Hunted

by Samantha Stone

Physical fights weren’t her strength, but she could hold her own well enough to stay conscious. She dodged the man’s blows to her head, ducking low and moving quickly, purposely throwing him off-balance.

  She tore a piece of fire from the woman who still burning, now silent on the tile floor, and whipped it at the man, causing him to curse, recoiling in pain.

  In the corner of her vision, Briony hit the floor when the redheaded man backhanded her. Distracted and enraged, Sophia threw her fire at him, searing his face but giving his leader the time he needed to gather his strength. A second later, it became clear he was an air elemental when he whipped objects at her from across the room. She barely missed a large book aimed for her stomach, but landed on her knees when an iron rod meant for prodding fires hit her in the back.

  “Low blow,” she murmured, using sheer willpower to stand.

  The other woman used her water ability to try and put out Sophia’s fire, but she grew her flames toward the woman and a small, confused-looking man until they were both forced out the front door.

  She raised the fire, blocking them outside.

  Briony and the redheaded man were both on the floor, the former unconscious and the latter whimpering, dabbing his face with his shirt. The other fire elemental had moved to a chair, where he still had his hand pressed against his forehead.

  That left Sophia with the leader, who’d just thrown a small bookcase at her. The corner of a hardcover fell landed painfully on top of her head, but she otherwise avoided the projectiles. She raised her fire and created a circle that hovered around the were, expanding and shrinking to show him she could burn him like as she had the scarred woman.

  “You won’t kill me,” he growled, ripping the fan from the ceiling. Sophia dodged the light, but the force of a wooden blade upon her shoulder brought her to her knees a second time. She didn’t rise, but kept her concentration on the fire surrounding the large man before her.

  “I will,” she said honestly, stretching the fire into a tube shape. Her head was starting to pound, and the leaves she’d used on her arm were beginning to wear off. “If it’ll save Heath, I’ll burn your ass alive and enjoy your screams.”

  “Then you’ll die hours after me.”

  This time he aimed the heavy-looking wooden table at Briony, not Sophia. She cursed—the only thing she could do was get between the witch and the table, holding out her hands to stop the wood from beating into her body. It broke her wrist with a snap, sending her stumbling back, but she kept control over her fire. She was fairly certain a blood vessel burst in her right eye.

  She heard voices outside, recognizing Sebastian and Raphael’s shouts. She killed the flames barring the front door to allow them in, and felt her heart sink when Heath was the first inside, his claws out and his eyes blazing with fury.

  *

  Heath took in the scene with a single glance, his chest filling with pride while the rest of his body poised to kill. Sebastian and Raphael had already taken care of the weres Sophia had pushed outside, and she’d obviously had little trouble taking control of the situation in the house. One woman was dead, and two men were on their asses, practically writhing in pain.

  That only left the man—large, even by were standards—who stood in front of her, also burned, but less injured than the others and more than willing to keep fighting.

  His Sophia was one hell of an incredible woman, and her pack was damn lucky to have her as a soldier. But none of that changed her condition. She’d been poisoned, and killing this man would bring them no closer to the antidote she needed.

  There was no way Heath was letting anyone kill his woman.

  “You’re outnumbered, man,” Heath told Sophia’s opponent. Sebastian and Raphael stood menacingly in front of the door, allowing Heath to take the lead even though Sebastian was obviously holding himself back—his rage over Sophia’s treatment apparent in his lethal stance. Vale and Theo were on their way, with Alexandre and Cael guarding the firehouse.

  He had to fight his instincts not to step in front of Sophia, forming a barrier between her and the man who looked at her with murder in his dark eyes, but he knew she would take the move as an insult to her strength. He stepped beside her, brushing her shoulder with his.

  “Give us the antidote or you all die,” Heath told him.

  Baring his teeth, the man wiped his face with a square of the Inverness clan’s tartan. “Your life or hers,” the man growled in the brogue that had left Heath’s tongue centuries ago. He smiled cruelly, well aware that while Sophia had overpowered them, she never really had a chance to win.

  As soon as they’d injected her, either Heath or Sophia had been fated to die. And this man knew full well that Heath wasn’t about to let him so much as touch Sophia again.

  Heath didn’t hesitate, knowing there was no option to be had. “I’ll turn myself over,” he said at the same time Sophia exclaimed, “That’s bullshit!”

  “Prove that there’s an antidote.” Her voice shook with fury. One of her wrists hung at a grotesque angle, broken, but it seemed to be her other arm that bothered her. She held it tense and still, pressing it as hard as she could against her side. That’s where they injected her.

  The were pulled a glass vial out of his pocket. “Ye can awa’ in bile yer heid for all I care,” he murmured, telling her she could away and boil her head. Though Heath was confident Sophia didn’t understand the insult, she took it for what it was, growling low in her throat.

  “You could’ve easily torched this,” the man continued, wrapped his fingers around the vial securely. “I wish you had, but I’m here to kill you,” he pointed to Heath, “not the bitch.”

  Heath didn’t punch the man, only because it might break the vial holding the antidote.

  Vale and Theo came into the room almost silently, but the were didn’t break eye contact with Heath. “Decide, Frazier.”

  Sophia grabbed his hand, her grip far too weak. “Don’t do it,” she implored, her eyes, the color of a freshwater lake, boring into his. “Briony may be able to come up with a solution. The Fey are aligned with you, they may know a way. Please, don’t die,” she whispered, bringing his hands to her lips. “Please.”

  The eye on his hand didn’t blink as it watched Heath, slightly narrowed but clearly resolved.

  Vale’s scent left the room.

  Heath leaned down and kissed Sophia quickly, deeply, trying to convey how he felt in the one movement. He would do anything to keep her safe, to prevent her from gaining another single scar.

  He kissed his way to her ear. “You’re mine to take care of, whether you like it or not,” he murmured. He couldn’t call her his mate; he hadn’t earned that right, but she still belonged to him.

  “Damn it, Heath, we’re going to have a talk about what belonging to each other means as soon as we get out of this. Alive.” Sophia rounded on the larger were. “If you think you’re going to kill my mate, you’re going to have to go through me.”

  Heath looked over his shoulder to meet Raphael’s grim expression, nodding toward Sophia. The Alpha used his air abilities to haul her across the room, behind him and Sebastian.

  “You aren’t my Alpha, Raphael. I’m giving you five seconds before I take that fire burning over there and shove it up your hairy—”

  Vale appeared that moment, a frail-looking woman with eyes the color of pine needles clutching his hand tightly. It was the first time Heath had seen his mother, formerly Elizabeth Frazier, currently mated to the Alpha of Inverness, in over six hundred years.

  “You plan to kill my son, Edan?” Elizabeth asked, tremendous fury in her voice. Shocked, Heath realized she was stronger than she looked. Something had changed in his mother during his exile.

  “Ranulf ordered it,” the other were—Edan—said, respect dousing his words and movements. At Elizabeth’s appearance, the man’s demeanor had morphed from anger and disgust to abject deference. “We have no option but to follow his orders.�
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  “You’re wrong.” Elizabeth laced her hands together behind her back and faced off with the were who easily stood a foot taller than she did. “There are going to be some major changes coming to our pack, beginning with Ranulf’s exile to a clan prohibitum. Because he puts you soldiers on missions like this and has paid exorbitant amounts of our people’s money to a corrupt lupus dux in order to keep my son exiled. Those are the things he was caught doing.”

  She stepped forward and tapped Edan on the chest. “If you kill my son, then I’ll kill you, and I promise you I’ll end Ranulf no matter what it’ll do to me. So who’re you going to obey, your current Alpha, or the woman who will take his place?”

  Edan took a step back, bending his head to show her his neck.

  Just like that, Heath’s mother and brother had saved his life. Before thanking them, he approached Edan and held out his hand. With a scowl, the were dropped the vial into his palm.

  “I don’t care whose pack you belong to,” Heath told him in a low voice, “If you or any other soldier here comes anywhere near Sophia again, I’ll rip your throats out.”

  They would want revenge, for the woman Sophia had killed and for embarrassing them all.

  Edan nodded, his eyes angry slits.

  Heath almost dropped Sophia’s antidote when she slammed into him from behind. “I’m so mad at you,” she whispered against his back, her voice muffled. Her arms were wrapped around him so tightly, he wasn’t positive even his tattooed arm could pry her loose.

  She pulled back when he lifted the vial to her line of vision, taking the glass tube once he’d pulled off the top and swallowing what looked like a mouthful of dark liquid. “That tastes like ass,” she sputtered, making a face.

  Heath laughed, pulling her into a tight hug. The color was already coming back to her face, and her arm was no longer rigid around him.

  “Ma,” he said as Elizabeth approached them. Sophia tried to pull away, but Heath held her where she was, unsure whether he would ever be able to let her out of arm’s reach again. She didn’t fight him, instead holding her hand out. “I’m Sophia.” She grasped Elizabeth’s hand.

  “Elizabeth Frazier. I’m going by my late husband’s name, Heath and Vale’s father, now that Ranulf and I are going our separate ways.”

  Heath felt himself smiling. He liked the idea of everyone in their small family bearing the same name again.

  “I’ve asked your brother to rejoin our pack,” Elizabeth sent Vale a fond look when he joined them, “but he declined, deciding to serve as an impartial advisor instead.”

  Vale patted Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I’m the head soldier in Asheville, Ma. They need me up there.”

  “I’m offering head soldier to Heath, if he wants it.” Elizabeth watched Heath speculatively. “It took me far too long to realize that you were right about Ranulf, among other things. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  Heath could see her regret in the lines around her mouth and in her forehead, imprints that shouldn’t have appeared for thousands of years.

  He looked down at Sophia, who only shook her head, a mischievous smile curving her lips. You’ve got to decide this on your own, he could all but hear her say.

  “I’ll advise with Vale,” Heath decided, his words surprising even himself. “This is my pack now, whether I’m free or not. I plan to stay here, in New Orleans.”

  Elizabeth nodded, her bright smile taking away decades of age. “I’ll see you both at lunch on Sunday,” she said to Heath and Sophia before she turned to Vale. “Take me to the Elders—they’re going to want to hear about Ranulf’s latest stunt in person. You’re coming with me, Edan. Someone’s going to have to explain that godforsaken poison.”

  A split second later, the three of them were gone, and Elizabeth appeared serene, while Edan wore an expression of utter terror. Heath would have to remember to call her, to remind her that he couldn’t leave the city quite yet.

  “I need to find Harry and a strong drink,” Sebastian exclaimed from where he was kneeling next to Briony, who was still unconscious. “Who wants to go to the brewery?”

  Raphael shook his head, frowning at the burned body lying on the floor.

  Theo lifted a hand. “I’m in for one last drink before I head back to Halifax.” He looked downright miserable. Heath wondered what woman put that expression on his face.

  The redheaded were raised his hand hopefully, having risen to a sitting position when Elizabeth had been speaking to Edan.

  “He’s the one who knocked Briony out,” Sophia supplied.

  Sebastian’s fist hit the were’s nose with a loud pop. Blood poured, and the were was out cold. “Assholes don’t get beer,” Sebastian murmured, lifting Briony in his arms and carrying her away from the man.

  “You okay, Sophie?” he asked, glancing her over. “You seemed to have this place on lockdown when we showed up.”

  She nodded, her good hand tangled with Heath’s. “Now that the poison’s been taken care of, I’m good to go.”

  “Once your wrist is healed,” Heath added.

  Sophia nodded, wincing when she got a good look at her mangled wrist.

  “What’re you going to do with these intruders?” Heath asked Raphael, gesturing around the all-but-demolished house.

  Raphael lifted his head. “I’m going to make a blood oath with Niven, forcing him to get these soldiers back to Inverness.”

  “What’s your part of the deal?” Heath asked.

  “I won’t send every one of them back to Inverness in pieces so small, Elizabeth’s pack won’t know who’s who.”

  Heath smiled, nodding approvingly.

  With him and Raphael as free packmates, they wouldn’t simply be a clan prohibitum anymore, but a legitimate pack of werewolves one didn’t screw with.

  He only hoped Sophia would agree to join as well because he was beginning to think he was incapable of letting her go.

  Chapter 13

  IRONICALLY, it was Kiril who discovered Sophia’s location, not Christabel.

  Under normal circumstances, she would blame the incompetence on those she’d set to the task, but in this case she understood that Kiril’s knowledge on werewolf packs was far superior to hers, or just about any faery’s. The Fey had no reason to care about the details of were life.

  Well, until recently, but Christabel planned to fix that reason so she could go about her normal life once more.

  Kiril had found out that Sophia was healthy and whole in New Orleans, paying a scruffy-looking were handsomely for the information. She only knew this because she’d had him tailed ever since she found out about Sophia.

  Since the news helped her, Christabel wasn’t jealous. There was no reason to be jealous of a future corpse, after all.

  What she couldn’t understand was how Sophia had found a witch strong enough to heal her?

  I have no reason to be jealous. None. I’m mated to Kiril, I’m taller than her, and I’ll have killed her soon.

  “I’m going with you,” she told Kiril as he packed a bag to head south.

  “No.” His back to her, Kiril didn’t turn around, but his order was absolute. Christabel knew he wouldn’t change his mind, but pressed anyway, curious about what lie he would come up with.

  “Why? You’re my mate—aren’t we supposed to travel together?” An innocuous question filled with truth, Christabel’s favorite kind.

  “I must take care of a matter that would bore you.” Kiril zipped up the black leather suitcase she’d bought for him.

  “New Orleans isn’t boring, sweet. Quite the opposite, if I’m to judge from my last rendezvous there.”

  Charming, handsome Kiril, the man who’d proclaimed his love for her from rooftops in Venice a month prior, looked at her with eyes clearly uninterested in her, their focus having been stolen by Sophia. “You’ll regret it if you leave this city.”

  It was a threat Christabel knew he would deliver on.


  He was utterly ruthless toward those who crossed him, never letting them live long enough for him to hold a true grudge.

  She waited for him to leave before gathering her own forces. A text message later, she sat in a buzzing coffee shop situated on a street corner near a donut restaurant. If Kiril was keeping tabs on her, and she assumed he was, he surely wouldn’t expect her to be here. Furthermore, it would be extremely difficult for anything said to be overheard over the din of the store’s patrons.

  “Shoot to kill this time,” she told Lilith and Seraphina, the two faeries who helped her incapacitate Sophia to start with. Two of her oldest friends, they hadn’t been thrilled by her attachment to Kiril, but neither of them were against the takedown of the were who meant to take her man away.

  Kiril would know she was in New Orleans. Even if his men weren’t following her, he’d be able to sense his mate in the city. She’d wanted another faery to kill Sophia before Kiril reached her, leaving her blameless in the eyes of her man, but time had run out.

  Sophia would be dead, and Kiril would know exactly why. Christabel didn’t mind the consequences so long Kiril had no one to distract him anymore. After all, he couldn’t kill her—he wasn’t suicidal.

  “You’re sure she’s not burned?” Seraphina raised a blonde eyebrow, but kept her eyes on her manicured fingernails. “Kiril’s contacts could’ve been wrong.”

  Christabel took a sniff of her cheap cappuccino. Disgusting. “Assuming the information we have is correct—” At Lilith’s pointed cough, she glared until the other faery rolled her eyes, her apology mumbled. “We’re going down to New Orleans to find this werewolf. Between the three of us, she’ll be dead before Kiril finds her.”

  As Sophia had displayed a few days ago, werewolf gifts were weak compared to the power of the Fey. Adding in the powers Kiril had provided her, along with the knowledge she’d acquired over her thousands of years, she’d be unbeatable.

  The glass of water by Sophia’s sink and the potted plant by her windowsill hadn’t been touched when they’d attacked her, and Christabel hadn’t felt or seen any air abilities. Unless she was completely defenseless, Sophia’s element was fire, precisely the element that couldn’t hurt Christabel.