Jerry, for the sick cover design and for the perfect website. And thank you to my friends who supported me, who read passages and offered feedback.

Grandmother Wisdom

When she was seven years old, Donna McCormick’s grandmother sat her down and explained why she was different from other seven year old girls.

It’s because of your toes, Grandma had said. Toes like yours are proof that a beautiful goddess watches over you and keeps you safe so you can fulfill your special destiny. Grandma pointed to the second toe on each of Donna’s feet. They were a whole half inch longer than her first toes, a fact that made it hard for Donna’s mom to find shoes that would fit her daughter right. It was a fact that also made Donna feel weird. But back then, grandmother wisdom could explain the weird out of everything. So Donna smiled because she had a goddess watching over her, and a special destiny.

Then, five years later, shortly before That Day wrecked Donna’s family, Grandma explained something else.

Someday you’ll meet two men, she said. One will sweep you off your feet and the other will knock you down. Beware – they are from a dark place where mortals dare not tread.

What do you mean, Grandma? Donna asked.

Your life is destined to have many surprises, my girl. Then Grandma got silent, so Donna’s mother leaned over her daughter’s shoulder and whispered.

Your grandmother is losing her mind to dementia. Pay no attention to her. And you’d best hope for your dad’s sake and your own that it’s not genetic.

The next day, Grandma had a brain hemorrhage and died.

So much for grandmother wisdom and special destinies, Donna thought. She wiped away a tear, looked down at her weird toes, and swore she’d never fall for nonsense again. Just give me a normal life without any surprises, and I’ll be happy.

CHAPTER ONE

At the intersection where the China Palace and Taco Grando fight for peoples' attention, Donna McCormick was first in line to stop her silver Sentra at a red light, and a distracted driver in a blue Toyota Camry squealed his brakes to avoid slamming against the back of her. He would’ve hit her anyway, if just in the nick of time, Donna hadn’t seen the impact coming and hit the gas pedal ever so slightly - after checking for pedestrians, of course.

That was too close, Donna gripped the steering wheel and looked in the rear view mirror. Ever since That Day nine years ago, she had always felt intimidated by cars that got too close. Not that she was afraid of cars, she was just afraid of people being killed by one. It was a lesson Donna had taken home on That Day – always watch out for terrible surprises. It was a philosophy Donna had lived by from That Day forward and now here she was, a week from her twenty-first birthday, and watching out for terrible surprises had just saved her yet again.

The blue Toyota’s driver was a guy in a suit and tie who refused to make eye contact with Donna, and she couldn’t blame him. If the tables were turned, she'd feel mortified, too. Donna's best friend, Mo unclasped her seat belt, whirled around in the passenger seat, leaned out the window and gave the guy a middle finger.

If we wanted you up our ass, we'd have sent a written invitation! she hollered. An old lady waiting for the bus looked up from her book and stared. The light turned green and Donna headed south. The Toyota guy followed. In fact, he followed the Sentra with its two college-girl occupants clear across town and west to Sunflower Street. So Donna avoided turning right on it, even though her car was full of moving boxes and that's where she wanted to dump them off.

Hey, Mo pointed. You passed your parents’ street.

I know where my parents live, Donna turned to Mo and glowered. But it appears you pissed off that guy enough that now he's following us. He's been on our tail ever since you flipped him off.

Mo's cropped, blue hair shuddered when she shook her head in exasperation. You’re the most over-reactive person on earth.

Donna threw her a look. There is nothing wrong with being cautious.

But there is something wrong with being paranoid of your own shadow, Mo grumbled and turned to see the blue Toyota, still following them. Hmmmm, she said in a less flippant tone, If you're worried about it, then why don’t you just drive to the police station and get him off your tail?

Donna's eyebrow lifted. That a good idea. Even though she hated police stations, and even more than that, she hated police officers.

Of course it’s a good idea, Mo grinned. All my ideas are good. Like the idea I had this morning about dyeing your hair green.

My hair is okay the way it is, Donna said defensively.

Mo shrugged. Yeah, blonde is boring, but I guess it’s also ‘okay’. Under her breath she added, For a plain-Jane. Donna didn’t respond to that, for the simple reason that she knew Mo expected her too. Granted, Donna didn’t do much to stand out. She had never highlighted her hair neon orange or pierced her own nipple just to show it off in gym class – things Mo had done before they’d even graduated high school – but Donna recognized that the town in which they’d grown up was a nice, quiet, conservative place. In order to fit in, to feel normal, one did well to look just like Donna did – blonde, blue-eyed, and wearing crisp, clean blouses paired with basic jeans. It was part of her philosophy – terrible suprises rarely happen to normal people.

Mo wasn’t of that mindset. In fact just last week, she’d attended a wedding dressed in black and slathered in foreboding make up - like something out of a zombie nightmare. In Mo’s world-view, terrible surprises picked on normal people first.

The police station was only a few miles west, and when Donna pulled in the parking lot, sure enough the blue Toyota pushed right on past. Donna swallowed hard and let her sweaty grip around the steering wheel loosen.

Now I feel better. She turned to Mo. Next time keep your gestures to yourself.

It wasn’t a gesture so much as it was a one-fingered wave, Mo shrugged.

Whatever it was, please just keep your fingers inside the car at all times.

Spoken like somebody with weird toes, Mo scoffed.

That evening, Donna spent her first night in three years back at her parents’ house. She’d been forced to make the move when the store she’d worked at closed and she couldn’t find a replacement job by the time school started.

My last year of college and I’m starting it off by taking a giant step backwards…

And during that first night back home, Donna had a dream.

She was in a dark, thick forest - one that sheltered her against the torrents of rain pouring from the night sky. With each step deeper into the woods, she smelled pine needles and wet soil. And then...she caught the aroma of something else.

Hello? Is anybody here? Tree tops protested against the wind and an owl called out a lonely hoot, but nobody else answered. Donna held out her arms, because it was pitch black in that forest. She felt for obstacles, took a step forward. Then she took another. Twigs snapped and one pierced her left foot. Damn it. Her fingertips made contact with an obstruction. A tree? A rock?

It inhaled.

Donna stared frantically at the darkness. Who's there? Her voice was swept away in a wind gust. A branch snapped and a chill swept through the forest. The thing that breathed grabbed her wrists and pulled her close. Donna couldn't see, but she could smell; rotting flesh and...hate. Until that moment, it had never occurred to her that hate carried a scent. Lightning splintered the sky, streaming light through the forest. Donna saw what had hold of her. A tall man with skin the shade of decomposing flesh and eyes like death. She screamed, but thunder drowned it out. Or maybe it was his voice.

It has been a long time, Donna.

How do you know my name?

His chilling laughter made the trees tremble. Why do you always play coy with me? Another lightning bolt. His blood-colored eyes stared directly in Donna's blue ones, now wide with fear. You are as beautiful as ever – blonde, blue-eyed and tall. A classic American beauty. He looked her up and down before darkness sheltered her again. A little skinny in this latest manifestation, but otherwise stunning. His gaze, chilling but burning, made Donna feel vulnerable, and he seared her soul with his next comment. That close call today brought back such a tragic memory, did it not, Donna?

What are you talking about? she quivered.

It was a blue car that killed your little brother, was it not? Your little brother Sam, who under your care, bolted in front of traffic and lost his precious life at the tender age of six. He would be fifteen now, would he not? A sophomore in high school. Instead, he is nothing but bones in a grave and a lost-soul stamped forever upon the heart of his mother and father. And you are responsible for his demise, are you not, my pet?

Donna’s eyes stung with tears. It wasn’t my fault, she cried. I was young -

Nonsense! he snapped. You were twelve - certainly old enough to keep an eye on a trusting, helpless baby brother. But instead of keeping an eye on him, you were busy watching boys, were you not, Donna?

No, she shook her head frantically. It wasn’t my fault.

Even the policeman said it was your fault. Remember? He wrote it on his report. ‘The girl was supposed to be watching her brother.’ But you were not doing your job of ‘brother’s keeper,’ were you, Donna?

What do you want from me? she asked.

I want to make your dreams come true, he snickered. Well, some of them. I can never give you the dream of your old life. Little Sammy is gone, by your own careless hand, and with him went your nice, normal life – a mommy and daddy and a little brother and you. Neat and tidy and orderly. With that, he laughed coldly.

Who are you?

I am your dream man, Donna.

I don't understand.

You will. His laughter iced the air.

Now wake up, angel. Your father is calling.

Donna, Dad's hand was on her shoulder, goading her to consciousness. Wake up, honey.

The reek of rot was ripped away and she was in her parents’ house on Sunflower Street, the one she'd grown up in. Back in her childhood bedroom with the plain, colonial furniture, lavender walls, and book shelves stuffed with those romance novels high school girls love but college girls love to hate. Well, Donna hated them, anyway. And on that particular morning, she woke up doing something she'd thought she'd outgrown about a year after Sammy died - biting her fingernails.

Donna's dad loomed over her in his worn, navy blue robe, the one he'd had for as long as Donna could remember. His cheeks still wore yesterday's stubble.

Your alarm's been going off for ten minutes. How you managed to sleep through it is beyond me, but it's time to get up if you want to make it to the first day of class on time.

Class… Donna mumbled.

Dad winked. I know this is not what you wanted honey, but I'm happy to have you back under our roof. Like everything's back to normal.

Yeah...normal.

Dad smiled warmly then left. The bedroom door creaked shut behind him. It seemed like everything in that old New England house complained when asked to do its job. Donna stretched, pushed down the lavender and purple striped sheets, the ones she'd loved so much when Mom had picked them out for her seventeenth birthday. The more mature-looking, blue and gray plaid ones Donna had picked out for her bed at the college apartment, were folded neatly in a box in the garage. Also in the garage was a mint condition, cherry red, '65 convertible Mustang that was delivered yesterday. Donna's mom had promptly started it up, put down the top, and drove the car around the block. Then she pulled it in the garage, put the top back up and beamed. That's what happens when you're good at your game. You get nice stuff. Donna's mom was a lawyer, and so was her dad. Mr. and Mrs. Mike and Caroline McCormick, Esq. Donna, being their only child left, had been expected to follow in their footsteps. McCormick, McCormick, and McCormick – Attorneys at Law. It would've looked great on a shingle outside the family practice. But it wasn't going to happen. Maybe it was the freaky toes keeping Donna out of step, or maybe it was that she liked to sketch pictures of her law instructor’s balding head and severe overbite in the margins of her notebook instead of listening to his definition of probate law. Either way, in Donna's future, there were no classic, cherry Mustangs or fancy letters after her name. There was only the nagging question – What if Sammy had gone to law school? Would there have been a family shingle with his name on it?

Donna hopped out of bed.

Ow, she cringed when her left foot made contact with the floor. She propped it up and squinted at a tiny puncture.

What in the hell...? Something tugged at her memory - a forest? The smell of rotting flesh? She shook her head and tried to dislodge the image but just came up with darkness. So she showered, dressed, and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. Mom wore crisp work attire and too much perfume. Dad's morning paper crinkled when he flipped the pages. Donna smiled. Leave it to Dad to still get the news in paper form. She saw herself in the mirror Mom had stuck to the fridge to keep herself from eating. Why did it look so distorted?

I feel like I need a face transplant, she announced.

Dad looked up from his paper, newsprint reflecting against the lenses of his glasses. He was clean-shaven, showered, and ready for work. You’re beautiful. You have a clear complexion, perfect teeth, damned good genetics and big, baby-blue eyes. He winked. Come to think of it, perhaps what you need is an eye transplant.

Parents see their kids as extensions of themselves, Donna grabbed her travel mug and felt the stab of Mom's glare when she added too much sugar to the coffee. So they sometimes see them as perfect.

We don't all think our offspring are faultless. Mom held her mug of steaming coffee and dipped biscotti in it. I can see some room for improvement in mine.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom. Donna pointedly added a little more sugar.

Relax, she grinned. You're gorgeous enough to look at. The improvement you need is up here. Mom tapped a perfectly manicured fingernail against her forehead. Focus on your education. Donna sighed. Was it really worth saving 2000.00 a month?

I gotta go, Donna said. The Sentra was almost out of gas and she had to pick up Mo, whose stupid car was broke down again.

Here, Dad tossed Donna an orange after tossing Mom a look Donna couldn't see. Don't starve yourself.

And here, Mom tossed her a key on a leather strap with an embossed, silver horse on it.

Donna chuckled. You're letting me take your new car today?

Donna honey, she smiled broadly. You can take it every day.

I don't understand, Donna shook her head.

September 22 is still a week away, Dad grinned. So, consider this an early birthday present from your mother.

And from your father, Mom ruffled his hair. He shot her a look and patted it back down. That was the thing about Mike and Caroline McCormick. Just when Donna thought her parents couldn't get any more annoying, they did something amazing.

I...I don't know what to say.

Say thank you and be on your way before you're late, Mom shooed Donna toward the door. Donna leaped in her mom's arms, then her dad's, and jumped up and down like a kid.

You guys are the best parents ever! Thank you so much.

Mom nudged her away. You are very much welcome, dear. And I hope you remember to be extra thankful when you graduate with honors. She blew Donna a kiss, and then turned back to her coffee. Donna left her mug on the counter, forgotten, and dashed to the garage...and her new car. She sat in the driver's seat, wrapped her hands around the chilly steering wheel and observed herself in the rear view mirror. The smell of old car made her smile and the sound of the engine made her tingle. The beige, leather seat snuggled her like an old friend. And the top went down. Donna smiled, backed out of the garage and toward the driveway, paying all kinds of attention to how she looked in the car and not enough to where she was going in it. So when a petite, strawberry-blonde teenage girl dashed out from behind the rear end of the Mustang, Donna gasped and pushed the brakes hard.

Oh my God! Donna shoved the car in park and whirled around to face the girl. I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention.

The girl giggled and it reminded Donna of bubbles popping. It's okay, I wasn't paying attention either. She skipped up the driveway and stopped by the driver's side door. I'm Samee Franklin. She extended her hand.

Samee…

Donna took it with her own, which still shook from almost running the bubbly girl over.

Samee? The color drained from Donna’s face.

Uh-huh, Samee bubbled.

H – hi Samee. Again, I'm sorry. It's no excuse, but I was thinking about too much stuff. My new car, my first day, my friend whose car broke down so she needs a ride to school, and then she'll need a ride to work, and then she will certainly need a ride when we go to The Dark Side tonight, Donna rambled nervously.

Samee tilted her head. The Dark Side?

It's a teen Goth club.

Ooooo, her eyes lit up. That sounds like fun!

Donna noted Samee's age. Perfect for The Dark Side. I guess it's fun enough, she shrugged, but I'm going to be twenty-one next week.

So why are you going to a teen club?

That's a good question, Donna admitted. I guess it's because I have a crazy best friend who thinks it'll be fun to reminisce one last time before I turn legal. Samee giggled, Donna checked the time.

I don't mean to be rude Samee, but I'm running late and -

I understand. And I love your new car, Donna. Samee skipped back down the driveway.

Thanks. Donna watched until the path was clear and then backed on to the street. It wasn't until she was halfway to Mo's house that it occurred to her. She didn't remember telling Samee her name.

Donna's last college roommate, Rochelle Davis, had said that if boring had a middle name, then West Windington was it. So even though all Donna really wanted to do was drive slow and show off in her new car that morning, the pathetic truth was that nobody in her hometown would notice. A tornado could rip right through and people might look out their window and go, Huh. Or they might not bother to get even that excited.

There was a rundown place at the end of town on a dead end road called Autumn Lane. The house really should have been condemned, but instead it was for sale. Mo insisted the ghosts in that house chase away potential buyers, because new people and old ghosts don't live well together. That pretty much explained the whole town of West Windington.

Donna parked her Mustang in the driveway of the house Mo shared with her mom. She slid out from behind the steering wheel, beaming. Mo stood on the porch, holding a root beer can, glaring at the Mustang like it was a disease. Mo planned to get a degree in Journalism. She worked part time at The West Windington Watering Hole, the local town newspaper, the one Donna's dad read in print form. Donna thought Mo's job was just this side of glamorous because she got to make coffee for important people like the mayor and sometimes drive around town in a bright yellow Prius that had WWWH written on it, but Mo insisted there was nothing glamorous about being a glorified grunt for a corporate puppet-master. In fact, if somebody handed Mo a million dollars on a silver platter, she'd eyeball the stack for hidden agendas. That's why Mo would someday make a great reporter. She didn't have it in her to be content with the simple, the ordinary.

Nobody knew whatever happened to Mo's dad, not even Mo's mom. But Mo hadn't moved back home because she couldn't make it on her own, like Donna had. She'd stayed home because her mom couldn't make it on her own. When Jill's real estate business tanked, Mo hung around to help out so Jill wouldn't lose the house.

What is that thing doing in my yard? she grumbled.

My parents gave me this for my birthday. Donna leaned against the hood. Mo's hair color that day was crimson, so when she shook her head, the spiky tips of her cropped hair shuddered like a basket full of bloody rattlesnake tails. Her fingernail color matched the hair, and so did the shirt with Even the Devil Thinks I am too Hot to Handle across it. That was one thing about Mo; she always matched, even if the shades made no sense to anybody but her. Mo swallowed about half the can of root beer.

You do know that car's a bribe, don't you?

Leave it to Mo not to sugar-coat it. It's still a nice car, Donna replied.

Mo rolled her eyes. It would be a whole lot nicer if there wasn't a law degree guilt-grenade launched at it. Mo belched, loud. It smelled like root beer. A couple of elementary kids at the bus stop turned and stared. So did a guy in a blue car parked across the street. Mo tilted her head back and laughed. That's when Donna noticed the new shiny red stud poking through her left nostril.

When did you get your nose pierced?

Last night, on a whim. She turned so Donna could get a better view. We're spontaneous here in West Windington. See all the fun you miss by living in the big city?

I moved twelve miles away.

She shrugged. It might as well of been twelve million.

Donna examined the nose stud. It's not like you needed any more holes in your head.

Mo rolled her coal-colored eyes. It's not like you needed a new car when your old one is already better than mine.

When my Mustang needs an oil change I won't come crying to you. And when your nostril develops an infection and your nose falls off, you don't come crying to me.

And when your mom hassles you about law school -

Donna shook her head and grinned. The friendly bickering between her and Mo was standard since childhood, and had even come to partially define their friendship. Come on. I don't want to be late. Donna pointed to the root beer can. And leave that here, please.

Kill joy, Mo wrinkled her nose, sucked down the remaining contents. She belched again, this time so loud it echoed off the front of her house. The kids at the bus stop turned to look again. The blue car zoomed away.

Chapter two

Donna and Mo's plans were to meet for lunch, and then Donna would drive Mo to work. During Business Accounting 301, Donna doodled in the margin of her notebook and thought about her new car.  How fast would it go? Did she look good in it? After class, she found Mo leaning against the Mustang like James Dean with boobs, winking at passing guys.

A blond one asked, Is that your car?

Mo casually shrugged.

It's nice, he said.

Thanks, she replied. Donna shook her head, unlocked the door.

Let's go, Mustang Sally. She lowered the top despite Mo's protests that it would wreck her hair then drove to their favorite lunch spot, Barker's Burgers. A blue Toyota followed them into the parking lot.

Hey Mo, did you notice a blue car parked down the street when we were still at your house?

I dunno, Mo had the visor lowered and was applying generous amounts of lipstick that perfectly matched the Mustang's paint color.

The reason I ask is because there's a car behind us that I swear is the same car I saw by your house. And I don't know for sure, but it could even be the same one that followed us yesterday after you flipped off the driver. With lipstick still in hand, Mo whirled around to look behind her. The waxy mass of lip color barely missed smearing the Mustang's upholstery.

Where's the blue car?

Donna plucked the lipstick tube from her hand. Right there, she pointed. The Toyota was parked along a curb, its male occupant on the phone, not moving to exit. "I'm almost positive it's the same car that was by your house. But you know, it's a pretty common car and