Hunter's Revenge: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Nicole Zoltack

  “Hi, I’m from Bright Springs Apartments. I haven’t seen my neighbor Amad in apartment 3C in ages.”

  “Have you called your landlord?” the operator asks.

  “I don’t think he’s been to work either,” I continue, ignoring her excellent question. Maybe I should’ve called the landlord. Oh, well. “I just would hate for something to have happened. Amad is a nice guy. Quiet. Mind’s his own business. I wouldn’t want his keeping to himself to prevent us from checking on him. I’ve knocked on his door, but he doesn’t answer, and—”

  “How about this? Contact the landlord. He can tell us if there’s no answer, and we can take it from there.”

  “I… I guess…”

  “What did you say—”

  I hang up before she can finish asking for my name. Ugh. Now I have to make another phone call.

  The first time I call, it goes to voicemail. No way. I don't want to leave a message that can be replayed over and over again, so I hang up and try again. And again. The fourth time I call, the landlord answers. I ask him to check on Amad, and he grumbles and whines, but eventually, he gives in, probably because I mentioned I called the police before calling him.

  There. Now, Amad is out of my hands, although I hate that he died. Why did that gremlin have to be there at the bridge Amad wanted to visit? Why had the gremlin cursed him? Why couldn't Amad have been strong enough to overcome it? I know Amad lived a long time, but that's all the more reason why he deserved to die from natural causes. Not murder.

  Amad and I hadn’t gotten off on the right foot at first, but we grew to mutually respect each other, even if he wanted me to give up my quest for revenge. And even though he wanted me to spread light to the world, he still honored my wish and gave me the identity of the paranormal creature responsible for killing my brother and his wife.

  Well, maybe after I have my revenge, I can consider that whole spread light thing. I just hope I did right by Amad by bringing him back to his apartment. Does he have a will?

  I drive home. Shortly after I pull out of the lot, I notice another car turn on. A few turns later, I realize the same car is still behind me. Hmm.

  I drive past my house and head to the nearest fast food joint that’s still open. I order a salad because I really do need to get my diet back on track, and the car behind me appears to order, but as soon as I leave the lot, they follow, not even bothering to hide the fact that they’re tailing me.

  At a stop sign, I slide on my silver knuckles. I also have my gun and the angel blade handy and easily accessible if need be. Who would be coming after me? I highly doubt the person is a potential client, although that is a possibility. Persons. There are two people in the car.

  Finally, curiosity gives out. A few blocks from my house, I park and sit in my car. I legit pull out my salad and start to eat, watching in my mirror as the car parks and a guy and a girl get out. Hmm. The guy might be a shifter of some kind. He has the muscle mass for it. Honestly, she looks human to me. Her ears are visible and clearly aren’t pointed. There are many paranormal creatures that aren’t obvious at first glance, but I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing most.

  He knocks on my window, and I roll it down.

  “Yes?” I ask through a mouthful. Not mature, I know, but I don’t care. I’m cranky. I’m not using enough dressing in an effort to save calories, and my taste buds are not happy with me.

  “You’re Rebel, aren’t you?” he asks as the girl moves to stand beside him. She’s petite and innocent-looking. Seeing her up close doesn’t change my mind. She still doesn’t look anything other than human.

  “Who wants to know?” I ask.

  “I’m Doyle Conrad.” He puffs out his chest. Does he honestly think I heard of him?

  “Doyle Conrad,” I repeat. “A…” I take another bite of salad.

  “A werewolf.”

  “Who wants…” My gaze flickers to the girl. She’s not surprised by his announcement, but then, I figured she wouldn’t be. What is she? I’m more curious about her than I am him.

  “First, to talk to you outside of the car.”

  “Why is that?” I ask coolly.

  “Let her finish eating first. Don’t be such an animal.” The girl smiles at me. “I’m sorry. Doyle can be such an animal at times.”

  He grins wolfishly and bumps her shoulder with his. I’m grateful I can’t hear whatever he whispers to her. She giggles and slaps his chest playfully.

  They make a cute enough couple. I almost like them, but I’m wary. I’ve been letting my guard down too much lately. Yes, I’ve made friends in Vinca and Aeden, fairies who I helped to get engaged; Azir and Ruka, both ogres; Mirella the witch; and maybe Darius too. I don’t know what to think about him. As for Morena Moriarty, she’s the witch who gave me the potion Mirella returned.

  I quickly finish my salad. The two are whispering and sneaking kisses, and it’s rolling eye worthy. It’s sad, but I have to clear my throat to get their attention.

  “I’m still not sure what you two want,” I say.

  “Come on out,” Doyle says. “We can go for a walk as we talk.”

  “I don’t know. It’s kind of late out.”

  “Don’t be silly.” He grins. “What could possibly happen? Besides, you know us werewolf types. We don’t like to stand still for too long.”

  He’s being way too forceful about this. Clearly, he’s going to attack the moment I’m out of the car. Then again, if he wanted to, he could reach into the car and grab my throat right now, but he’s not. He does want something, though.

  “Climb into the backseat,” I say. “We can talk in here. Better than out on the streets.”

  “But—” Doyle starts.

  “We don’t want everyone to hear about your business, do we?”

  “That’s fine,” the girl says. “I’m Angie Hunt, by the way.”

  “Angie,” Doyle says, but his girlfriend is already opening the back seat.

  I turn around to watch her climb in. I’m not shocked at all that Doyle walks around and claims the passenger seat up front.

  "What can I help you two with?" I ask. "Clearly, it's important for you to hunt me down this late at night, tailing me like you did."

  Doyle doesn't smile, and Angie looks a little nervous. Something isn't quite right here. Maybe inviting them into the car had been a terrible idea after all.

  “You have something we need,” Doyle says.

  “What’s that?” I ask. “And how are you so sure I have it? If I don’t, I can acquire most everything.”

  “I can smell it. You have it. You have it here in the car.”

  Gold. Vampire fangs. Iron balls. Extra silver bullets. The potion. There are a few other items in my pouch, but those are, in my opinion, the most important ones.

  The potion. I'm willing to bet he wants the potion.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “There’s been talk about you,” he continues. “People have been wondering when you would try it.”

  “Try what?”

  “Don’t be ignorant. You could be bitten and turned by a vampire. You could be turned into a werewolf. But no. You’re a rebel. You think you’re so special because you killed a few of us, so you want to be a witch. Am I right?”

  The potion. He wants it.

  I ignore Doyle. That people are talking about me doesn’t bother me. They can say what they want. It doesn’t affect me or my actions.

  “Are you sure you want this?” I ask Angie.

  “I’m the one talking,” Doyle says, his tone getting dark.

  “How about you start getting out your checkbook,” I snap. “Nothing is free.”

  In a flash, he has his hand on my throat. I go to hold the angel blade to his neck, but he blocks me. His grip crushes my wrist, and I have no choice but to open my hand and drop the weapon.

  “Doyle, you said—”

  “She’s not going to change her mind, and she’s not going to take all we have,” Doyle says. “Besides
, if she got it once, she can get it again. Isn’t that right, Rebel?”

  “The witch who made it is dead,” I inform him, glad he’s giving me just enough space that I can talk, but the pressure is more than I care for. I glance back at Angie. It’s not easy to see her considering Doyle’s hand on my throat, but I manage well enough. “Are you sure you—”

  “She does.”

  I glower at Doyle. “I need to hear it from her.”

  “You need to hear nothing.” Doyle reaches over and grabs my pouch. He reaches inside and hisses.

  “Yeah? Don’t like my iron?”

  “Angie, get it out.”

  “But…”

  “You want this, right? It’s the only way.”

  Angie lowers her head. “But you can protect me.”

  “You don’t understand. They’ll come for you when I’m not around. They will hunt you down, and if it’s not my pack, it’ll be someone else. Please. Please, you have to. You told me that you wish you had paranormal abilities, remember?”

  “I did, but…”

  “I love you for you,” he says with so much passion that I believe him. “But now that the others know that you know, we have to take this precaution. They won’t bother us if you’re a witch. It’s important.”

  Angie nods. “It is, but this isn’t the way to go about this, Doyle.”

  “Witches hate werewolves. If we could find one willing to brew it for us, she would ask for millions. We can’t afford that. I know it’s not—”

  “You can owe me a favor,” I suggest.

  Doyle glares his nostrils.

  Angie nods vigorously. “I like that idea.”

  I don’t move.

  Doyle grips harder.

  “Release me, and I’ll get it,” I say.

  He begrudgingly releases me.

  I reach inside my pouch for the potion. A part of me wants to hold onto it. Not that I will ever change my mind and want to take it, but just having it is leverage.

  But, a deal is a deal.

  “A favor?” I ask Doyle.

  He nods.

  “I need you to verbalize it,” I snap.

  “A favor for the potion.”

  I grab the potion and hand it to Angie even though Doyle goes to intercept.

  He rushes out of the car, and Angie climbs out too. She giggles, uncorks it, and drinks.

  "I thought we were going to have a nice dinner, and you take it then," he protests.

  “I don’t want to…” A strange sound emits from Angie’s throat.

  My blood turns to ice. What in the world?

  Her eyes roll back in her head, and she begins to tremble. Doyle catches her as she starts to fall. He looks around wildly and makes eye contact. The grief and fear in his eyes cut my heart.

  “Hang in there,” he tells her, bringing her down to the ground and placing her head in his lap. “It’ll be over soon, and you’ll be a witch. It’s fine. You’re fine. Angie, do you hear me? Angie!”

  Abruptly, she stops moving.

  Doyle glares at me, his mouth opening, his fangs visible.

  My heart skips a beat.

  “Is she…” I whisper.

  "De—" he starts to say, but then his howl cuts off the word.

  I know what that word is, though.

  Dead.

  Chapter 3

  The werewolf takes no time at all to change. His howl starts out as he’s a human and continues as fur sprouts all over his body.

  Of all the rotten luck. It's just as well I never drank the stupid potion, but why had Morena Moriarty given it to me in the first place? Did she want me to die? Did she make the potion wrong? Maybe she didn't know it would kill the drinker.

  But none of that matters. Doyle’s love is dead because of the potion, and since I provided the potion, he now wants me dead.

  I back up slightly. “Doyle, listen to me. I didn’t make the potion. The witch who did is dead and—”

  He lunges into the air. I sidestep him, and he lands on the sidewalk, his claws scratching the surface. The noise grates my ears, but I’m already appraising the situation. I really don’t want to fight a grief-stricken werewolf, especially one that’s pissed at me. Not that I’m really in the mood to fight a werewolf who isn’t grief-stricken either.

  Werewolves are more people who shift into massive wolves versus some kind of wolf-man creature, but that doesn’t stop Doyle from standing on two feet. He towers above me and sweeps with his right hand, his claws flashing.

  I can easily grab a blade and stab him right in the chest, but I don’t. I won’t. Instead, I slide back and to the left. If I can just get to my car, I can drive away.

  And leave him to tend to his dead girlfriend himself.

  It can’t be helped. He won’t let me near him, I’m sure, and honestly, I’m running out of places to hide the bodies I’ve intentionally dropped, let alone an accidental one.

  Doyle won’t be deterred, and my large steps aren’t enough to avoid him. His backhand strikes me across the side of my face, and I go down. My hand reaches into my pouch as I scramble to get back up, but Doyle pounces on top of me, his massive paws pinning my shoulders to the road. Thankfully, I managed to hold up my head so the back of it didn’t slam against the street.

  He collapses on top of me, releasing his paws from my shoulders but pinning me in place just the same. He’s literally crushing me, and I can hardly breathe.

  But I can move my leg a little, and I shift slightly to knee him where it counts. Even animals have family jewels, and werewolves are not an exception.

  His first reaction is to shimmy and shake on top of me, crushing my hand in the pouch, and then he rolls off.

  I cough down some air and wobblily stand. He’s on all fours, wincing yet, and my hand comes out of my pouch. The iron ball I wanted to use to keep him back has been crushed to iron dust.

  Doyle howls and starts toward me again. I blow the dust out of my hand right into his face, and he goes down, coughing and sputtering.

  Without hesitating, I race to my car and throw open the door. I climb in and am ready to drive off when there's a ripping sound, and my car sags to one side in the back.

  Doyle! He sliced a hole through one of my tires!

  I should’ve never stopped driving. Should’ve ignored them and gone home, but then they would’ve ambushed me there.

  Frowning, I climb back out. I’ve wasted so much money on cars recently, and it’s frustrating me to no end.

  “Look, bub, I know you’re upset, but really, you need—”

  This time, he doesn’t howl. He roars, his teeth gnashing together, salvia dripping from the corners of his mouth.

  The angel blade will kill him. If I’m careful, I might be able to shoot him and slow him down enough without doing long term damage.

  He’s already at my door. It’s a good thing I never shut it because I have a feeling he would’ve bashed it in or broken my window to get to me, but he is leaning against the door, pushing against it hard, possibly bending it. His claws reach for me. As I shift to face him and scoot backward, I aim and shoot his shoulder. He howls in pain, and I wince. As much as he’s bringing this upon himself, I feel terrible about everything.

  His arm withdraws, and he puts his face there instead. His eyes are so human, so filled with anguish.

  I can’t do this anymore. Maybe I should’ve done this immediately, but I rummage around for the last bit of travel dust that I have. Right before his teeth can chomp me, I’m gone, pulled through space, and appear in my house.

  Which is ransacked, and if I have to guess, it had been Doyle. Maybe he could smell the potion and knew I had it, so he came here. Whether or not Angie had been with him is up for debate.

  Maybe I should move. There are so many memories here, though. Memories live inside of us, though. I don’t need this place, and besides, a bounty hunter shouldn’t have roots like this. I’ve been in one spot for too long.

  But I do have friends here. On the
other hand, I never intended to have friends. My identity among the supernatural community isn’t a secret. If I have friends, they can be used against me, and I will not let that happen. Yes, I’m sure Vinca and her fiancé Aeden can take care of themselves. Azir and Ruka, both ogres, are more than capable of tackling just about any threat. Mirella? Definitely powerful. So many I can relax my guard some.

  Yeah, right. I snort to myself as I take in the clutter. A lot of the furniture is overturned, but none of it is broken. The underside of the couch had been sliced open, but no one sees that part. Why would Doyle cut it? Did he really think I stored the potion in the couch?

  It takes me hours to clean everything up, and yes, I made sure to not have my back to the door for long. Even though it’s locked, I’m very aware that Doyle had already picked the lock once. He can do it again.

  But he doesn’t come here. At first, I’m curious. Why not? He clearly knows where I live, but then I recall Angie. He’s probably burying her.

  My eyes closed, and my shoulders slump. All they wanted was to be together. How did Angie find out about Doyle being a werewolf? How did they meet and fall in love? I have so many questions, but I’ll never learn the answers to them. All this does is reinforce the notion that I shouldn’t ever have a significant other. It will be far too dangerous. Yes, if I were to date a witch or someone paranormal, they could take care of themselves, but they would still possibly face danger. And a human? So not smart. I don’t want to risk anyone else learning about the supernaturals. It’s not my place to out them to the public, and how can I have a relationship with someone if I can’t be honest about my profession? Yeah, it’s the single life for me.

  But Clarissa’s married. I saw her ring. Is her husband a human?

  Love. Honestly, love is the reason why I’ve become a supernatural bounty hunter in the first place. I’ve killed for love. Yes, revenge can be about hate, but I’m not doing it out of anger and spite. I’m doing it because Mason and Gracie had been vampire hunters. They tried to wipe out evil and darkness from the world. I want to honor them, and so I’ll take down their killer.

  This is the way I start to be their legacy. This is the only way.