Byron’s strong body flashed back into that of a man, once more drawing the girl’s vivid indigo gaze. And then he felt the insidious influence of the warlock king all around him once more. His lesson had been learned. His recess was over. It was time for the wayward wolf to return to his cage.
Magic enfolded him and Byron’s teeth clenched. He gazed steadily at the girl, willing her to not look away – to not look at her dead father. But the world filled with darkness and red and he was ripped from the lobby of the apartment complex.
Twenty years…. Byron opened his eyes, wondering where the girl was now. She would be somewhere around the age of thirty. No doubt, she’d already been claimed by another alpha. A woman like that, with hair and eyes and skin like hers, wouldn’t get far without earning the attention of a master wolf.
He hoped that she was happy.
It was a strange thing for him to feel. But he’d inadvertently taken her father’s life. Who knew what kinds of consequences his actions had wrought? Whatever had happened, he prayed that she came to know some amount of peace. She deserved it. If there was any kind of fairness in the world; if karma was real and worked the way it was supposed to – then the girl with the indigo eyes would have come to find the respite he himself would surely never know.
Chapter Three
“Young Pups”
Jesse leaned back in the overstuffed executive chair behind his desk and sighed heavily. He dropped the files he’d been reading and turned to the man standing near the door on the opposite side of the room. “Is this the latest?”
“Yes sir,” came the werewolf’s reply.
Jesse Graves had a lot of issues with the position of Overseer. He didn’t like the hours, he didn’t like having to give up his job as an attorney, and he hated being called “sir.” But worst of all was what he was about to walk into the other room and do. He hated to be the bearer of bad news. Not much ruined his day more than that.
The council was waiting beyond those doors. They had long ago ceased to be a collection of werewolf bureaucrats that he didn’t know anything about, and were now fathers, brothers, uncles and sons. He’d spent decades as an enforcer for the council, and then a Sentinel, and during that time he’d come to know each of the men seated at the table in the other room.
At the head of that table once sat Alexander Kavanagh, the former Overseer. Kavanagh had been a good man – and to Jesse, he had been family. Somehow, Jesse’d been lucky enough to win Kavanagh’s favor as a Sentinel and had been granted the post of watching over one of the most precious dormants alive: Alexander Kavanagh’s granddaughter, Claire St. James.
In the years that followed, Jesse’s worth was sealed in Kavanagh’s eyes, and unbeknownst to Jesse, the Overseer had put the Sentinel in his will. When Alexander was killed three months ago in a battle against the former Leader of the Hunters and several of his allies, Jesse was asked to take the Overseer’s place. It was probably the last thing he’d wanted to do. But Alexander had been a friend, and it was the man’s dying wish.
So, here he was, pinching the bridge of his nose and half wishing he’d been the one killed in the battle instead. He really did hate being the bearer of bad news.
“All right,” he said softly. “Let’s do this.” He stood and the man across the room nodded once, stepping to the side and opening the door for him. Jesse strode through the open doors, adjusting his tie as he went. He wore what he always wore these days – an expensive tailored suit the likes of which he would have once only worn during trials. He’d always felt that the ties were too tight; he was a big man. But in honor of Alexander’s memory, he was forcing himself to get used to it.
As he entered the room, the men at the table stood, pushing back their chairs as one with unnatural grace. He nodded at them and took his place at the head of the table. They all sat down.
“Gentlemen, I’ll get right to the point of today’s meeting.” He had never been one to mince words and he wasn’t going to start now. Such a thing was ineffective and detrimentally slow. “Our numbers are dangerously low – lower than they’ve ever been. The Hunters have declared open season on our kind. Phelan’s death left a powerful void and every Hunter on the planet is fighting to fill it.” He paused, looked down at the polished oak of the table, and readied himself to say what he was about to say. “At this point,” he continued, his hands splaying on the table top, his soul feeling as though it were sinking, “we honestly don’t stand a chance. Not without a miracle.”
He was telling them that they were going to die – all of them. Werewolves were not only endangered, but well on their way to becoming extinct. Only two things would save them at this point. If every single alpha werewolf remaining on the planet suddenly found his dormant and began procreating, their kind might survive, but only if the Hunters didn’t get to their children before they reached maturity.
The other thing that would save them was painfully apparent and even more painfully impossible. The annihilation of the Hunters and their bloodthirsty organization would ensure the peaceful prosperity of what was probably the least dangerous supernatural creature in the world. It was a shame the Hunters didn’t know vampires existed. Those were some dangerous beasts.
*****
The sun winked at Lucas, a brightly shining beam that hid and un-hid from behind the gently swaying linen of the curtains across the room. It was early morning, but he wasn’t just waking. He and Danny had been up all night.
They lay together now, gently breathing, their eyes drifting open and shut as the night passed away and the world awoke beyond their cabin door. In the trees overhead, squirrels quarreled over nut stashes. Far below, the snow on the ground crunched gently beneath the careful, tentative footfalls of deer who could smell a wolf in the air, but had smelled that same wolf in the air for a month now and had come to no harm. It clearly confused them, but they were also clearly adjusting.
He and Danny were on their honeymoon. The cabin was surrounded by acres of forest, long since owned by the Council and given to Danny and Lucas as a wedding present. The cabin was small; a one bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a real, wood-burning fire place, but it was a log cabin and Danny absolutely loved it. She loved the way it smelled; he often caught her sitting on their leather sofa with her kaleidoscope eyes closed, inhaling the aroma of wood and sawdust.
She also loved the solitude. It was something they had in common.
Danny, or Dannai as her coven knew her, was a witch. Among her people and the werewolves, she was know as the Healer due to her unique ability to heal wounds. No other witch possessed such power; it was coveted and treasured, and Lucas had no idea how he’d come to be so lucky as to have claimed Dannai as his mate.
She was an angel, as far as he was concerned, and she’d been through a lot. Every dormant he knew had been to hell and back, and some had made the trip more than once. It was a gift and a curse to be a dormant in this day and age. Werewolves were few and far between and the rare dormant that came into existence was a treasure far too many men were willing to fight – and kill – for.
This solitude, here and now, of the kind that only came when one was alone, but not alone – when one was with the person they truly loved – was a godsend for Lucas and Danny. It wasn’t to say that Lucas’s mind was fully at ease now and that all of his troubles had been wiped from the chalkboard of his life. No. There were issues left unresolved, as there were for any being worth his salt on the planet. He struggled with his need to find what happened to his brother. He wrestled with his need for revenge. But it was easier to face these ongoing and puzzling contentions with Danny by his side. And that little bit of reprieve had been a long time coming.
“Lily and Charlie want us to come over for a holiday dinner,” Danny said softly. He was laying with his head on her abdomen, and the sound of her voice vibrated pleasantly beneath his left cheek.
“How is Charlie?” Lucas asked. Charlie, or Claire St. James, was one of Danny
’s two closest friends. In the fight against Gabriel Phelan and his goons several months ago, Charlie had been subjected to the heinous magic of an infamous warlock spell and turned back into a dormant. The blow had been terrifying to her as it had opened up the prospect of being claimed by the leader of the Hunters, Gabriel Phelan himself.
However, in the end, the good guys had more or less won, even if the sacrifices had been great. Phelan was dead and Malcolm Cole, Charlie’s alpha werewolf mate, had taken Charlie somewhere far away and private in order to turn her back into a made wolf.
Cole and Lucas had spoken on the phone just the night before, during one of Lucas’s few and short cell phone conversations. Cole told him that Charlie’s second transformation into made wolf had gone exceptionally well and she was as healthy and strong as ever. Best of all, the gypsy curse that had originally been transferred from Cole to Charlie during her first turning did not return. It looked like the curse was gone for good, and now Cole and Charlie could get on with their lives together.
Charlie was fine and Lucas already knew as much. But he also knew that Danny would want to talk about it anyway, so he asked just the same.
“She’s good,” Danny said. Then she raised her head and smiled down at Lucas with brightly lit multi-colored eyes. “As you already know.”
Lucas smiled and chuckled low. In response, Danny laughed softly as well, and the beautiful sound tickled Lucas’s cheek. He closed his eyes, grinning widely.
And then his eyes flew open once more. His heart did a flip in his chest, his pupils expanded, and he could feel his deep black irises begin to glow the ruby red that they became in moments of intense emotion.
He’d heard something.
“Lucas?” Danny went still beneath him. No doubt, she’d caught the sudden change in him. She was a wolf now as well, and her senses had always been good anyway. Now she could detect the slightest hint of a change in him without fail.
“Shh,” he told her softly. With a tension that ramrodded through him like the buzzing of a thousand bumblebees, Lucas moved gently over his mate and repositioned himself until his ear was directly against the taut flesh of her lower abdomen. “Hush,” he whispered.
Perhaps she sensed his urgency, because Danny quieted and remained still beneath him. Lucas closed his eyes. He heard her heartbeat first. It was strong and relatively quick; the girl had an amazing metabolism. But underneath that…. Lucas concentrated, blocking out all other sound in the universe.
And there it was.
At once, he was sitting up and gazing into Danny’s eyes. His own eyes felt like golf balls in his face. And that didn’t change when he saw that Danny was smiling. She chuckled softly, a deep beautiful sound that reminded him of sex and chocolate and moonlit strolls through the Redwoods all at the same time.
“You…” his voice cracked under the surprise. He shook his head, letting out a shaky breath. “You knew?”
Danny’s chuckle became an all out laugh. She shook her head as well. “Lucas, it’s my body,” she told him, her tone a very gentle reprimand. “Of course I knew.” Her grin broadened and she sat up as well. Lovingly, tenderly, she cupped the side of his face in her warm, soft hand. “Congratulations… Daddy.”
Chapter Four
“A Predator’s Predator”
Seth was probably the only one not fully listening. The Offspring had nice voices, a lot of them. There was a timber to them that resonated with distinctive clarity, and the older the vampire, the deeper and more beautiful this sound became. At the moment, it was the king who spoke, and eleven of the twelve vampires who sat at the king’s table were rapt with attention.
However, Seth had other things on his mind. He’d just come across some very telling, very precious information. It was the kind of news he’d been waiting for, searching for, and hoping desperately he would find for years.
The news was this: Twenty years ago, the Akyri queen, Olivia, had attempted to escape her husband – the king of the warlocks, Malachi Wraythe. The warlock king had kept her prisoner within his estate for years – centuries – only ever allowing her to consume enough of his black magic to survive. If she didn’t cooperate, she wouldn’t get to “eat.” Over time, she’d become convinced that there was no hope for her, and she had more or less been resigned to the dominance of her husband for the last hundred years.
But twenty years ago, Olivia had tried to escape. Apparently, the opportunity came aided by the timely distraction of a separate escape attempt on the part of one of her daughter’s prize prisoners. But the Akyri queen had ultimately failed. In the end, she’d been sealed off once more within her husband’s vast estate.
Of which Seth now knew the location.
His mind hummed with the information. His muscles were taut, his composure almost overly calm, as if it would negate the turbulent unrest that rode just beneath the surface of his handsome façade.
He wondered whether the king noticed. Most likely he did. He hadn’t become king by accident; little escaped the vampire sovereign’s attention. However, the frighteningly powerful man had apparently chosen not to mention it. There was undoubtedly a good reason for that. Everything the king did, he did for a reason.
Seth let it go – he had no choice – and turned his thoughts inward. Several months ago, he had performed a ritual on behalf of a very strong and influential werewolf, the leader of the Hunters, Gabriel Phelan. It mattered not that the werewolf was now dead; what was important was that before he’d died, Phelan had managed to procure for Seth several werewolf blood infusions – the last being Phelan’s own.
As a result, Seth’s vampire physiology had undergone somewhat of a transformation. It was a mental and spiritual transformation as well as physical, though the effects the blood had on his patience was perhaps the most telling. He could feel the passage of time as if it were a constant reminder of what he didn’t have – and would soon be going after.
He was taller. A few people had noticed, but for the most part, they’d chalked it up to their imaginations. After all, adult vampires didn’t go on growth spurts.
But he was also larger. His shoulders had broadened, his muscles had bulked up, and he no longer appeared as young as he once had. There was a certain roughness to a werewolf; something in the lines of his face and the five-o-clock shadow perpetually gracing his strong chin. It must have been in their blood, because that harder edge was Seth’s now as well.
Several times during the last few months, he’d caught his fellow Offspring doing double takes in his direction. They noticed something, but they had no idea what it could be. When vampires he’d normally had to look up at found themselves instead looking up at him, it was unsettling for them. He could hear their heart rates speed up and smell the sudden rush of adrenaline pouring into their bloodstreams. The senses that allowed him to do this were heightened, intensified by the unique combination of monsters that now made up his physiology.
He felt a little like a comic book hero. Or villain.
Seth leaned back in the plush office chair that was one of a dozen situated around the long rectangular table. His gaze slid from face to face, absorbing their expressions. They were loyal to a fault, the lot of them. It was difficult not to be when led by a man as charismatic as the king. Seth himself owed the elder vampire a debt of gratitude for several reasons. The man was not only a capable leader, but a good friend.
There were those in the “good” world who would claim that evil men did not have real friends. It was a dichotomous impossibility. Evil was a taint that destroyed empathy and without empathy, there could be no friendship.
But Seth was dubious. According to those same people, he and his Offspring brethren were most likely as “evil” as a supernatural creature could come. And yet, at one point or another, the king had put his life on the line for many of the very same people who now sat at that polished wood table and listened to him speak. He’d done it selflessly – if such a thing could be done by
an evil man – and he’d done it without pause.
So they were wrong. But Seth wasn’t surprised. If he had learned anything over the last several hundred years, it was that humans and nonhumans alike who believed they were qualified to define “good” and “evil” were categorically wrong about a lot of things.
Seth started gently as the king called an end to their short meeting and stood with unnatural grace. The others at the table stood after him and bowed low in genuflecting respect before they turned to begin to filing out of the large, well-appointed office.
“Seth.”
Seth froze where he stood, his tall strong body vibrating with a hearty combination of impatience and sudden apprehension. The king may have chosen to save his life at one point – but he could choose to take it away just as easily.
“If you were any other vampire in the world, I would tell you that what you are planning to do is suicidal,” the king spoke softly, his velvet voice filling the space between them with its own kind of black magic.
Seth slowly turned to face his sovereign. He said nothing. He was right – the king had known all along. He’d known about everything.
“But you clearly have a plan,” the king said, smiling a nearly sad smile and flashing a set of fangs so perfect and white, they almost managed to look innocent. His stark gaze slipped down the length of Seth’s body and then rose once more. “I do hope it didn’t cost you much,” he said then, cocking his head to one side. His tone was somber, his deep expression slightly troubled.
“Not much,” Seth said, swallowing past a dry spot in his throat. No, not much, he thought. He’d only had to bring a man back from the dead and help turn a made wolf back into a dormant. For all he knew, it may have cost him his soul, but what was that? A trifle, really – and it wasn’t as if he’d been using it much lately. Claire St. James, Malcolm Cole, and their enormous host of werewolf and magic-using friends would no doubt jump at the chance to attest to that.
The Hunt Page 3
