Sereine: Book One of the Hunter Trilogy

By Kurrie Hoyt

When the fragile status quo between humans and the blood-hungry sirens is threatened, one Hunter finds himself thrust into the middle of a potential war and is forced to seek help from one of the very monsters he is sworn to destroy. Can Frank Donaldson learn the disturbing truth of the sirens and avert catastrophe before humanity finds itself knocked off the top of the food chain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kurrie Hoyt
• Release date: Aug 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301921140

Kurrie Hoyt

Writer, Voice Actor, GamerGirl, Whovian, SPN'er, book-worm, chocoholic, Oblivion Modder, coffee addict, SciFi junkie and above all, I am a giant Nerd. Born in Hawaii as a Navy brat, I grew up in New York, spent a decade in Ohio and now live in Virginia where I work on my novels and write Supernatural Fan Fiction when I need a break. Never underestimate a Busman's holiday.Author of:Sereine: Book One of the Hunter TrilogyCaelestis: Book Two of the Hunter TrilogyShifting Sands - An Alex and Jamie Novel (Adult modern fantasy/Gay Erotica)From Bad to Verse: A poetry AnthologyWinding Deep: Book One of the Red ChroniclesWorks in Progress:Casus Belli: Book Three of the Hunter TrilogyCatalyst - An Alex and Jamie NovelThe Crossing of Camlan: Book Two of the Red Chronicles

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Sereine

Book One of the Hunter Trilogy

Published by Kurrie Hoyt at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Kurrie Hoyt

Dedicated to two extraordinary women: My mom who is my hero and smiles every day in the face of cancer. She teaches me that life is too short to not find a reason to smile each day, no matter how small. And to Anne McCaffrey who once answered a child’s fan mail with words of advice I have never forgotten: Write because you love to write. Don’t write for fame and don’t write for money. Write because you love to write and everything else will come in its own time.

And a special mention for Sarah Jane Smith: Journalist, Time Traveler and childhood role model.

Thank you.

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Crystal: roommate, friend, and partner in crime who makes sure I never run out of coffee and has a smoke to toss at me when I start pulling my hair out. To Janice, a kindred spirit, who suffers through my creative punctuation issues to edit my work and make it better and Sheilah, for making sure the only bad grammar was intended in the first place.

Nick, the brother of my heart, who keeps my chin up when I doubt myself, pushes me to try new things, and introduced me to the worlds of modding and voice acting.

My little brother and both little sisters who give me inspiration to do this just to show them it can be done, and my nephew who I hope will see this and know that he can do anything and be anything when he grows up if he just tries hard enough.

And lastly to Puppy: the fluffy, orange old lady of a cat who sleeps on my head every night and makes sure my brain never gets cold and selflessly throws herself on my mouse, assuring that it doesn’t wander away while I’m typing.

Prologue

The world is one screwy, dark place on a good day. When I think about how simple it seemed when I was a kid, I could cry. I remember the lectures in school and the stories my parents used to tell me about ghosts and were-creatures, witches, demons…and the sirens. Sirens were like bogeymen then, not real enough to actually frighten me. I really did think mom was trying to scare me into behaving and nothing more. Then I got older and started watching the news with mom and dad, started seeing the reports of people crying and bodies covered in sheets, the blurry clips of silver-haired figures slipping away into shadows…I started to realize that maybe mom had been telling me the truth about all of it.

I was thirteen when I saw my first siren. It was just a glimpse. I saw the thing as it fled from the Hunters chasing it, but what made it truly real for me was my friend Gary. Gary’s body sprawled on the ground outside the park and covered in blood with another Hunter standing over him and that grim look on his face that I see on my own in the mirror sometimes now. That was the moment, I think, when I decided I wanted to be a Hunter; that I wanted to be one of the people who stopped those evil sons of bitches from taking other people’s friends from them like that. I still remember what his scream sounded like, short and terrified, before it cut off into this weird, white noise in my ears, and I remember how cold I felt when I realized it could have been me…that it could have been my mom getting that call if I’d just been on time like I was supposed to be. Mom never got on my ass again for being late to anything.

Sirens are bloodsuckers. No, I mean literally. That’s what they do - drain us dry. It’s more than that, of course. Like the old legends from Greece, Sirens are singers. Whatever god gave them that ability, I hope he’s roasting in someone’s hell somewhere. They sing to us, to humans. They can cloud our minds, make us see and think whatever the hell they want us to. It’s how they reel in their prey. Not every human, though. Nature gave us that much at least. That white noise I heard when I was a kid? Nature’s natural defense. I was taught it’s a hearing deficiency. It’s what makes a Hunter a Hunter and there are never enough of us to go around. We can’t hear the songs of the sirens. All we hear is that white noise, like the buzzing of bees. It’s both defense and warning for us.

What modern science knows about sirens wouldn’t fill a damn book. You can’t capture one or lop off a piece for study. They turn to ash when they die, and they happily commit suicide rather than be caged by us. Killing one ain’t easy. Until science caught up and found a better way, Hunters had to get close enough to lop off their heads. You could stab one through the heart, or where we figured the heart was, and it’d just get pissed and keep coming. Then technology made a breakthrough and the Lazebow was born -- a hand-held weapon, like a modified gun, that fires a short pulse of energy to disrupt whatever bonds hold a siren together. It’s every Hunter’s right hand. They’re a little heavy, have a hell of a kick, and will burn a good-sized hole through a person if you don’t watch where you aim.

There’s a certain list of rules mankind has applied to sirens since the day some poor sucker in a cave started taking notes: Sirens aren’t alive. Sirens have no blood of their own, only what they take from us. They’re demons or devils or some other form of undead creature with no society of their own, and someday, we’ll get them all because there’s only so many; we outnumber them.

These are the rules we’ve all lived by, trusted in, and soothed ourselves to sleep with every night for millennia…and all of that was about to change…

Chapter One

I suppose everyone has an off day. This was mine. Two weeks and a trail of bodies later, you’d think I would be worried about this guy. Unfortunately, whiskey dulls the senses. Anyway, I wasn’t. I found the next victim, a girl this time, twisted around the bottom of a jungle gym and very dead. Sick. This particular siren was a little twisted himself.

If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed how fresh the kill was. I might even have heard the shuffle of death’s feet on the grass behind me. I didn’t. I was busy looking at the little blonde girl at my feet. Thin rivulets of blood covered her body like some bizarre Picasso tapestry, wending their way around and through what was left of her clothing.

You like my work? The voice behind me was soft, low. I wasn’t sure I had heard it until I felt the hand on my shoulder. It was cold. I could feel the chill through my jacket. I stood and turned slowly to face the black-hooded figure behind me. He was beautiful, if men can be called that, even with his face shrouded in shadows. He had skin like alabaster, and his features were so soft as to be feminine. But it was his eyes; they blazed with life in contrast with his ghostly appearance. My hand checked instinctively for the Lazebow at my side, its comforting weight reminding me what I was dealing with. He was a siren, the most lethal predator on the planet. But, then…so was I.

Back off, pal. I growled. He smiled. It was a brilliant thing, heavy with malice. He obviously had no clue who he was dealing with, and I gave him my own dangerous smile in return.

You like my work? He repeated.

Yeah, sure, pal. Real piece of work. I told him as he took a step toward me, his graceful fingers reaching for my shoulder.

Let me sing you a lullaby. A queer buzzing started in my ears as he opened his mouth and his voice lowered, becoming silky and smooth. Let me show you your dreams.

The song of a siren is hypnotic to humans. It makes them suggestible…docile. A siren could bleed a human dry and leave a smile on the victim’s face…but not me or those like me. Hunters are a different breed. Some quirk of genetics has given us the best defense -- a hearing deficiency. To us Hunters, the song of the siren was nothing but white noise, the soft buzzing of bees in our ears that warned us they were around and up to no good.

I backed up a step as his song strengthened in my ears and felt something soft under my feet. I glanced down and realized I was standing on the little girl’s arm with a shock. Falling sideways, I rolled away from the siren as his hands closed on the empty space where my neck had been. The ringing in my ears grew more insistent, and I knew I didn’t have much time left. This bastard was going to kill me if I didn’t pull it together.

I hit the ground hard, the impact jarring me to my senses. The siren was leaning over me now, vampire-like fangs showing behind his parted lips.

Sorry, pal. I drew my Lazebow and thrust it into his chest. You just had your last supper. His eyes widened in confusion and I pulled the trigger. The jolt raced back along my arm and pushed my shoulder into the ground. A bolt of energy opened a hole in his chest, and an eerie shriek dragged itself from his dying body. A Hunter’s Lazebow delivered a charged pulse of energy that dissolved the cellular bonds of a siren’s body. Don’t ask me for the science. I only know what the brochure says.

The siren’s nails gouged canals in my face as he toppled to the ground beside me. I ran a hand over my cheek, and, feeling the open flesh, I cursed the sirens again for whatever god gave them those talons. One of these days I was gonna start leaking like a sieve.

The siren’s body was rapidly decomposing before me. He sort of collapsed in on himself. His remains gave a quick, soft glow, and he was dead. Hundreds of years of human science, and we still knew jack about siren physiology because they simply fell to dust when they died.

I pulled out my com-unit and flipped it on. Hunter Three-Seven-Seven to operations. Target is terminated. I’m coming in.

Good job, Hunter. Any casualties, Frank? the disembodied voice asked.

Yeah. The last one was a kid. My voice was grim as I looked down at her. Poor girl never had a chance, and something I’d rather not think about tugged at my heart.

Damn.

I looked at the child one last time. It’s a real mess, guys. Better get this cleaned up before you go looking for the parents.

Understood. We’ll be there in twenty. Out. I put the comm back in my pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Hunters were supposed to wait around for the cleanup crew…in theory. Most of the time we skipped the scene as soon as possible. Not because we’re lazy; we just don’t like the smell of death. Sirens leave an awful stench when they go, kind of sickly sweet, like rotting fruit. My cheek was starting to throb a little, so I fished for the whiskey flask I’d retired earlier. Well, shit. It had busted during the fight. Can’t win them all. I chucked it into a trash can as I walked past.

I heard the emergency vehicles coming in the distance and quickened my pace. Most cops were nothing but pains in the ass, always trying to take control and make like you’re guilty of something. Then again, they’re usually right.

Hunter Operations was a small, blocky building in the middle of New Orleans; nothing compared to the main operations headquarters in D. C. I pushed open the door and stepped into chaos. A dozen or so people, dripping with jewels and money, were yelling at our local commander. He in turn, a tall man working on a desk-jockey beer belly, was an unhealthy shade of red, probably from biting his tongue.

The charity gala has to go on tonight, one portly man bellowed above the rest. Somehow, he’d managed to squeeze his considerable girth into a velvet suit at least two sizes smaller than was acceptable. The seats have already been paid for. He pushed his way up to the commander. And the guests have already begun to arrive. We can’t possibly cancel.

Mr. Congini. The commander wiped a hand across his forehead. There are too many siren sightings in the area. We cannot guarantee the safety of so many people in the old monastery.

I shook my head and slipped past into the relative peace of the squad room. Damn fool idea holding anything in the old monastery if you asked me, though no one did. Too bad, really. I could have told them stories about that place that would scare them juiceless. The building itself was centuries old, falling apart mainly, and the graveyard around it dated back even further. It was riddled with tombs, crypts, and subterranean mazes. People get lost down there…for good.

Sirens seemed to love the place. They were always dragging their victims into the catacombs, the sick little bastards. When they go to ground at the monastery, they disappear. I should know. I’d lost seven of them down there. Even the monastery was full of hidden doors and secret passageways. These morons wanted to hold a charity gala there? I figured the commander would be coming after me any time now. He would want a cordon of Hunters around the place to keep the monsters away. Yeah, right. While he’s at it, he may as well ask us to cure the common cold.

Donaldson. The commander stalked into the room and crooked a finger at me. My office. Now.

I won’t say I told you so. It’s too cliché. Coming, sir. I stepped into his office behind him and closed the door. How many Hunters you want on the job? We’ve got seven here right now. I can call in another six.

The commander stared at me a minute then shook his head and sat down. Those idiots don’t want any Hunters. He glared at his desk. They say it will distract the guests. Frank, I want you there, but I’ve only got permission to send in five more with you.

I sat down and fixed him with a look I usually reserve for melting glass. Six. That’s it? You want them to be slaughtered? Not that I’m saying I could protect them with sixty Hunters, but six? Why not just shoot them now?

Frank. He snapped at me. Dammit, I don’t have a choice here. One of those asses out there is a senator with a lot of pull.

I kicked his desk in disgust. So you sucked under to keep your job. Most people couldn’t get away with insulting Commander Moore. Fortunately, we went back a long way. After tonight, you won’t have to worry about him. He’ll be dead. You know that, right?

The commander leveled his baby-blues at me and smiled grimly. I don’t want that to happen, Frank. He scrubbed his hands over his face. I just don’t have a choice here. We’re not cops. We don’t have that kind of pull.

Uh-huh. I knew where this was going. Chin up, do your best, complete faith in you, blah, blah, blah.

I know you’ll do your job, Frank.

With only six Hunters, I can’t, sir.

"Frank, knock it off. It’s no good biting my head off. The decision’s been made. Get some dinner, then get over to the monastery. The other Hunters will meet you