by Leia Shaw
Natalia shot up in the bed with a gasp. After she did a quick scan of the room and realized she was alone, and safe, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Cristian was gone. Or had last night been a dream? Maybe she hadn’t almost passed out in his jeep then been carried inside and tucked into bed like a child. Yes, a nightmare. Perfectly logical. Hello denial, thy name is Natalia.
She sighed and rose from the bed to find her clothes. A lone piece of paper on top of the dresser caught her attention. She picked it up.
We have much to discuss. Meet me outside the tackle shop two blocks to the west at sundown.
It was signed by none other than her personal werewolf stalker from hell. She sighed. Nope, last night hadn’t been a dream. But if he thought she would show up just because a note bid her to, he was out of his damn mind.
Half an hour later she was showered and dressed in black leather pants, a long sleeved black shirt, and biker jacket. She kept her wardrobe sparse when she travelled. Extra clothing and weapons she usually stored in the pack on her bike. Thankfully, she’d left her clothes at the motel before taking off that evening. Too bad she hadn’t stashed her weapons there too.
So she hit the streets of Rider’s Landing to search for new ones to replace her stolen ones.
Located so close to a National Park, she expected at least one store to carry weapons and have late hours. As she scanned the lit-up signs, some busted from a dwindling tourist economy, her mind wandered to the werewolf who’d offered her weapons from his pack.
She shook her head. A werewolf offering a vampire a favor? Ridiculous. Didn’t he hear her when she said she killed his kind? Come to think of it, why hadn’t he traded her for the bounty while she was weak last night? A hundred grand was a large sum of money. She sighed. If he had some kind of puppy-dog crush on her, she would stab herself with a stake.
As if her thoughts conjured him, his scent hit the air and she whirled around to face him.
“Tackle shop is the other way, Talia. Did you get lost?”
She turned and walked away. “Sure. Let’s go with that.” He strode to her side, keeping pace with her easily. “What do I have to do to get the message into that thick head of yours?” A head covered in beautiful, golden hair. Damn her traitorous mind. “Engrave it on a plaque? Hire a plane to write it in sky letters? I don’t work with werewolves!”
“I got the message. I’m just choosing to ignore it.”
She walked faster.
“We need to trade information.”
“I told you everything I know.”
“But I didn’t tell you everything I know.”
She studied his face. What could he possibly know that she didn’t? “Go on.”
He shook his head. “That’s not how it works. I want something from you and you want something from me. We negotiate.”
“Negotiate?” That word wasn’t in her vocabulary. She took what she wanted, when she wanted it.
He arched a brow. “Do you even know what that means?”
Desperation. “What I want from you doesn’t come at a high price. What do you want from me?”
“A partnership.”
“Forget it.” She stopped at the corner and turned in a circle. The werewolf could’ve made himself useful by pointing her toward a weapons shop. But he’d probably want to barter for that too.
She turned down Sycamore and kept walking.
“So you hunt rogue werewolves?” her stalker asked.
“Yes.”
“Who do you work for?”
She gave him a disbelieving look. “Please don’t force me to say something cliché like, ‘if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.’”
He accepted her non-answer with a nod, but pursed his lips as if holding back a smile. “Do you even know the difference between pack and rogue?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday.”
With a sly smile, he asked, “When were you born, Natalia from Castile?”
Her shoulders stiffened. So that part wasn’t a dream either. Gods, I practically told him my life story! She exhaled a breath, careful to keep her tone neutral. “Trying to get to know me?”
“Would you blame me?” He shrugged then inched closer, his arm brushing up against hers. She threw him a glare. He ignored it. “You’re a beautiful and intriguing woman.”
“There are other beautiful and intriguing women,” she said. “And drunk too. Right through that door.” She pointed across the street where the thudding rock-and-roll blasted out of a small pub.
“Natalia.” He grabbed her wrist, stopping her mid-step. His voice was low, his eyes warning. “Enough of the games.”
She tried to pull from his grip but he held tight. “I’m not playing games. Not only do I work alone, but I hate your kind. What part of that don’t you understand? I will never partner with you. Leave. Me. Alone.” There. She couldn’t make it any clearer than that without resorting to violence, though she hadn’t ruled that out entirely. Her eyes narrowed at the hand still holding her wrist.
“I will,” he conceded and released her. “But first you’re going to take my weapons graciously.”
“No –”
“Shut up and listen to me.”
He didn’t put a lot of power into the words. Then again, he didn’t need to. His mere presence oozed unwavering authority.
“There’s nowhere to get weapons this late at night. Take what I offer and you won’t see me for two days.”
“Two days? You forget you have no bargaining power with me. I’m not pack.” Nor coven. Nor team. Nor group, nor gang, nor crew.
“No, but you’re in my territory.”
What was with werewolves and their damned territory? “For fuck’s sake,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “You must’ve missed a spot when you pissed around the border. I didn’t realize you owned the whole damned state.”
One large stride and he stood inches from her face, his palm spanning the width of her lower back. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “I do. And I own Montana, too. So if you’re thinking about following the Silver Slayer north, get used to seeing me. I have no intention of giving up just because a cocky, reckless vampire is scared of a little teamwork.”
***
The Ice Queen veneer was finally starting to crack. He could see it in the fiery flame in her eyes.
“Get your hand off me,” she said, barely more than a whisper. “Before I bite it off.”
He grinned. “Go right ahead. But I should warn you, I bite back.” To make his point, he nipped her earlobe.
She scrambled back, her brows drawn in confusion. “I can’t believe you just bit me.”
He laughed. She was going to be fun to play with.
“Look. I don’t have time for” – she waved a hand up and down his body – “whatever this is. I’ll take your fucking weapons if it means you’ll leave me alone.”
He ran a finger slowly down her neck. She stepped away with a grimace, but not before a small shudder shook her body. He smiled. “Finally, some sense. And all I had to do was bite you to get here.” His grin widened. “I’ll have to remember that.”
With a scowl she turned and walked back toward the tackle shop. “Time’s wasting, werewolf. Move your ass.”
Grin still in place, he followed her, secretly thanking God she didn’t make it around the next corner where Dick’s Sporting Goods’ neon lights illuminated the darkness.
“So how did you come to hunt this particular werewolf?”
“It’s an assignment. Just like any other.”
He didn’t sense any deception, but to be sure he said, “Of course. Now tell me the real reason.”
She sighed. “There’s no personal connection if that’s what you’re thinking. He didn’t kill my lover, or torture my parents or anything dramatic like that.” She turned around to meet his gaze. “I kill things. It’s what I do.”
“You mean you follow orders.”
“Because I want to.”
&
nbsp; “If it involves killing werewolves, I’m sure you do.”
She shrugged. A flicker of frustration made his teeth gnash together. The Captain of Non-Answers; that was her. “Down here,” he said, turning down the lonely unlit alley. He’d parked in back of a shoddy brick building. Sneaking around at night with weapons stashed in his trunk, he felt a little like a thug at a swap meet.
Her eyes darted around the parking lot before she sidled up to his jeep and stuck out a hand, palm up.
“You don’t waste time, do you?” He popped the trunk. “All right. Take what you want.” The trunk revealed a selection that rivaled Dick’s, only instead of shiny new weapons, his were stained with blood, rust, and other things he didn’t care to identify. She dove in without hesitation and emptied almost half his stock, slipping each weapon into her clothing. It was the hottest damned thing he’d ever seen. He had the urge to lay her across the hood, slowly remove every stitch of clothing, disarming her as he went. No, he’d leave the thigh holsters on.
When she was done, she looked him over then said, “Well, thanks.”
She turned and walked away. Out of his life.
He smiled. So she thought.
He called after her, “See you in two days, puiule.”
Chapter 8
“Shit,” Natalia murmured, placing a hand over the wolf’s fading heartbeat. Cristian was going to be heartbroken. Her own heart clenched before she caught herself. Why should she care about Cristian’s feelings? Or about the dying wolf? The body stirred under her hand. She absently stroked it. True it wasn’t a werewolf, and natural wolves were no enemy of hers. But did she care more because Cristian cared or did Cristian’s affections change her enough that caring suddenly came easy? Or would she have cared for the dying beast, with or without Cristian’s care for the wolves?
Oh, just stop! Her head spun. This was ridiculous. She was acting like a love-drunk idiot.
She’d been travelling north for two days, stopping in every town larger than ten thousand residents, eavesdropping among the bar patrons and watching news reports. And every step of the way, she looked for Cristian, expecting to see him trailing behind her. It had been three days since he’d made the promise – or threat, depending on how she looked at it – that he’d see her again. But there was no trace of him. Could she really have shaken him this time?
Part of her was happy he seemed to have disappeared. Life would go on as usual. She’d hunt, she’d kill, she’d report to the witches. This was how her life had passed: weeks turned into months, months into years. It all felt like a blink of an eye yet eternity at the same time.
But part of her secretly longed to spar with the werewolf again, even just to break up the monotony. There was something about him that made her feel safe. Protected. Wanted. The timing couldn’t have sucked worse. Focus was crucial as she narrowed in on the Slayer. Cristian was a distraction. A fucking sexy as hell distraction, but one she couldn’t afford.
She shuddered, remembering his sharp teeth on her earlobe. He’d bitten her. The gall. Her lips twitched, as did the body under her hand. Focus!
She’d been hot on the Slayer’s heels, and just when she thought she had him cornered, the dying wolf went and muddied it up. Twice she’d gotten turned around because of the bloodshed. Had she been close to the Slayer at all, or had she mistaken the wolf for him?
The creature’s injuries were not by a hunter’s hand. Someone had stabbed the thing and left it to die. Hunters would have taken the body, at least for bragging rights if not for the fur. A predator would have eaten it. Had a vampire tried to drain it then gotten spooked when Natalia was close? She looked down at the blood pooling in the dirt. Cristian had said it made vampires stronger. Strong enough to catch up with the Slayer and finish him once and for all?
Human blood tasted good, supernatural blood superb, but in desperation she’d resorted to animals in the past. It wouldn’t be hard to take just one little taste. The wolf was going to die anyway.
As if it knew what she was thinking, its black eyes rolled to look up at her, pleading. And all she could see was Cristian’s love for the animals under his protection. And his disappointment if he ever found out what she’d done. Though she had no idea why that bothered her, it did.
With a sigh she patted the gray wolf’s head. “Better to do it quick.” She took out her knife, lowered it just above the heart, and stabbed it quick and hard. It died instantly. She wiped the knife on her pants then tucked it back into its sheath.
Leaves rustled behind her. She froze. Her palm curled around the knife handle. A tangy scent hit the air. Every muscle in her body stiffened as she focused on the presence behind her. Closer it moved. She could hear its breath, calm and steady. With a burst of energy she jumped up, spun, and stabbed at the dark figure a few feet away. She caught the scent of gunpowder one second too late. The bullet grazed her shoulder. She winced then shut out the pain. With a mental push, the knives tucked into her boots soared toward her attacker. He grunted when one lodged in his thigh. She ran at him full speed then leapt in the air with a spinning kick.
The gun went off. Searing pain exploded in her back and she fell to the ground. The lower half of her body tingled then dulled. She was numb.
Bullet to the spine. Oh joy.
Footsteps rustled the leaves as black spots dotted her vision. She fought to stay alert. The sharp bite of a needle in her arm sent a pit of dread to her stomach. She had enough energy to push the bullet out of her spine before the world went black.
***
A dark chuckle echoed around her. Bark bit into her back, her arms pulled painfully behind her. She was tied to a tree. Again.
“So you’re the Huntress.” The deep voice made chills run down her spine.
She opened her heavy eyelids and got her first look at the Silver Slayer. And to her surprise, he was handsome. Dark, exotic, with impeccable clothing and trimmed hair. She’d expected a monster – crooked teeth, dirty, ugly, someone who looked like the evil he created.
Figures. Sometimes the devil wore a three-piece suit and a smile. She should know.
He bent down and stared in her eyes. “You don’t look like much.” His gaze swept over her. “But the Magistrate wants you. A hundred thousand dollar reward for your capture. That’s pretty impressive.”
Yeah, she was a regular celebrity.
“You don’t seem so dangerous.” His mouth curled up in a lop-sided smile. It was all devil. No charm, just sadistic intent. It made her skin crawl. “At least not all tied up and helpless like this. What is it you do that they’re so afraid of?”
Wouldn’t you like to know? She remained silent.
“Nothing to say? Well, maybe this will loosen your tongue.” Slowly, he removed the knife she’d used on the wolf from her pocket.
Struggling against the binds was useless. He’d tied them so tight her fingers were numb from lack of circulation. The important thing was to maintain consciousness. And to learn as much as she could about the Slayer – all to kill him easier in the end. “Why don’t you just kill me?”
“I don’t want to kill you, Huntress.” He ran a finger down her cheek. It was as cold as his heart – as her heart too.
Maybe they were kindred spirits. Shit, now she knew she’d lost a lot of blood. She was slipping into Crazy Land.
“I get a thrill out of the hunt too,” he said. “We’re not so different, you and I. You believe your loose morals dictate the right people to kill. I don’t.” With the knife he cut straight through her shirt. “That’s the only difference between the hunter and the hunted.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is this how you’re going to torture me? Spewing philosophical bullshit? I prefer the knife.”
He chuckled though his eyes blackened with a hint of rage. “The knife it is then.” He pressed the point into the skin above her right breast. A burning sensation gave way to warm blood rising to the surface then dripping down her chest.
“Will you survive my games
this time?” He grinned. “I guess we’ll find out.”
And so the fun began.
Chapter 9
The slippery vampire had taken every precaution to hide her trail. But her exotic beauty gave her away. The residents of the small towns between Rider’s Landing and Milltown, just south of the Montana border, knew and respected Cristian. They were loose with their tongues regarding “the red head in leather with the nice ass.” Yes, he’d noticed that ass too. And he longed to have some fun with it. But he had to be sure he was hunting with his head, not his cock. Natalia wasn’t likely to respect a stray pup. No, he needed to be strong and confident when he handled her. She would eat a spineless man for breakfast.
After they’d separated three nights ago, he called Sorin and explained the situation. He was surprised to learn a few men had heard of the Silver Slayer. Surprised because his pack purposefully tuned out the rest of the world, keeping this small corner of the country to themselves. Actually, it was the younger members of the pack who knew the most about the Slayer. Cristian’s fear that the Magistrate would become involved was unfounded. The Magistrate wasn’t interested in stopping the Slayer. Curious. The kids had excitedly told him that it was a conspiracy. The Slayer had something on the Magistrate that kept them from hunting him down. Cristian had thanked them for the information, unsure of what to believe. But Magistrate or no, this was still his territory. And the Silver Slayer would pay for his crimes.
He found a lone motorcycle covered in her scent parked where a trailhead merged with the main road. From there, hunting was easy. That is, until her scent mingled with a wolf. A true wolf, not one of his kind, but the ones he worked so hard to protect. He inhaled a lungful of the potent odor. It had bled, a lot, and the vampire had been with it. Fury erupted in his chest and he sprinted headlong toward the source of the smell. She’d lied to him.
He found the wolf first. Stab wounds marked its belly, then one through the heart. But all that magic-filled blood matted in his fur and pooled in the dirt. He was beginning to doubt his initial suspicion that Natalia had drank the wolf’s blood. If she wanted to get high, why would she have stabbed it then left the blood behind?
