Chained by Night

by Larissa Ione

  He’d kiss her, right where her exposed expanse of flesh peeked through the gap in the torn dress. Slowly, seductively, he’d lick his way up until the material got in the way—and then he’d rip it with his teeth all the way to her waist.

  Stop it. She’s not yours.

  Something wild and primitive growled at that. Mine.

  Not yours.

  Fuck.

  Reluctantly, angrily, he stood, clenching his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her again. She was forbidden fruit, and he dared not sample.

  More than he already had, anyway.

  He didn’t meet her gaze as he stepped across the maze entrance’s threshold. She joined him, and once they were both inside the maze, a soft whoosh stirred the air. The maze had sealed shut. Sealed so well that there weren’t any lines in the walls to suggest that there had ever been an opening.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Guess we’re in it for the long haul now.”

  Aylin gave him a funny look. “Did you have any doubt?”

  “No, but I’d hoped we at least had a way out if we needed it.” He studied the forty-foot-high walls surrounding them, knowing there was no way to climb over. Not unless they grew about fifteen feet in height and developed springs for legs. A few grotesque, pulsing vines hung like tentacles from the wall tops, but the thorns that spiraled along the viny ropes promised pain. Or worse.

  “Hey.” Aylin tugged at his arm. “Over there.”

  He narrowed his eyes in the direction Aylin had indicated. Near a bend in the maze, he spotted the outline of what appeared to be a doorway. As they approached, the lines became clearer. Definitely a door. And at its base was a leather bag. The supplies Samnult had mentioned, he guessed.

  “Do we dare open the door?” she asked as he crouched to inspect the contents of the bag. “Or should we stay on the main path?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” He dug through the bag, finding four packaged pints of human blood—two O-positive, one AB-positive, and one superbly rare B-negative. At least Samnult had good taste in blood. There were also two bottles of water, six pemmican bars, and two slabs of dried venison. “What’s your gut say?”

  “That we open it.” She bit her bottom lip in doubt. “Or maybe it’s a trick. Maybe we’re supposed to stay on this path.”

  Standing, he slung the bag over his shoulder. He figured they had an equal shot at survival either way, so they might as well go with Aylin’s gut. Bracing himself for anything, he placed his palms in the center of the outlined rectangle and pushed. The grind of stone accompanied the opening of the door, becoming obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet landscape.

  Before the door fully opened, he put his back to the wall and craned his neck to get a view of what lurked beyond the doorway. Nothing. Just more maze, creepy vines, and the rotting carcass of one of the lizard things they’d seen during the first challenge at the stone bridge.

  Cautiously, they moved through the twists and turns, their moccasins whispering over the stone and earth pathway. Bones littered the ground, some animal, some vampire. And, as he found when he crouched next to a femur and tibia connected by withered threads of tendon, some were human.

  “I’d say this is creepy,” Aylin murmured as they skirted a sprung trap of razor-sharp spikes on which a vampire had been impaled, “but I’ve seen most of this at ShadowSpawn.”

  Hoping to avoid a similar fate to the poor vamp’s, Hunter paused to study the trap’s mechanism. The spikes had shot up from the ground, closing on the victim like a Venus flytrap’s jaws. At least a dozen two-foot-long barbs had skewered the vampire, who appeared to have been dead for a few weeks.

  “Have you seen a trap like this?”

  Aylin rubbed her arms as if chilled. “No. My father would use fewer spikes. You know, to cause the greatest amount of suffering.”

  A green bird the size of a bald eagle, its feathers looking more appropriate for a porcupine than a bird, landed high up on a wall. Its golden eyes seemed to size them up, and then he swore it chirped at Aylin.

  “Aylin?”

  She ignored him, her concentration fixed on the creature. The bird cocked its head as if listening to something, and a moment later, Hunter he felt the whisper of wings brush his ear.

  But there were no other birds in the air. Still, the porcupine-eagle began to chatter, its gaze following something invisible that seemed to be flying around it. Aylin stood silently, her gaze flitting between the bird and the empty air. The bird squawked at her, and she nodded as if understanding it.

  Realization dawned. She did understand the creature. Which meant she was a mystic-whisperer. His gut twisted.

  Mystic-whisperers are dangerous. Kill them. Kill them all.

  His father’s voice clanged around inside Hunter’s skull. He didn’t follow the Way of the Raven, but even the Way of the Crow preached wariness of those with the ability to either communicate with or become animals. Followers of the Raven believed that the animal-based gifts were evil, and while Crow followers weren’t so rigid in their views, they still considered mystic-whisperers and animal shifters to be high-risk individuals in any clan setting. The animal-based gifts came with powerful animal instincts that often overrode rational thought. Hunter had seen it happen, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Aylin turned to him, but she didn’t meet his gaze. “We should go. But not straight ahead. I think doubling back to the crossroads we just passed is our best bet.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Still not meeting his eyes, she shrugged. “It’s a guess.”

  “A guess based on what that bird had to say?”

  She flinched, just barely, but enough for him to know he’d struck his target. “How would I know what the bird said?”

  “Because you’re a mystic-whisperer.”

  She hissed. “That’s forbidden—”

  “Fuck forbidden,” he snapped, annoyed and shamed by his own initial reaction to realizing she was an animal whisperer. “You should know by now that I don’t run my clan the way your father runs his. I’ve only banished one person because of an animal-based gift, and it wasn’t necessarily his gift that got him in trouble; it was what he did with it.”

  The mystic-whisperer, Lobo, used to belong to the clan but now roamed the forest with his wolf. The male had been so in tune with the animal world that he’d distanced himself from other vampires, and eventually he’d grown vicious, impossible to trust.

  “What was his gift?”

  “He was a skinwalker, so powerful that he could shift into people instead of only animals.”

  Aylin gasped. “That’s . . . I’ve never even met a skinwalker, let alone heard of one being able to take humanoid form.”

  “Exactly. He used his ability to shift into another clan male in order to seduce the male’s mate. If I hadn’t sent him away, the female’s mate would have killed him.”

  “Talking to animals seems pretty tame now,” she muttered.

  Maybe, but the more he got to know Aylin, the more he realized she wasn’t as tame as she appeared. She was fierce but subtly so, her stubborn determination to survive permeating every fiber of her being.

  “Never be afraid to reveal yourself to me, Aylin. I’m not your enemy.”

  “I know.”

  He looked up at the porcupine-eagle and started back the way they’d come. “I don’t think you do.”

  She fell into step beside him, and he resisted the urge to smile. She no longer followed behind, no longer hesitated to walk next to him like an equal. “Things would be so much easier if you were an asshole,” she said.

  He laughed at that, but she was right. He could be a class A asshole, but sometimes he wished he could be even better at it. Nothing would bother him. Regrets wouldn’t plague him. And he could wipe Aylin from his mind and pretend that
the upcoming mating with Rasha wouldn’t eat at his soul.

  “Trust me,” he said. “I can be a bastard when I need to be.”

  “I have no doubt,” she said with a wry smile. “But I think it’s rare. You’re too smart to be a bastard.”

  “There’s an old Cheyenne saying about how, when a man is as wise as a serpent, he can afford to be as harmless as a dove.”

  She snorted. “I’d say that ‘harmless’ is the last description that applies to you. But I like the sentiment. I’ve always believed that the more power or strength someone has, the less they should use it.”

  Ah, damn. He liked her. He really, really liked her. “Unfortunately, it usually goes the opposite way. Power and strength too often are given to those who least deserve them . . . or who least can handle them.”

  Her gaze became distant, and he wondered if she was thinking of her father. Or Rasha. They were two of the least-deserving people he’d ever met, and Kars’s abuse of power was staggering.

  “I hope this isn’t a sore subject,” she began, “but I’ve heard your father, Bear Roar, was as cruel as mine. Is that true?”

  Yeah, the subject wasn’t just sore; it was an open, stinging wound. “He was, but in a different way. When he was calm, he was hard but reasonable. But his temper . . .”

  Hunter inhaled, taking in fresh air in an attempt to cleanse the stale memories. Didn’t work. He remembered every gritty detail about his father’s homicidal rages, which could last for days, and when he came out of them, Bear Roar was often shocked by the swath of destruction he’d left in his wake. Now, every day, Hunter struggled with his own temper, avoiding triggers such as speaking the ancient language of the Elders and drowning his violent tendencies in alcohol and video games. He could not, would not, turn into his father.

  “His temper was legendary,” Hunter continued. “He was the reason humans fear us.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t follow in his footsteps.” She looked up at the endless blue sky, the tips of her hair rustling softly in the breeze. “You’re pretty reasonable.”

  “I can be,” he agreed. “At least, most of the time.” And when he wasn’t, Riker put him in his place. Sometimes gently, sometimes not. But the guy could usually bring Hunter out of whatever vicious mood he was in.

  Usually.

  Hunter had done things that still haunted him, that still shamed him. And he had no doubt that in the future he’d take many more actions that would do the same.

  And as he watched Aylin lift her face into the sun and a breeze that smelled of juniper and sage, he prayed that bringing her along on this journey wasn’t one of them.

  TO AYLIN’S SURPRISE, she and Hunter navigated the maze for hours without incident. Which was a challenge and exhausting in itself. Who knew it took so much energy to be paranoid about what might lurk around the next corner?

  To Hunter’s credit, he never once settled into complacency or got sloppy. He kept watch to the front and behind, and before they rounded any bend in the path, he insisted they put their backs to the walls and survey the route ahead before he’d allow them to continue.

  By the time the sun sank low on the horizon, casting long shadows inside the maze, they were both so tightly wound up that they were seeing monsters in every murky patch of shade. Really, the lack of activity, coupled with the numerous animal, vampire, and human remains, was its own special brand of hell.

  “This is fucked-up.” Hunter hefted the leather knapsack higher on his sun-baked shoulder as he eased around a corner. “I’d rather be fighting actual enemies than jumping at every sound.”

  He exaggerated; she’d not seen him jump once. But she agreed, because she had jumped a few times. The anxiety over what might be lying in wait was making her insane.

  “Samnult is a sadist.” She eased the cramp-inducing grip she had on the thigh bone she’d picked up a while back to use as a club. Hunter had one, too, but he’d used a rock to grind one end into a sharp point. “I don’t know how long my heart can keep beating at a thousand beats per minute. I’m pretty sure it’s going to explode.”

  He turned to her, and in the waning light, she swore his eyes glowed as he cast a long, lingering look her way. Heat flooded her, and just when she thought her heart couldn’t beat any faster, it went all kinds of crazy in her chest.

  It was a blessing when he turned away, because she wasn’t sure her body could take more sudden starts and stops.

  The green bird reappeared every now and then, usually when they came to a crossroads in the maze. Hunter would watch as she sent her totem dove, invisible to all but her, out to speak with it, and while she sensed he wasn’t entirely comfortable with her ability, he didn’t condemn. Even now, as the spiky bird lifted off and her dove returned to her, he merely shook his head.

  “Impressive. My totem bear would be as likely to eat that bird as talk to it.” He skirted soccer-ball-sized purple bushes growing in the middle of the path and waited until she’d cleared them. The bushes could jump three feet into the air and spit acid, as the hole in the shaft of her boot could attest. “He’s a grumpy son of a bitch.”

  She stared at him in astonishment. Special abilities and totem animals tended to be private things, rarely discussed, but she was learning that Hunter wasn’t exactly a typical born vampire with pure American Indian breeding. Unlike her, a vampire with mixed human breeding, Hunter had instincts that would be deeply ingrained, woven into the fabric of his very soul. And yet he was by no means defined by his background.

  It was . . . refreshing. She wondered if his openness extended to talking about his gifts.

  A minefield of acid bushes lay ahead, and she fell behind to follow in his footsteps as they wove between the plants. As they forged ahead, she couldn’t help but admire his bare back and the play of powerful muscles under his skin. And then there was the view of his ass, his bare cheeks flashing under the buckskin breechcloth every time he crouched to study a sprung trap . . . or something he suspected to be a trap.

  “Hunter?” She cleared her throat of the lust that had lodged in it. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot.”

  A row of acid bushes blocked their path, quivering and rattling in excitement as she and Hunter neared. He jabbed his bone spear into the center of one, and the thing shrieked before shriveling into a fist-sized ball of straw. They quickly stepped over it, and Hunter narrowly avoided being sprayed by another agitated plant.

  “Okay.” She cleared her throat again, preparing to enter forbidden territory. “You know what my gift is, but I know nothing about yours.”

  The set of his shoulders became taut, and she hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. “You know, most people don’t discuss this. You never want to give away your secret weapon.” He cast her a pointed look over his shoulder. “Or your forbidden skill.”

  “Trust me, I’m aware of that,” she muttered.

  He spun his bone club around and whacked a vine slithering across the path. “Who besides me, and I’m guessing Rasha, knows that you can communicate with animals?”

  “My father probably suspects, but he’s never said anything.” She leaped over the writhing vine, marveling at how her once-twisted leg didn’t shake or ache. Strangely, she was tempted to be extra careful, for fear that injuring herself might reduce her to the same shameful state she’d been in her entire life. She couldn’t return to that. She’d rather die. “I’m sorry if I offended you. You don’t have to talk about it.”

  He shrugged. “I can read the weather, and if I try hard enough, I can manipulate it. Nothing wide-scale, but I can force a strong breeze or stop the rain from falling in a fifty-yard radius.”

  “That must come in handy,” she said, feeling a little let down. With his background, he should possess far greater powers, like her father, who could project his voice into clan members’ minds to give orders from a distance. His gift ha
d delivered ShadowSpawn a major advantage during several battles they might otherwise have lost.

  “Sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “But I—fuck!”

  Blood shot up from the earth in a fine spray—at least, she thought it had come from the earth, until she saw the wooden spike drilling up out of the top of Hunter’s foot. Lunging, he ripped his foot free and hit the ground in a messy sprawl.

  “Hunter!” Dropping her bone club, Aylin went to her knees next to him, slapped her hands on both sides of the puncture wound, and lifted his leg onto her lap for elevation. “Lie down. We have to stop the bleeding.”

  Hissing, Hunter eased onto his back. “Son of a bitch,” he bit out between clenched teeth. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

  “The blood,” she said, gesturing with a nod to the backpack lying at his side. “You need to drink it.”

  He shook his head. “Later. I don’t want to waste—”

  “Now!” she snapped. “I don’t deal well with macho bullshit. You need to heal, and the blood will help. So open that pack, and down a pouch of O-pos.”

  Surprise flashed in his pain-filled black eyes, followed by a ghost of a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

  It was her turn to be surprised as he fumbled with the pack’s buckle. He might suffer from macho-itis now and then, but he was clearly smart enough to get over it when necessary. Or when scolded. Good to know.

  He jammed his hand into the pack, but before he could retrieve a bag of blood, he froze. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and a heartbeat later, her ears picked up a sound that filled her with dread.

  In the distance, but growing louder with every passing second, was a chuffing noise, the distinct sound of a large animal taking in scents. Tracking them, maybe.

  The sound seemed to come from every direction, rendering all of their options down to a roll of the dice. They could go back the way they’d come and run into the creature, they could take the path to the left and run into it, or they could go down the curvy path to the right and still run into it.