Huntress: A Paranormal Romance

by Alexandra Christian

  Huntress

  Alexandra Christian

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Also by Alexandra Christian

  Falstaff Books

  Prologue

  The young king could feel her close by, even before he could see her. Something in the air changed, and he had no choice but to follow her scent toward its inevitable conclusion. She was an alluring tonic from which he could not escape. If she called to him, he would always come. So it had been since first he saw Mab, sunning herself at the edge of the stream. He urged his stallion faster, eager to once again be in her arms. He longed to touch that silken hair that ran through his fingertips like water. Hold her lithe, ethereal body against his own. Already his manhood was swollen and uncomfortable against his saddle, just thinking of her touch like cool mist. The horse whinnied and reared, feeling the darkness creeping in from all sides. Crossing into Faerie was not without risk, but Christophe knew that the power of his love would protect him. She would protect him. And this time he had no choice. He had a favor to ask of the Fae Queen.

  “The human king approaches, Belladonna,” Mab whispered to the handmaiden at her side. “His hunger for me is pungent this night. Can you smell it? That sweet honeysuckle sage?”

  “Indubitably, my queen. Positively rank with desire.” The forest nymphs lay in the low hanging bough of a tree, their nude bodies bathed in the blue light of the full moon overhead.

  “He comes to ask my favor. Shall I give it to him?” Mab said, pressing her lips to the consort’s temple.

  “I suppose it depends on what he is willing to offer in return.” Belladonna turned her head, capturing the queen’s mouth in a lingering kiss. Christophe slid down from his steed, unable to stop himself from staring as their mouths moved against one another.

  “My queen,” he said, dropping to his knees before them. “I come in peace, begging your indulgence.” He bowed his head, offering his tribute. A single pearl was poised between his fingertips. “The rarest of our jewels is only appropriate for one so rare as Her Majesty.” It was rare indeed with streaks of gold like fire cutting through the shining white orb. It was said that the pearl would give its owner the power of second sight, though Christophe knew that Mab was already all seeing.

  Mab tore herself away from Belladonna to stare down at the king. “A seeing stone,” she said, sounding almost impressed. “Surely your favor must be of some importance. One must face the Leviathan for such a treasure. Come closer, my king, so I might look upon your face.”

  Christophe stepped out of the shadows and closer to Mab. Immediately, he was taken in by her celestial beauty. Her silver hair fell over pale skin, hiding the generous swell of her breast. Her eyes, changeable and glistening, searched his face for signs of intent. He longed to kiss her rose-petal lips that looked almost black in the darkness. Before he could stop himself, he reached for her, winding his arm around her waist and pulling her elven frame against the rugged hulk of his own. Such a delicate creature, yet so powerful. His lust was overwhelming, and asking no permission, he kissed her lips with a moan of desperation. It had been so long. Too long since last they met. Their tongues played, rolling over and over in time with his heartbeat until he was breathless. His lips burned with the taste of Belladonna, the poison fairy consort, that still lingered on Mab’s tongue. Finally, she pulled away with a devious smile, leading him into the trees with her.

  She had been waiting for him. Their secret marriage bed had already been laid upon the ground, surrounded with will o’ the wisp and starshine. Their lips met once more, her mouth open to receive him. Her breath was cold as ice as it entered his lungs, filling him up and making him feel alive. The other nymph was behind him, peeling away his belt and surcoat. Though it was Midwinter, he did not feel the cold. He existed in the membrane between his world and the Fae. A paradise of sorts, glistening with dark magic. Soon he stood before Mab, his pale skin prickling with the delicate touch of Belladonna, naked and eager. Mab’s lips turned up slightly as she took in his form, so changed with his age and worry. “See his eyes, Belladonna. They burn like a blue flame in the darkness. It is this fire that makes him so inviting.”

  “Is he not Fae, my lady?” Belladonna whispered, brushing her lips across his shoulders. Her fingertips splayed across his back, and they moved slowly as if fascinated by the warmth of his flesh.

  “He is but a man, pretty Bella. His life, like the dragon’s flame, burns hot and fast but, alas, is only temporary. Already his body begins to decay.” Mab touched his cheek, tracing the lines of age at his temple. “What was once so fresh slowly becomes a moldering shell. Their spirit becomes desperate to separate itself from the stench of their own rot.” Mab’s eyes downturned, and Christophe could see the sparkle of a tear clinging to the edge of her lashes. “Such sadness… such waste. Our time together comes to a close in the blink of an eye, Christophe. Though, there is beauty in this waning. His urgency…” As if to accent her point, her fingertips drifted lower, brushing the root of his manhood before grasping it tightly. He gasped, already pushing into her hand, his desire getting the better of him. She smiled. “Do you see?”

  “His lust, I can taste it on his skin,” Belladonna sighed, kissing the arc of his neck. He turned to look at the handmaiden, and she devoured his mouth. She was young and aggressive. Christophe could not deny his desire. The servant fairy’s mouth was the color of blood and her hair of fire. Mab had brought this one to tempt him. He knew that the queen had long desired to steal him away to her realm, keeping him forever young but forever trapped in her court. While the thought of immortality was very seductive, the thought of submitting to another, a woman at that, left a foul taste in his mouth. Christophe lapped at the young fairy’s mouth then turned, only to be taken by the queen herself.

  She kissed his mouth with a terrible fury. Their tongues danced as she pulled him to the earthen bed. Belladonna whined, pushing Christophe aside and reaching for her queen. He lay on his back beneath them, watching as they kissed hungrily. Mab’s fingertips glided along Belladonna’s body, straying to her breasts. Her palm cupped the swells gently, her thumbs flickering over their centers. Christophe found that he could not look away from them, following their hands and tongues with his eyes as they fondled and caressed. His cock throbbed uncomfortably, and he idly stroked his fingertips along the length. Mab’s nipples were like the tips of ripe strawberries, and his mouth watered to taste them. No longer content to observe, he sat up quickly, turning her body toward him with a rough movement. He took the stiffening bud into his mouth, worrying it to a petrified pebble between his teeth. He drew a low moan from the queen, and she climbed atop him, seating herself over his member. With a devious smile, she rolled her hips gently in a teasing dance. He growled and reached down, grasping his cock and nudging it against her opening. Mab laughed. Her smug demeanor filled him with a momentary rush of rage
, and he pushed himself forcefully inside. “Such an arrogant and impatient king,” she chuckled.

  “Perhaps one day I shall tame you, my lady.”

  Once they were sated, they lay in the moonlight, watching as the stars twinkled over their heads just above the tips of the trees that hid them in a protective canopy. Christophe felt lazy, almost drugged, as he always had after coupling with Mab. He knew that this was no accident, and that one day, she intended to trap him in her world forever. She was a trickster, and her dual nature was part of what he loved so deeply about her. But he would not let her take him tonight. Tonight, he needed her help. Her magic. He could only hope that it would not backfire.

  “My queen,” he whispered, feathering light kisses over her temple and cheek. “Most beautiful and terrible queen…”

  “Oh, Christophe. You needn’t come to me with false flattery. We’ve known one another too long for such tricks.” Mab smiled at him a bit too broadly to show the benevolence underneath. Her true self that was not the stuff of pretty stories and fantasy. “Ask what you will, my king,” she sighed, rolling over on her belly and drinking from the cup of flower petals Belladonna offered to her lips. “I suppose it is a favor to ask for your human whore.”

  “You mustn’t speak of the queen that way, Mab,” he whispered.

  “She isn’t my queen.”

  Christophe chuckled. “You’re jealous of her, then?”

  “I envy no one!” Mab snapped, crushing the flower in her palm to dust. “If I wanted to be in your bed, I would be, and no mortal could stop it. I just fail to see how one such as you, one favored among Queen Mab’s court, could be satisfied with such mediocre company.” Christophe grinned, still fascinated by Mab’s jealousy and aloof compliments. He couldn’t hold her contempt against her. Christophe himself often wondered how he could have abandoned his Fae lover for the pious and pristine Princess Katrin. Her people across the sea were enlightened. They had forsaken all of the old ways, preferring a strange brew of science and salvation. In their world there was no such thing as Faerie, and anyone who claimed to wield such magic was condemned to die upon a burning pyre of truth. Mab yawned and stretched, feigning laziness, but Christophe was wise to her many faces. Though she might look bored, she was taking in each and every word spoken. “Well, go ahead then. Ask what you will of me.”

  “My kingdom is in danger, my lady. Katrin is barren, and I fear that she will not produce an heir. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, she is no longer the young woman she once was, and soon her age will catch up to her.”

  “There have been numerous still births, have there not?”

  “Yes. For many years, I’ve thought that perhaps we’ve been cursed…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Christophe! Katrin’s womb is dead. New life will fester and rot. Perhaps you should not be coming to ask me for some spell, but some potion to put her out of her misery.” She smiled toward Belladonna, stroking the young fairy’s cheek.

  “You think I should murder my queen to marry another?”

  “It would not be uncommon. Or perhaps use your power to have someone else kill her in the name of the law. Accuse her of witchcraft. Isn’t that what her people call it?”

  Christophe stood up, anger bubbling up in the pit of his belly. He began pulling his leggings on. “Perhaps it was a mistake coming to you, Mab. I always thought we were friends.”

  She laughed. “We are, Christophe,” she said, rising to meet him and brushing a hand across his chest. “I am sorry I’ve offended you. I was merely jesting. But you can’t expect me to be over the moon about your little hypocrite. Come back to the bed.”

  He gave her a sideways glare but allowed her to lead him back. He should be used to Mab and her aloofness by now, but he could not help his anger. Christophe feared for the fate of his people should a fight for control break out. Already, neighboring kingdoms, thirsty for power, were conspiring against him. He was getting too old to fight them off for much longer. He must have a good, strong son to succeed him and soon. He wasn’t sure what time they had left. It might already be too late.

  “It is often said that the Fae have the gift of fertility,” he began.

  “They have been known to give nature a push, yes,” Mab replied. “Is that what you wish of me? To help your queen conceive a son?”

  “Please, Mab. I am not asking as your lover or with arrogance. Only humility and desperation. As your friend. We’ve known each other since I was just a boy.”

  “Friends? At long last you’ve returned after forsaking me for your human wife, and I’m supposed to forgive you? Even help you? Surely you’ve overestimated my benevolence.”

  “You don’t understand, my queen… my love,” he said, taking her hand and pressing his lips to her delicate wrist.

  “Spare me,” she spat, jerking her hand away.

  “It’s true! I’ve done what I must to protect the people of Osghast. Including marriage to a woman I could never truly love.”

  “Ah! But you do care for her,” Mab said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, throwing yourself foolishly at my feet.”

  “I cannot put my people at risk,” Christophe said. “What you said before—about my youth waning. It’s true. I can feel the weight of my age a little more with each passing year. My enemies align against me, and in the years to come…”

  “You fear that the kingdom will fall if your line dies with you.”

  He nodded sadly. “Yes, my queen.”

  Mab seemed to think about this for a bit, weighing each option. The Fae were not known for their charity, and to bargain with them was treacherous. He knew that she was trying to figure how to manipulate this to her advantage. “All right, Christophe. I can do what you ask. I must admit, your desperation is endearing.”

  “I give you my word.”

  She nodded and clasped her hands together, bringing them to her lips. She whispered a strange incantation that Christophe could not understand. The language was languorous and slow, whispering like the hiss of a serpent. When she opened her hands, he could see that she held a small white onion. He looked pointedly at the Fae Queen. “What sort of trick is this, Mab?”

  “Do you not trust me, my king?” she asked. She offered the onion to him, and after a pause, he took it. He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the root’s overpowering stench. “Take the onion to your queen. Peel away the outer skin and then cut it in half—exactly in half—and share with her. Both of you must eat every morsel, though the taste may turn your stomachs. Once you’ve devoured every bit, lie down with your queen and plant your seed deep within her. She will conceive a son worthy of your kingdom.”

  “Thank you!” he exclaimed, taking her in his arms once more.

  Mab pushed him away. She allowed Belladonna to help her to her feet and drape a robe of cobwebs around her shoulders. “Don’t thank me too quickly, old friend. Even one misstep and the spell will turn.”

  Christophe rushed home to his queen. Remembering Mab’s words, he took the onion from his cloak and stared at it with disgust. He almost threw it away and called himself a fool for believing in such ridiculous magic. How could eating an onion help him impregnate his queen after all these years of false hopes? Then he remembered Katrin’s tears the last time she’d delivered a poor, dead child. She had cried for many days, refusing to eat or see anyone. She had even begged the physician for a tonic that would poison her quickly and relieve her suffering, relieve him of the burden of having her as his barren wife. Mab hadn’t known how close to the bone her words had cut.

  Christophe went to the queen, offering the magical gift. He assured her that the Fae had long been friends of Osghast, but she would not hear of it. “Your stupidity and weakness offends me, Christophe! I would no sooner accept the gift of this demon than rend the beating heart from my own chest!”

  “Katrin, please! We’ve tried everything else. My physician says that you will never conceive. The kingdom will fall if there is no one to take up the mantle as king.�
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  “So I’m to be poisoned by your Fae witch whore?”

  All night and for several nights thereafter, he pleaded with Katrin to see reason, but her resolve was ironclad. He supposed as king he might force her to do as he commanded, but despite everything, Christophe did care for her. And he feared Mab’s sorcery. For a fortnight, he kept the onion hidden in his study. Every night he laid it on his desk, staring at it as it began to wither and spoil along with his hopes of an heir. Though he said nothing, Christophe knew that his situation was becoming more precarious with each passing day as weaker kingdoms fell to invaders. Soon they would be at his doorstep, and with no king to rule the people of Osghast, nothing would keep them at bay.

  Perhaps there was hope, he thought as he stared at the onion. What if he ate the whole thing himself? Would the magic not still take effect and allow him to impregnate Katrin? It certainly wasn’t doing him any good now as it sat here expiring in the gloom of the cabinet. And if there was even the slightest chance that it might work, Christophe knew he had to try.

  He held the onion between his fingertips, examining the withered skin. It had begun to peel and blacken around the edges, and the flesh underneath looked almost swollen. As he rubbed his thumb over it, the skin split, and a thick juice oozed from the wound. He gagged from the stench of it and almost threw the damned thing out of the window. “No, this is the only way,” he whispered. Without another thought, he bit it like an apple, shoveling it into his mouth and chewing quickly. The taste was horrible, and he thought surely he was going to throw it all up, but somehow he managed to keep it down. He ate it skin and all, practically swallowing it whole. When he finished the onion, his belly felt twisted and full. But there was something else. A feeling of lust like he’d never felt before, even in the wild fervor of his youth. Suddenly, finding Katrin to quell this hunger was of utmost importance.