The Hunt

by Frost Kay

  Tempest

  Tempest wanted to weep bitterly. Could she not just go in peace?

  Agony radiated up and down her arms and legs, and liquid heat rolled down her cheeks. Where was the deceiving touch? She’d take that over the continuous torture. Her bottom lip trembled as she debated opening her eyes to see what nightmare Death had waiting for her.

  Being blind is being vulnerable.

  She cracked open her crusty, swollen lids and squinted at the wavering room around her. Nothing made sense. Ghoulish strangers hovered around the hot room, their reflective eyes locked on her. Tempest whimpered and attempted to lift her left hand but her fingers wouldn’t move.

  “… can’t believe she’s woken up in this condition,” a voice that was equally familiar and strange muttered.

  Tempest tried to look through her hazy, unfocused eyes. A creature stepped forward, his skin as dark as pitch black night. She marveled at the beauty of him as he approached, his form towering above. For such a large being, he moved with a grace she longed to possess. He bent to pick something off the floor, giving her an unobstructed view behind him. The shifter from her dreams stood behind him, his expression bland.

  My mother’s murderer.

  A snarl curled her lip, and she lunged toward him, but pain crippled her. Tempest let out a wordless cry, and spit dribbled down her chin, her gaze locked on the murderer staring her down.

  “I’ll kill you,” she hissed, her voice as dark and twisted as the Jester’s soul. “I’ll kill you!” The murderer wavered and disappeared like a puff of smoke.

  “That’s enough of the drama for now.” The person who had previously spoken clucked his tongue in disapproval from her left side. “I didn’t drag you out of the pit for you to die right now, city girl. How can you possibly escape with all your injuries? Just lie down. This next bit is really going to hurt.”

  She jerked to the left and snapped her teeth at the creature who had crept up on her.

  The man’s face came into focus just before his hands touched her right arm and yanked her.

  Fox, she thought uselessly, managing to hold eye contact with his startlingly gold irises for but a moment, before passing out.

  Tempest woke slowly. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and everything ached. She licked her dry lips and opened her eyes despite her throbbing head. It felt like she’d been on a drinking binge for months.

  She blinked sluggishly as the room slowly came into focus. Rustic lanterns hung around the small stone room of a house she didn’t recognize and scattered soft light in the darkness. No windows. Was she in a cell? What time of day was it? Where was she?

  Her breathing accelerated as a thread of panic wound itself around her chest.

  Calm down. You’re not in chains. Use your mind. Think your way through this.

  Tempest slowly inhaled and exhaled to regulate her heart rate. A modicum of calmness settled over her. While the pain was awful, it wasn’t the agony she’d experienced before. She twitched her fingers on her left side, and a twinge of pain ran across her skin. Tempest had dealt with pain like that only once before.

  I must have dislocated it when I fell into the pit. But who put it back into place?

  Onyx skin and gilded eyes floated to the forefront of her hazy memory.

  Shifters. Fox.

  “Finally awake?” a deep, sinful voice whispered.

  She jerked, wincing at the whoosh of breath that rattled her ribcage, and schooled her expression as Fox appeared in the darkened doorway followed by a mob of other creatures. Tempest struggled to sit upright, but it was useless; her body was too broken.

  “Don’t move,” he murmured without looking at her.

  Though Fox’s hat was nowhere to be seen, his face was still obscured by shadows, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of torchlight across his features. But it was enough for Tempest to notice that he was beginning to shift more toward his kitsune form—his cheekbones had grown even sharper than before, and there was a slant to his eyes that was distinctly inhuman. When Tempest glanced at his hands, she saw Fox’s nails had grown longer and thicker.

  Fear skittered up her spine.

  Claws. He had bloody claws. He could puncture her skin in a half second and watch her bleed to death if he wanted to. So why had he kept her alive? She kept her face carefully blank as she realized there would be only one reason why he would want her alive.

  They had discovered her identity.

  Numbness seeped through her fingers at the realization of what came next. Torture. Her left cheek twitched while she fought to keep her emotions intact. Her gaze ran over the small group of shifters, some of whom had already half-shifted. Only the most powerful of the Talagans could partially shift. A show of power.

  She pressed her lips together as she took stock of the danger creeping into her room. Winter’s bite. Eight partial shifters. So much power.

  Fox sauntered closer to her bed and ran a claw over the blanket covering her left foot. He flashed a fang in a mocking smile as she jerked her foot away from his touch, her skin crawling. His smile deepened.

  “Is my lady shy?” he crooned.

  Tempest swallowed, cursing herself for falling into the damn pit in the first place. Her nightmare still lingered fresh in her mind, and, while she wouldn’t go back to that fiery place for anything, she wished she was still sleeping. The situation seemed quite unstable—if the energy in the room was any indication. She needed to tread lightly if the looks on their snarling faces were anything to go by.

  “Not at all, I—” she tried to reply, but the words caught in her parched, scratchy throat as if she had choked on them.

  “Don’t speak,” Fox said in a dangerous undertone. Gone was all his previous easy-going arrogance—including even the vicious delight that had been plastered to his face when Tempest had fought with him.

  She snapped her mouth shut and carefully kept her contempt at his commands hidden. Being completely under his control didn’t warrant a smart mouth. If she wanted to make it out alive, she needed to be very careful in choosing her words. Everything she said or did had to be calculated. Her eyes flicked to his ears for a moment and entertained the idea that he was the Jester but she wasn’t that lucky. Kitsune shifters were common enough and Fox was too young.

  The hulking man from before stalked to Tempest’s side and shocked her by placing his massive palm over her forehead. His brows slanted together, and his deep red lips pursed.

  “The infection may still take her yet.” His baritone voice was so deep it was like two rocks being rubbed together. “Her fever is high.”

  Mutely, Tempest watched the healer as he checked her pulse and then ran his hands down her left arm. The size of his paws made her arm look like a doll’s. His palm alone could smother her. Even though her instincts screamed for Tempest to pull away, she held perfectly still, aware that he could tear her arm from her body.

  She shot a scathing look in the kitsune’s direction, hating that her life rested in his hands.

  Fox watched impassively and leaned a shoulder against the wall next to the bed. His gaudy jacket and linen shirt were wrinkled, smudged with dirt, and covered with blood, and yet he still managed to look like an indolent prince. What a bastard. Pretty boys made her sick. How much time did he spend staring at the looking glass to achieve such a look? Probably more than she had in her entire life.

  He arched a brow at her when he caught her appraisal, his chest puffing up. “Find something to your liking, luv?”

  Tempest bit the side of her cheek to keep from retorting with a scathing remark.

  His playful façade melted away. “So you’re one of those.” He leaned closer and inhaled. “You can hate me all you want but you won’t ever be able to keep your emotions from me. Look your fill, luv. I’m not impartial to your kind.”

  Her kind.

  For Dotae’s sake, she was too tired for this. As it was, her eyelids were drooping, and sweat pooled between her breasts.
She shifted uncomfortably on the mattress and instinctively stiffened when the wolf shifter she’d shot in the leg stepped away from the silent group.

  His luminescent eyes clashed with her eyes. His gaze narrowed when she didn’t look away. The corner of her mouth twitched as she fought to stop herself from smirking. The man was clearly an alpha. Her direct eye contact was probably driving him crazy, but she wouldn’t be the first to look away. Her body might be weak but not her mind or her will.

  He bared his teeth, and a growl rumbled from his chest. The hair along her arms rose but she didn’t look away.

  “Don’t be foolish, girlie,” the healer chastised. “Drop your eyes.”

  Tempest ignored him as the Talagan wolf moved around the end of the bed and placed his hands on the mattress near her hips, his lips still pulled back from his teeth.

  “You shot me,” he snarled.

  “You attacked me, and I’m sure you’re healed already,” she said softly, keeping eye contact. She should have poisoned the arrow tip.

  He leaned farther into her space—his nose almost touching Tempest’s—as the others in the room looked on in silence.

  “Do you want to die?” he demanded.

  “Death is inevitable, but honor is easily lost,” she whispered, her fingers curling into fists to keep them from trembling. It would be so easy for him to tear out her throat.

  He froze and then huffed, the sound one part amused, the other part irritated. “Just because you know the words of my people, it doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  “True.”

  With one last snarl, he pulled back, crossing his arms to glare down at her. “I don’t like it,” the wolf barked at the kitsune.

  It? Well, that was rude.

  “For a moment, I thought you were going to run away with her, Brine,” Fox commented, blasé.

  Brine—the Talagan wolf—eyed her in disgust. “Only to show her who her master is.”

  A flash of rage burned through her, but the pressing danger reeled her emotions back into check. No one was her master.

  Another shifter stepped forward, and Tempest recognized him. His long face marked him as her former mount. Heat burned in her cheeks at the thought of riding another person for hours. He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, tossing his waist-length, thick, black hair.

  “Let us kill her, Pyre,” the equine Talagan demanded, stabbing a finger at Fox.

  Tempest tucked her smile away at the bossy subordinate’s use of the kitsune’s real name. Pyre. She filed away the information and continued to listen.

  The kitsune stripped his bloodstained jacket from his body and tossed the soiled garment into the corner. He meticulously rolled his bloodied sleeves up to his elbows, revealing swarthy, corded forearms covered in dried blood.

  Her blood.

  Nausea rolled through her belly. Tempest was going to be sick.

  Pyre produced a dagger and flipped the blade in his hand with calm indifference. She knew the trick well; when she was nervous or afraid in front of the older Hounds she, too, had found objects to ‘appropriately’ fidget with. Ones that would make her nerves appear obsolete and, in turn, make Tempest look as if she was completely in control.

  Had she mistaken the situation? Was Pyre not the one in command?

  “She will be useful,” Pyre told the shifters simply.

  Pyre’s eyes moved across the group, his sharp gaze touching on each and every one of them before turning his unearthly attention on Tempest. Her belly flipped, and she stared impassively back. No, she wasn’t mistaken. Power clung to him like a second skin. She studied the loose laces of his shirt and pondered over Pyre. He wasn’t old enough to be the Jester… but maybe a son or relative? Peering through her lashes, she scanned the Talagans. Many appeared to be older than the kitsune.

  “Whoever you are, city girl, you’ll bring us good luck. I know it.”

  She highly doubted that. If she had her way, they’d be the ones bringing her good luck as they led Tempest to the Jester.

  Rich feminine laughter teased the air from a petite, cloaked Talagan. “She’s very good at keeping her expression bland, but I’ll bet my blade she’ll be a fun one to break.”

  Tempest stiffened. Just try.

  The woman laughed again. “Be cautious, not everyone wants to kneel at your feet, Pyre.”

  Pyre leaned a hip against the bed and hooked a clawed finger underneath Tempest’s chin. With gentle pressure, he tipped her head back so she met his darkly amused gold eyes. He cocked his head, and a smile touched his mouth fleetingly.

  “You’re not going to cause me trouble are you, luv?”

  Wisely, she remained mute.

  Pyre ran his thumb along her cracked bottom lip. “We are not killing her,” he said softly, his tone laced with steel. “We will heal her wounds and let her stay with us, then she will pay us for our generosity.”

  His or else was implied.

  Tempest fought not to shiver at the absolute silence of the room. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as Pyre bent closer to nuzzle her right temple.

  “I have a feeling she’s exactly what we’ve been looking for,” he hummed.

  “Is such a risk worth it?” the horse man asked.

  “I am the one who takes such risks,” Pyre murmured, pulling back to study Tempest’s face. “I would not expect any of you to put your life on the line to deal with her.”

  Inside, Tempest trembled, and her mask began to crack at his close scrutiny.

  “If you know she’s a liability, then why even risk helping her?” Brine asked.

  Pyre straightened and released her face with a glint in his eye. “It is precisely because she’s deadly that it makes helping her worth the risk.” He smiled warmly at Tempest. “It’s that kind of danger that intrigues me.”

  “Don’t be a fool!” the equine Talagan burst out.

  The temperature in the room dropped, and Tempest’s eyes rounded as every person in the room froze.

  Pyre picked up his dagger from the bed and brushed his sleeve off with his opposite hand. “Do I strike you as a fool?” His tone was soft but dangerous.

  Goosebumps ran down Tempest’s legs.

  The blood drained from the horse man’s face, but he held his ground, his square teeth grinding together. “This is all foolish. All for a bit of skirt.”

  Pyre laughed. “A bit of skirt, eh? Pick up your blade, Timo.”

  Timo plucked his blade from his waist and gripped it between his teeth, and then tied back his black hair. “As you command, my liege,” he gritted out. His gaze flicked to the left for one second and then he attacked.

  Another shifter moved from the group and attacked in tandem with Timo.

  The kitsune only grinned in a bloodthirsty way that chilled her very soul. Tempest watched with begrudging awe as the kitsune shifter dodged both assailants by leaping high off the ground, and launched a snapping kick at Timo’s jaw. Timo fell into his companion, snarling with rage, before turning to find Pyre standing there, ready and waiting to punch him in the face.

  That Pyre chose not to use any weapons but his own body was inspiring. He avoided his opponents’ knives with ease, as if he himself was made of water, then responded with kicks and punches and elbows and knees that almost always made contact with his targets. In a manner of minutes, both men were on the ground, breathing heavily, bleeding from various places and clutching their stomachs in pain from where Pyre had kicked an unforgiving metal-toed boot at them.

  “Do not test me on this,” Pyre talked down at them, his voice steady and unwavering as if he had not spent the last three minutes locked in a violent fight. And then, aimed at the entire crowd, he said, “Is there anyone else who doubts me?”

  No one dared even breathe, Tempest included.

  “I’ve not failed you before, nor will I fail you now.”

  Nobody said anything. Tempest watched the faces of the crowd carefully, looking for any sign that they would revolt against Pyre. He had the
air of the bloody king, standing there addressing the people—his people—as if ruling had been in his blood from the day he was born. She could see why he thought he could get information out of her. But she wouldn’t be swayed by him. Tempest had a job to do.

  Eventually Brine muttered, “I hope you are right, Pyre. For the love of us all, I hope you are right.”

  “Now, leave us,” the kitsune commanded.

  The crowd dispersed, leaving Tempest in the care of the silent, giant of a man still tending her arm… and Pyre.

  The kitsune sheathed his unused blade and rubbed the back of his neck. “I think Timo bit me.”

  “You never stated any rules,” the big healer at her side said gruffly. “How does your arm feel, girlie?”

  “It hurts,” she rasped.

  “I don’t doubt it.” He smiled at her, his teeth blindingly white against his dark skin. “You look like you’re about to pass out again which I wouldn’t advise against as your healer. Try to get some sleep.”

  Tempest nodded. “Thank you.”

  The healer blinked slowly. “You’re welcome.”

  She turned her attention to Pyre who stared at her, expressionless. Tempest did her level best to respond in kind.

  A moment of silence passed. Two. Three.

  Then Tempest said, very quietly, “Let me go. I do not wish to be here, and your people do not wish it, either. I just need to get to my grandmother.”

  “No,” was all Pyre said in reply, though the smug, victorious smirk that crossed his face told Tempest everything she needed to know.

  There was no way she was escaping the shifter’s clutches tonight.

  Tempest

  “Mind how you hold her,” a deep voice admonished.

  Tempest snuggled into the blankets and sighed at the pleasant, spicy scent tickling her nose. The bed vibrated beneath her cheek, chuckling.

  Her brows furrowed together. Beds didn’t laugh. Tempest opened her eyes and stiffened. Everything was dark. Absolutely everything. She was bloody blind.