Hunted

by Samantha Stone

  If it weren’t for the promise in Raphael’s snarl—Heath didn’t want to fight with an Omni, much less his friend—he would have broken Mary’s fancy new camera into pieces.

  The painting did do him justice. Strangely enough, he liked it—she’d made him look almost catlike, enhancing the green of his eyes and painting him in a crouch. The eye on his hand stared at him in the picture. Mary was more perceptive than he’d given her credit for; although, she never mentioned his tattoo to him, and he doubted she would.

  He told Big Mama about Mary to show her that they had just as much reason to hate Jeremiah as she did. He knew he would have to tell Raphael about the witches’ deaths, but he grappled with deciding whether the others should know. Should he give them reason to feel even more guilt?

  Cael, more than anyone else, would be devastated by the knowledge. He had a thing about women and children getting hurt; he took it personally, as if he could have saved all of them. Heath suspected it had to do with why he was here, but he’d never asked.

  “I won’t be able to help all of you,” Big Mama said, folding her hands neatly. Any anger was gone from her face, which was now as mild and relaxed as Briony’s from where she stood humming over the stove.

  Harry watched her with rapt attention, as if she was completing a task far beyond his level of expertise. It was likely—as a mortal, he was still very young.

  “But you, for certain, I can fix. Maybe one other,” she said softly.

  Before Heath could respond, she rose from her chair in an unnaturally fluid motion. “I’m going to sleep now. Come back in a month; if your powers are still bound then, I’ll take care of it for you.” She patted him on the cheek when he stood next to her.

  “We need more men like you, those who are willing to restrain themselves even when they don’t want to.”

  She ambled off, her fluffy pink house shoes making soft sounds against the hardwood as she made her way to a dimly lit room down at the end of a hallway.

  “That went well,” Briony said cheerfully. “As always, her timing couldn’t have been better. I’m finished with your Sophia’s ointment.” She had Harry place a sparkling black funnel over a Mason jar with a witch’s hat painted onto it. The jar was also covered in shimmering glitter.

  Heath didn’t doubt that by the end of this day, he would look like a disco ball. He was so relieved to have anything to help Sophia, he couldn’t muster the appropriate level of annoyance.

  Big Mama’s promise had brought forth such a large amount of hope it scared him. He swallowed his relief and plans for the future, unable to face the staggering possibility of finally gaining his water powers back without becoming lost in a whirlwind of desperate anticipation.

  As they left the house, the creaking hurricane door swinging shut behind them, Heath leveled Briony with his most intimidating look. To his chagrin, she only blinked back at him.

  “Don’t use the hacht liath against us,” he said on a growl. She’d left it on her kitchen counter, still wrapped in her scarf. He didn’t mind giving it up, so long as he never had to see it again. After what it had done to beautiful Sophia, its mere existence offended him.

  Briony laughed, as if the idea was ridiculous. “You have the favor of a former High Witch,” she exclaimed.

  From the few minutes he’d spoken to her, Big Mama’s title did not surprise him.

  “We’re allies now.” Briony pulled him into a quick, awkward hug. She smelled like chocolate, surprising him. He’d been sure she would smell of patchouli.

  Harry seemed thrilled over the development as they walked back to Briony’s truck. “Does that mean more witches will work for the brewery?” he asked excitedly. His hair was flitting between highlighter yellow and a neon green.

  While they piled into the pickup, Briony nodded sagely. “I think more of us will consider it; although, I don’t understand how you can stand to drink the stuff. It tastes like toadstool.”

  “It’s a guy thing,” Harry said happily, trying to exchange a knowing look with Heath.

  He just shook his head at the young witch, turning to watch Big Mama’s neighborhood shrink behind them. Beer was the very last thing on his mind.

  For some reason she had taken a shine to him, and if she hadn’t his sentence would have lasted forever.

  He was in the witches’ debt.

  Beyond his relief was a desperate hope clawing at his insides with a fury that increased the closer they came to the city. The jar he held in his lap—which was shedding its sparkles all over him—supposedly held a solution to Sophia’s pain. According to Briony she wouldn’t be scarred, wouldn’t have so much as a residual ache or mark left from the Fey attack. If this didn’t work, Heath knew Sophia would be crushed. Hell, he’d be devastated.

  He refused to think of Sophia hiding behind clothes, feeling pain with every movement she made. If this didn’t work, that would be her life. It won’t happen, Heath thought.

  He respected the pint-sized were, therefore he would help her in any way he could. He’d do the same for any one of his friends.

  Finally, they crossed over into the city, taking Tchoupitoulas around the Garden District and into the Warehouse District, where his pack lived. Heath inspected his bike for damage after he pulled it free of Briony’s truck, noting it had not one scratch or dent, but instead a small, pastel flower the size of a dime painted on its side.

  If that’s what it took for Briony to help his pack and their friends, he wouldn’t complain. Even if everything in him wanted to scrape the flower off and replace it with something like an anarchy symbol or a skull.

  A flower? Really?

  His ire left in a rush. At the corner before he reached the house, he knew something was wrong.

  Three feminine voices were yelling, and Sebastian seemed to be the target for their wrath. Sophia, Mary and Aiyanna were all calling Sebastian everything but a male werewolf—although Aiyanna did call him a dog more than once. Briony and Harry walked into the firehouse with him, Briony cringing as soon as the voices hit her ears.

  “They’re just so angry,” she whimpered, clapping her hands over her ears.

  “What could they be so mad at Sebastian for?” Harry’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide as if the mere notion of questioning Sebastian was appalling. Heath wasn’t surprised. The witch hero-worshipped his boss.

  When he stood at the doorway to the guestroom, the voices hurt his ears. Not like Mary’s banshee voice could, even as it hurt Sebastian, whose ears were currently bleeding, but simply because it was too loud to his sensitive hearing. His mild pain was forgotten when he saw Sophia’s condition.

  Her wrists were tied to the back of the chair she was sitting in with scarves, and they were bleeding from where she’d rubbed them, having irritated her already severe burns.

  “How could you do this to her?” Heath roared, making to swipe through the material with his claws. Sebastian stopped him, his expression pained. His hair was lifted so high, it was vertical to the ground.

  “She wanted to leave, to go after the faeries who did this to her,” he explained, gesturing wildly. He turned to the women, all of whom appeared to be furious.

  Raphael simply watched from the corner of the room, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

  “She can’t fight them like this!” Sebastian exclaimed.

  Everyone started yelling all at once. Aiyanna looked ready to claw Sebastian’s eyes out, but Sophia’s skin was tinged with gray, her eyes downcast. Suddenly Heath wanted to comfort her somehow, to hold her.

  But that was a stupid idea, so he stood dumbly as Briony made her way through the crowd, stood in front of Sebastian and wrapped her arms behind her, effectively acting as his human shield.

  Over her head, Sebastian’s jaw dropped.

  Has he met her before? From Sebastian’s expression, Heath didn’t think so.

  “Stop yelling at him,” she commanded in a quiet but forceful tone. Her eye
s had turned darker than they’d been earlier, and she looked angrier than Heath had seen her all day, even though she wasn’t so much as frowning. Now that everyone quieted, gaping at her, she seemed to shake off her irritation, her expression softening. “Can’t you see he’s trying to help his sister?”

  “Um, how do you know that?” Sebastian asked. He tried to back away from her, but the witch was holding onto his hips. He looked horrified, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  Heath suppressed his grin. Raphael didn’t.

  “What are you holding, Heath?” Sophia asked. Fatigue was ingrained in her voice.

  Ignoring the others, especially the weird situation with Sebastian, Heath crossed the room to kneel in front of Sophia. No one said a word when he cut through her bonds and lifted her from the hard wooden chair, placing her on Leila’s beanbag.

  She winced when he put her down. In that moment, Heath wanted to cut off his own hands for causing her pain. He showed her the front of the jar and unscrewed the tin top.

  “Briony here—” He nodded to the witch who’d now moved to Sebastian’s side. His friend’s wary expression told him he was very aware of her hand on the belt loop of his corduroys. “—concocted an ointment that should take away your burns.”

  “Were the sparkles necessary?” Sophia asked.

  “Absolutely,” Briony said solemnly.

  Sophia shifted on the lumpy cushion for a few moments before she stopped, a resigned expression on her face, as if she’d accepted that she wouldn’t manage to become comfortable. “Everyone get out,” she demanded. When no one moved, she glared at the ceiling until sparks flew from the round light fixture.

  “I’m sorry, Sebastian,” she murmured, addressing the hurt that crossed his face from seeing the ability he’d been forced to do without. “But you—and everyone else—need to leave this room.”

  She thanked Mary and Aiyanna when they walked out, managing to smile at the two. Aiyanna grinned. “Just because they’re incredibly good looking doesn’t excuse them for their occasional stupidity,” she said. “Even the angelic Raphael succumbs from time to time, isn’t that right Mary?”

  “Even Raphael,” Mary stage-whispered with a wink.

  The werewolf in question growled from the hallway.

  When Heath reluctantly turned to leave, Sophia caught his hand. She looked up at him with large blue eyes that had enough green in them to be considered turquoise.

  “Stay,” she implored. “I want to talk to you while I doctor myself up, and I’ll need help for my back.”

  Heath was surprised by her request, but he complied, finding himself even more dumbstruck when she started to pull off the Octavia Books shirt he’d seen Leila wearing before. Underneath was a sports bra that revealed absolutely nothing. When she peeled off the jeans she’d rolled up, keeping the belt in its loops, she was wearing black boxer shorts that covered her to mid-thigh. He was confused for a moment, thinking they belonged to a man, until he saw the small black bow at her hip.

  Women wore strange things under their clothes, he decided. He could have sworn she wore a smug smile for a moment, surely in response to his raised eyebrows, but she tilted her head down, sending her auburn hair to move like silk over her shoulders, hiding her face. She scooped up a palmful of the olive green, lumpy ointment and started on her legs, working from her feet up. The smell of spearmint permeated the room.

  “Sebastian is biased where I’m concerned, so I thought I’d ask you,” she started, her focus on her right calf. “Will you help me find the faeries who did this to me?”

  “You want me to help you kill them?” If she asked, he would.

  She shook her head, strands of her hair becoming caught in the green ooze she’d spread across her thighs. “Shoot—will you tie my hair up for me? I’ve got this gunk on my hands.”

  Seeing a bundle of hair ties on the nearby dresser, Heath coiled her soft hair as best he could on top of her head, like he’d seen Mary, Aiyanna and Leila do countless times, and fastened it with two bands. With her hair secured she stood, doing the backs of her legs, her hands moving up past the hem of the loose, opaque shorts she wore.

  Because of him, her hair looked like a five-year-old had played with it—and Heath knew what that looked like, as their friend Wish’s daughter loved to mess with Mary’s hair.

  Sophia had green covering her legs, with lumps seeming to move across her, but despite it all she was distractingly, obnoxiously beautiful. Heath had no idea why, but he’d never been more attracted to a woman than he was right then, burns and all.

  And he really, really didn’t want to be.

  “No,” she continued, as if Heath hadn’t been blatantly devouring her with his eyes. Fortunately, he wasn’t the type to blush. “I’m not sure I want them dead. They left me alive for a reason—I want to know why.”

  She spoke like the soldier she was, but made her decisions with an unerring moral compass Heath lacked. He didn’t care that they’d let her live; they’d hurt her, given her some of the most gruesome injuries he’d seen in his long life.

  “I can’t imagine why Kiril’s lover wouldn’t kill me,” she said. By now she’d reached her shoulders, her movements becoming more graceful as she worked. The ointment must have already started to do its job. Suddenly Briony seemed less crazy. He wanted to hug the witch.

  “Who’s Kiril?” Heath asked almost absently. Just like her legs, her arms were coiled in lean muscle. She was very small, but she was certainly stronger than she looked at first glance.

  Her gaze clashed with his. “All you need to know,” she told him in a tone that left no room for questions, “is that once, a long time ago, he would have done anything for me to be his.”

  Heath’s attention narrowed, the predator in him recognizing a challenge. He didn’t care what Sophia wanted. If this Kiril still felt that way, he would have to die.

  Chapter 4

  THE mood in the room changed, turning from awkward, halting banter to something other, something deadly.

  Heath had kept his casual stance, but his eyes were slits and the muscles in his arms jumped. He was furious, and Sophia couldn’t understand why. She’d only mentioned Kiril, causing the man who was possibly the most lethal member of Sebastian’s clan prohibitum, who, despite her affection for her brother, were convicts, to internally rage.

  She could recognize the signs of his restraint, just as she’d seen them in Sebastian many times before. There were two types of werewolf males—the types who released their fury on objects or people around them, or the types who kept it pent-up inside. Some did both.

  Sophia thought it was proof positive that men were crazier than women. When female weres became angry, they channeled it into something constructive, like cutting holes in the clothes of the last man who’d told her she was too shrimpy to be put on the front lines.

  She’d shut him up and gotten the satisfaction of seeing him train in holey shirts for months.

  As Heath only seemed to become angrier as the silence stretched between them, she decided to tell him everything and hope something would tamp down his anger. Silly men.

  “I think Kiril’s mate and two of her friends were the ones who did this to me.” She finished rubbing the ointment everywhere she could reach once she covered the slash of burns across her cheek. She handed the jar to Heath, uncaring that her hands might as well have been bedazzled. She couldn’t help but crack a smile, imagining Heath’s hands when he was finished.

  The jar seemed to produce glitter, which Sophia normally avoided like the plague. Today, because the green goop instantly stopped the nagging pain that had followed her every movement, she didn’t mind the sparkles. If they really aided the process to healing, bring them on.

  “Can you get any place I missed?” She didn’t think her lower back was too burned, but her upper back was a completely different story. She hadn’t even tried put the ointment there, knowing from sunscreen fails that she wouldn�
�t be able to reach everywhere she needed to.

  Heath grunted, interest flaring in his pine needle-green eyes before she turned her back to him. His hands were surprisingly gentle as they slid across her skin in a way that didn’t hurt her, the same way she’d been applying the goop. Maybe he’d been watching her hands, not ogling her body as she’d thought.

  She was vaguely disappointed.

  She shivered when he reached the hidden skin underneath the back of her sports bra. Her current getup was the only reason she’d allowed Heath nearby and had not asked for Mary or Aiyanna—she didn’t intend to flaunt her body to anyone, even though she’d been very tempted to take the straps off her bra altogether in the presence of this man.

  Maybe she’d judged him too harshly when they’d first met. Something about the way he’d yelled when he saw her tied up spoke to her instincts, pulling her toward him like a string attached to her belly. That was the reason she’d asked him to stay behind to help her. All of a sudden it was Heath she wanted at her back when she found those Fey skanks.

  “Done,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his dark jeans. She turned to look at him, catching his barely muffled curse when his hands came away just as sparkly, but leaving behind a trail of glitter on his thighs. Sophia laughed, unabashed by the scowl he aimed at her.

  “This needs to dry,” she said to herself. Her spirit was positively light, mainly because of Heath and the ointment he’d brought. The relief was overwhelming; she felt better than ever, as if the witches’ brew contained concentrated caffeine.

  She found herself spinning with her arms stretched out, like a particularly energetic child. The air whipping around her was helping the goop to dry faster, and the feeling of moving without pain, of watching boil-sized lumps seemingly eat away her burns to leave smooth skin underneath was exhilarating.

  So she kept spinning, her smile practically cracking her face, until her foot caught on something hard and found herself falling toward the hardwood floor. When she reached her hands out to catch herself, she grabbed air as Heath lifted her upright by her waist.