The Hunt

by Heather Killough-Walden

  The vampire king simply watched him, and the silence in the room grew to epic proportions, deafening him with its crackling, unspoken words. Finally, the sovereign of the “undead” leaned forward, laced his graceful hands on the polished wood of the table top, and said, “The wolves are all but extinct, warlock. Their females lost the ability to produce werewolf children so long ago, none of them can even recall the event. The Hunters have whittled their already dwindling numbers to a hopeless state.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle upon Malachi’s shoulders. “What use are they to me now that they are nearly all dead?”

  Malachi didn’t miss a beat. He was too tired for drama. He had the truth and he was willing to sell it – for a price. “The females of the werewolf race lost their ability to bear werewolf children more than four and a half thousand years ago,” he told the vampire king. “I know because it was my ancestor who took that power. The magic obtained through the act has been handed down through the generations, and now it is mine.”

  He’d expected some kind of reaction. He wasn’t certain what passed for vampire surprise, but at the very least, a raised brow would have sufficed. However, the king merely sat there at the head of the polished table and looked through Malachi as if the warlock were not even there.

  Which was what he wanted.

  “I suspected as much,” said the king slowly.

  Now it was Malachi’s turn to be surprised. For nearly a hundred years he had ruled the warlock race. He was not a young man; magic and his daughter’s donated blood had given him the appearance of a man in the prime of his life. Vivid hazel eyes and a strong build belied the fact that he had more than a hundred years under his belt. But in the presence of the vampire king, he was finding that he felt like a child.

  “And I suspect that now you are offering the reversal of this curse,” the king went on, “at the cost of your own life.”

  Malachi was shocked to find that he felt no fear as the words were said out loud. A numbness had set in, he supposed. It was a blessing; the loss of his Offspring was a chasm within him that he floated above in an emotional limbo. “Yes,” he said.

  “And what is it that you want in return, Lord Wraythe?” the king asked.

  “I give you the rebirth of the werewolf nation and the continued existence of thousands upon thousands of wolfen kind,” Malachi replied. “In exchange for the promised death of one.”

  *****

  It wasn’t until Seth was able to sense the absence of the warlock king’s presence anywhere on the vampire king’s estate grounds that he felt it was safe enough to step out of the shielded, warded space in which he had been secluded.

  When he did, the vampire king turned to him and waited.

  “You were right,” Seth said. “About everything.”

  The king said nothing to that; he glanced up at Seth and then turned away to walk slowly toward the tall windows along one wall of the office. They overlooked a night garden beyond, its landscape filled with hundreds of white blooms. A fountain stood at the center of the garden, its centerpiece a carved beautiful woman with waist-length hair and sad eyes. She was looking up toward the night sky as if hopelessly searching for something that had disappeared long ago.

  The king stared at the sculpture, his piercing gaze resting upon the rivulets of water that trickled over its alabaster curves. Seth watched him in silence, wondering for the millionth time what his sovereign was thinking.

  “It appears you will have what you wish,” the king finally said. He didn’t look away from the garden and he spoke softly. “The warlock king will soon be no more. Olivia will be safe.”

  Seth thought about this. Wraythe’s daughter had been killed in the escape, but Seth hadn’t done it. He’d been too busy getting Olivia out of the mansion. And he knew that Olivia’s father hadn’t done it either; Seth had had a chance to speak with the ancient Akyri since Olivia’s escape.

  “Did Byron Caige kill Wraythe’s daughter?” he asked softly, simply wanting to know.

  “No,” said the vampire king.

  Then who did? wondered Seth.

  It was a question in the back of his mind, but at the forefront his thoughts was Byron Caige. While it was true that Malachi Wraythe had agreed to give up his power and, hence, his life, in order to fulfill the reverse of the ancient curse that had changed the course of werewolf history, it came at a price that felt disturbingly uncomfortable to Seth. The werewolf would have to die.

  The vampire king suddenly turned from the windows and his ancient gaze settled upon Seth, freezing him to the spot upon which he stood.

  “Werewolf blood suits you, Seth,” he said as the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.

  Seth blinked. His pulse sped up, which the king no doubt caught, and Seth at once felt like an insect pinned to a dissection tray. He was wide open. Everyone was when it came to the king, whether they wanted to be or not. Seth knew what was coming; the king could read everything about everyone like a book.

  “It’s given you a conscience,” the king continued. He moved away from the windows and headed toward the door to the office. As he passed Seth, he said, “Do not ignore it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The Canned Hunt”

  Katherine ran her hand through her hair for the five thousandth time that morning and took a deep, rather shaky breath. She cut her gaze to the still sleeping figure of the massive, gorgeous werewolf chained to the wall on one side of the cell and then stood up, ran her hands over her jeans and began pacing the length of the small room. He’d been asleep for two hours. The drugs they’d unloaded into his system were very strong; she knew that. But the truth was, she’d never waited around to see how long they would last. She’d always finished off her opponent and moved on.

  Opponent? she thought as she again glanced at Byron’s unconscious form. No. They weren’t her opponents. They were her victims.

  She knew that now.

  “God, what have I done,” she whispered frantically, running her hands over her face. Behind her closed lids, she saw her father’s body and remembered the hell she’d suffered at the sight – at the loss. And then she thought of the family members of the wolves she’d killed, and her gut clenched. A wave of blackness washed over her, dark and cold and wrong.

  Katherine fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around herself. She was rocking back and forth when a deep, gravelly voice cut through the swirling sludge of her maddening guilt.

  “It’s not that I wouldn’t like to see you on your knees, Kat,” he said. “But you’ll bruise that way.”

  Katherine whirled around and wiped at the tears that had found themselves on her cheeks. Byron’s eyes were closed again, but he’d obviously had them open a second ago. He moved slowly against the wall, turning his head to the side and pulling his legs up. The drug was still heavy in his system, which was clear enough by the fact that he’d called her “Kat.”

  Katherine got to her feet and made her way over to him to kneel once more. “Byron?” she asked, taking his chin in her hand and turning his head so that he faced her. His eyes opened to stark platinum gray slits; they were glowing.

  “You’re all wolf on me now, aren’t you?” she whispered, not really asking the question so much as making the observation.

  “All the better to smell and see and eat you with, my dear,” he said softly. As he spoke, she caught the tips of fangs behind his perfect lips. And then he closed his eyes and slumped once more.

  “Shit,” Kat hissed. “Byron, you gotta wake up. We’re in serious trouble here.”

  As she’d suspected, the Hunters who took Byron were more than curious about why he had to be covered – and why she did as well. Things had gone down hill once they’d arrived at headquarters and Sanchez had taken over.

  Manuel Sanchez was one of the organization’s top Hunters. The man was ruthless; his methods were unconsciously sped along by the personal conviction that they w
ere aided by God. He was a devout Catholic who firmly believed that no Christ-fearing human would be safe on the planet until every single demon was wiped from it.

  That wasn’t exactly a rare stance for a Hunter to take; the organization more or less hammered such notions into their trainees heads from the beginning. But with Sanchez, it seemed more personal. And because it was, he was better at it than anyone Kat knew. The man saw things others didn’t and suspected things where there seemed to be nothing there to suspect.

  Sanchez had seen right through Katherine’s lies. One minute, she was standing free and had some semblance of control over her situation – the next, she was being locked in the same cell with the werewolf she’d wanted to kill for twenty years because she’d believed he’d killed her father.

  The wolf who hadn’t killed her father after all.

  Byron shifted where he sat against the wall and again opened his eyes. They were still glowing hotly, molten mercury in the frame of his painfully handsome face.

  I can see why the vampire princess wanted him, she thought. “Byron?” she said out loud.

  “Well at least you know my name,” he mumbled. And then he was straightening and his attention was focused and she knew that he was fully awake. She sat back a little, giving him room as he tested the heavy metal manacles around his wrists. They didn’t give. The metal had been treated long ago to withstand the incredible strength of “demons” everywhere.

  “I’m sorry Byron,” Kat found herself saying as he settled down and began to scan the room.

  He looked at her again. A strange, sad smile touched the curve of his lips. “I bet you are,” he said. Then he glanced at the large metal door on the wall adjacent to him. “I take it things went bad and you’re a prisoner now as well.”

  Katherine nodded.

  “You got a key?” he asked, turning his glowing gaze on her. She had the sudden, inexplicable urge to kiss him. But she shook it off and then shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “The locks are electronic. No one has a key – there’s a code you have to punch into the pad on the wall outside the cell.”

  But instead of the disappointment she’d expected to see cross his features, Byron went very still and gave her a surprisingly hope-filled look. “Electronic?” he repeated.

  She frowned. “That’s what I said,” she told him. “Almost everything in the headquarters is controlled by codes. And as of two hours ago, they’re codes that I’m no longer privy to.”

  Byron let his head drop back against the wall behind him and started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, wondering if it was still the drug in his system making him behave so strangely.

  “Nothing,” he told her, shaking off the last of his deep chuckles. “It’s just that it was about time to finally get some good news for a change.”

  With that, he looked up at the manacles around his wrists and Katherine noticed a shifting in the air. It grew both hotter and colder, as if electric static were charging the atmosphere. The hairs on her arms stood on end and she felt prickly.

  She backed up further, instinct taking over, and the feeling lessened a little. And then the cuffs around Byron’s wrists popped open with a snapping sound.

  Kat felt her jaw drop. Slowly, she stood. “Did… did you just do that?”

  Byron’s expression was pure smug satisfaction as he stood to his full impressive height and rubbed his wrists. “You say the entire facility is wired like this?” he asked.

  “Y-yes, but –”

  Before she could ask him why, he had turned to the massive metal door and reached out his right palm. Again, Katherine felt the shift in the air and again she stepped back, but this time it was more difficult to escape the sensation. The atmosphere was charging. She could almost hear it buzzing now, becoming thicker with pent up energy. She half expected to be struck by lightning.

  And then the door clicked and there was an answering thunk somewhere deeper within the metal casings. The door popped open, the heavy metal swinging inward three or four inches before it slowed to a stop.

  “Holy shit,” Katherine breathed.

  “I think I’m going to like this century a hell of a lot better than the last one,” Byron said.

  Katherine looked over at him. He was already making his way toward the door. She rushed to keep up, her legs feeling slightly numb and unresponsive beneath her. “Are you telling me you can control electricity?” she asked. “Technology? That kind of thing?” She’d been taught that some werewolves possessed powers above and beyond the normal supernatural strength and speed associated with their kind. Byron Caige seemed to be one of the lucky few whose “power” was not only incredibly impressive – but highly valuable.

  “I’m not telling you anything,” he said as he stuck his head out into the hall and then pulled quickly back inside again. “There’s no one outside,” he said, turning to face her. “What does that mean?”

  “It means there are cameras there instead and the people are probably on their way.”

  “Cameras?”

  “Oh, right,” she said, recalling that he’d been holed up for the last fifty years. “I forgot.” There was no time to catch him up on the plethora of technological advancements made since his incarceration, so she just waved it away and instead slipped back into Hunter mode. It helped her maintain her calm.

  “They’re monitoring the room – again, electronically,” she said. “They no doubt saw the door open. Either that, or a silent alarm went off when you jacked with the system. Which means they’re on their way.”

  “Then stand back,” he told her. “And wait for my signal.”

  Katherine’s training kicked in once more and instead of asking him why, she simply took several large steps away from him. Byron nodded, closed his glowing eyes – and the room went dark.

  A very non-silent alarm went off out in the hall, nearly deafening Katherine. Instinctively, her arms came up and her hands felt along the wall for the sake of grounding location.

  Within short seconds, Kat could hear the sound of metal banging open, orders shouted, and the staccato barrage of automatic weaponry. She slid down along the wall until she was in a safer, crouched position, and fought the urge to cover her ears. If she couldn’t hear, she wouldn’t catch Byron’s “signal.” Whatever that was.

  Suddenly there was a hand on her shoulder and Katherine reacted. She jumped to her feet, her fist came up, her body turned, and she went into fight mode.

  Fortunately, the werewolf she was attempting to attack had obviously been expecting the reaction because he caught her wrist, spun her around, yanked her roughly off balance, and pulled her hard against his chest.

  A warm thrill instantly went through Katherine. It was immediately calming. The darkness seemed to recede, the danger became distant, and she had the sensation that she would never feel cold again. She stilled in Byron’s arms, her breathing shaky, her ears aching from the sound of the alarm. She sensed him lean over behind her and then felt his hot breath at her ear.

  “Take my hand and follow me as quickly as you can,” he told her.

  She felt him release her and take her hand to hold it tight. She squeezed back, her body working now on pure adrenaline and instinct.

  The bulk of his body moved away from her then, but he didn’t run as she’d expected him to. Instead he paused and a second later, the alarm stopped sounding. The relief was instant; the ache in Katherine’s ear drums ebbed and the air became hollow with renewed quiet.

  And Byron was off, pulling her at a breakneck speed along with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “The Drive”

  Lily didn’t normally get visions in the middle of the day. They woke her up at night, colored her dreams, and dictated the hours between midnight and six a.m.

  For the most part.

  However, every once in a while, when the situation was dire enough, a vision interrupted her daylig
ht hours and she was thrust into the arms of danger with little to no warning. Because this could happen while she was driving, her husband Daniel, who also happened to be the chief of police of Baton Rouge, had forbidden her from riding the motorcycle anywhere. Well – he’d asked her nicely not to anyway.

  And she’d agreed. It wasn’t smart.

  The problem was it also meant that it wasn’t safe for her to get behind the wheel of a car. She couldn’t go into the more crowded or dangerous parts of Baton Rouge and New Orleans alone; visions caused her to suddenly be unaware of her immediate surroundings and left her open to theft and assault. One of the things she’d always loved doing before she’d unwittingly become the werewolf council Seer was swimming at the local YMCA. Now that was out of the question.

  Daniel had never brought the subject up; he’d known it would be too much to ask of a mother to request that she not spend time with her own child, but Lily knew that even going somewhere alone with their son was dangerous. She never took William out on the streets or the shopping centers without her best friend, Tabitha, or some police officer Daniel assigned – or a werewolf chaperone sent by the council.

  After all, it wasn’t just their precious son who was at risk. Hunters were everywhere now and the world had become a carnival ride without fail safes. As were all dormants or made wolves who had once been dormants, Lily was incredibly precious as well. Hell, every werewolf in existence had become a gem in the pile of rocks that Hunters had made out of life on the planet.

  Theirs was a dying race. And based on the recent findings at council headquarters, there was no hope for them. They’d crossed that quintessential line; Hunters had seen to it that there were now so few alpha wolves and dormants alive, werewolves would become extinct before the century was out.

  It was over.

  No it’s not, thought Lily. It’s not over…. It was the thought that followed her out of the blurry surrealism that had been her vision and into the cold chaos of the grocery store, where Tabitha and two other wolves stood guard over her semi-conscious body.