Hunter's Need by Shiloh Walker Read Free Book Online Page B

she wasn’t turning back. She couldn’t because for the past three days when she tried to sleep, her dreams were haunted with the plaintive cry of Help me, please . . . oh, God . . . somebody please help. Not exactly a soft, pretty little tune to fall asleep to.
    If she wanted to sleep decently anytime in the near future, then she needed to at least try to figure out what had happened to Marie. Try to understand why the face of a dead woman was haunting her every waking and sleeping thought.
    Finally, she reached her destination and she shifted her backpack, holding it on her shoulder as she stared at the house before her. It wasn’t as big as some of the others, constructed of mellow gold logs and lots of windows. Situated on the mountainside just outside of Chugach State Park, the house faced out over Cook Inlet.
    There was a tricycle just beside the walk, painted a bright, vivid pink with a purple seat. It had a nameplate on it— Marie . Her skin crawled, her throat knotted up and she froze in her tracks, staring at the name tag and struggling to breathe.
    Lock it down, girl. She took a minute to level out her breathing and focus. More to calm herself than anything, she bolstered her shields and went through one of the mental exercises that had been drilled into her head. Nothing in. Nothing out.
    Her normal shields were pretty solid, but they were designed to let some things filter through, the kind of things a psychic started to rely on, without even realizing it. With her normal shields, she was just a little more attuned to things, like hypersensitive instincts.
    But right now, she didn’t want that. She didn’t want anything filtering in or out. Not until she got the lay of the land, so to speak. She wouldn’t broadcast anything, and she wouldn’t pick anything up. Not unless she chose to, and right now, she definitely didn’t choose. Not when she was getting ready to approach the family of a murdered young woman.
    Tearing her gaze away from the tricycle, Ana forced herself to take a step. One. Two. Three. Once she reached the porch, she didn’t slow and try to prepare herself, didn’t take two seconds to brush her hair back from her face or straighten her clothes. If she paused for even a second, she was going to take off running.
    She pressed the doorbell, hearing it echo through the house behind a door inlaid with lovely panels of stained glass. Through the glass, she caught a distorted shadow and she pasted a smile on her face.
    The door opened and Ana’s smile fell away as she found herself gazing into a disturbingly familiar pair of brown eyes. The woman gave Ana a polite smile and asked, “May I help you?”
    Her smile faded as Ana stood there, unable to speak. Lines appeared next to the woman’s eyes, bracketed her mouth and she went to shut the door.
    Desperate, Ana moved, lifting a hand and reaching out, touching the woman’s hand. “I’m here about Marie Onalik. Your sister.”
    The woman’s eyes widened. Tears appeared.
    Pain arced, slamming against Ana’s shields. She jerked her hand away, but not quick enough. Grief and anger slammed into Ana’s shields with gale force, threatening to blast her shielding to smithereens. So much for nothing in— stupid. You shouldn’t have touched her!
    Physical contact made it worse.
    Locking her knees, she battled through the outside forces of pain and grief, blocking them out. She slapped up an extra shield, this one so thick and heavy, it was like she’d locked herself in a crypt buried deep below the earth’s surface. Blinded, deafened. Psychically speaking, at least. A werewolf the size of Bigfoot could come up behind her now and unless heard with her ears, she’d never know—not buried under this many shields.
    She couldn’t have that pain filter through again. Not if she wanted to get through this without looking like a nutcase.
    “Who are you?” Beverly Onalik Hartwick demanded. “Another wannabe writer wanting to sell some macabre