The Hunt

by Frost Kay

  Tempest sat on a wooden stool before the fire, drumming her fingers on her knee. The day had faded into night and Pyre still hadn’t come home. Her ears pricked with every sound, but each time it was nothing.

  She’d spent the rest of the day going over what she knew to be absolutely true. The king wanted the Jester dead to stop the rebellion. He also had a desire for more power. Tempest had smelled the drug before in Aleks’s infirmary. It was villages along the mountains that had been targeted—isolated enough that people wouldn’t go poking around, but well-known enough for stories to travel. From what she’d learned, the Jester wasn’t the cause of the mass murders. But why would the Crown kill its own people? That didn’t make sense. Even if the king hated the shifters, he wouldn’t kill his own for the fun of it, would he?

  The front door silently swung open, and Pyre stepped inside. She blinked at his ensemble: the gaudy, stripped coat and silky top hat from their first meeting sat at an angle atop his head. Tempest had only seen him in leather trousers and linen shirts for weeks. It was disconcerting to see him looking so much like a… a courtier.

  His empty, amber eyes ran over her, and he turned his back, closing the door and hanging his hat on a hook. “What are you doing here?”

  “I know it’s a terrible time, but I need to speak with you. If only to apologize.”

  He slowly unclasped his cloak and hung it on the wall. “Apologize for what? Your bloody heritage, your murdering king, or wanting to desecrate my grandfather’s body?”

  “For my insensitivity this morning. I shouldn’t have asked you like that. I’m sorry.”

  Pyre turned and rested a shoulder against the wall, regarding her. “You’re forgiven. Now get out.”

  “That’s not all I have to say.”

  “I’m poor company tonight. We can speak in the morning.”

  Tempest steeled her nerves and ignored his dismissal. “I’m sorry, but it can’t wait.”

  “I don’t know how I can make this much clearer,” he enunciated. “I don’t want you in my home. I still have the stinking reek of that drug singeing my nose and looking at you makes me want to hurt something. I’d prefer it not to be you.”

  “I know you, Pyre. You won’t hurt me,” she said softly.

  “You don’t know anything about me, little girl.”

  “No, you don’t know anything about me,” she said calmly as the kitsune moved to the kitchen and poured himself a drink. “Or why I am here.”

  “You’re poking around into the plague,” he sneered.

  She unfolded herself from the stool and crossed her arms. Once she revealed her true purpose, there was no going back. “I’m here on behalf of the king.”

  “Oh?” Pyre murmured, swirling the spirits in his glass. “Do tell.”

  Tempest ignored his attitude. Grief affected everyone differently. “The king took an interest in me, and I found myself in a precarious situation.” Just thinking about that night in his room made her sick.

  “Did he harm you?” Pyre whispered, his voice so dark it sent shivers across her skin.

  “No, but he made me a deal.” She swallowed. “My mother was killed by a shifter. I wanted time to hunt that shifter down, and I’d heard of the sickness. The king promised me the assignment, with an added task.” Time to lay all her cards on the table. “He tasked me with killing the Jester.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for Pyre to react. She knew he had some connection to the crime lord. The kitsune took a slow sip from his glass and stared at her over the rim.

  “And what do you get out of this?” he murmured.

  “A chance to exact vengeance for my mum’s death, and he promised me a place on his war council if I succeeded.”

  “And if you failed?” he whispered, sauntering up to her.

  Tempest swallowed hard and backed toward the hearth, the flames heating the back of her calves. “I am to become his,” she gritted out.

  “You foolish, foolish girl,” Pyre crooned. He reached a hand over her shoulder and set his drink on the shelf above the fireplace. “You’re playing games with a man who never loses.”

  “He didn’t give me a choice. I did the best I could with what I was given. One doesn’t turn down a king when he calls for you.”

  The kitsune ran a finger down her cheek. “Did you give it up to him, Lady Hound?”

  Her face flamed, but she held her ground and slapped his hand away. “No.”

  He flashed a smile. “Of course not. Tempest would never sully herself with such base emotions.”

  “We’re getting off track.” She ducked under his arm. “I can’t go back without the heart of the Jester. Which brings me back to my insensitive question this morning. The king knows the Jester is a fox. I promised him a heart. Was your grandfather a kitsune?”

  Pyre picked up his glass and tossed back the remaining contents. “He was.” He faced her and laced his arms across his wide chest. “Why does it matter?”

  Tempest exhaled heavily. She had no idea if one could tell what kind of shifter someone was by their heart, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. For all Tempest knew, Aleks had some kind of chemical test that could work it out. “I don’t have time to track down the Jester, and, even if I did kill him, another would rise up in his place. But if I were to approach the king with a kitsune’s heart… well, then I would be appointed a place on his council.”

  “The king sent you to assassinate the Jester?” Pyre repeated. “An inexperienced woman with the acting skills of a potato?”

  Tempest jerked and blinked at his hostile tone. “Did you not hear what I said? If I had a position on the council, you’d have a direct line of information from the Crown.” She closed the distance between them and placed her right hand on his arm. “What transpired today can’t occur again. I’m not completely sure what’s happening, but I’m going to find out.”

  The kitsune smiled softly at her and uncrossed his arms. He touched the tip of her nose. “The king sure knows how to pick them. He knew exactly what he was doing, like a lamb to the slaughter.”

  She stiffened when his right arm slipped around her waist and pulled her flush with his body. “Pyre?”

  He bent his neck and sniffed at her throat, a husky groan reverberating in his chest. “Oh, luv, what a web you’ve been caught in.”

  “Excuse me?” she squeaked.

  “If you want the Jester so badly,” he whispered in her ear. “Strike true and my heart is yours, city girl.”

  Tempest

  Tempest stopped struggling against Pyre and blankly stared at his jacket, his heart steadily thumping beneath her right palm. “W-what?” she stuttered, trying to make sense of his words.

  “You heard me, Hound. If you want your precious Jester so badly, I’m standing right here.”

  A dull ringing started in her left ear, and her breathing sped up. It couldn’t be true. He was too young. “You can’t possibly be,” she reasoned. “You’re not old enough.”

  “That’s the lovely thing about being the Jester: the name passes from one person to the next, continuing on the legacy. No one can really kill the lord of the underworld.”

  Bloody hell. Even if that was true, the horror stories she’d heard in the past five years were enough to give her nightmares. Fear pooled in her belly, and panic began to creep up her throat.

  Remember your training. Panic is the enemy, not fear.

  Tempest slipped her left hand into the pocket of her skirt, her fingers curling around an abandoned kitchen blade she’d stolen from the baker a day earlier, so thankful for her foresight. The Jester’s arm tightened around her, and she wheezed. She needed to get out of his arms this instant. Close-quarter brawling would end in her death.

  “You think you’re so clever,” she said, maintaining his cold amber gaze. “But you’re nothing but a crook with stolen top hat.” Tempest stomped her foot on his instep and jerked her knee into his groin.

  The kitsune’s grip loosene
d as he dodged her blow. “And you’re just a little girl playing at being a warrior.” He caught her arm in a brutal grip, his fingers locking on her right wrist.

  She jerked against his grip, but it was immovable. The firelight lit his face, highlighting his sharp, fae-like features and the slash of his cheekbones. His amber eyes seemed to glow, and he looked like the devil himself. His hard lips formed a cruel smile.

  “You think it would be that easy to escape me? To kill the Jester?” His voice was a soft, seductive murmur, the voice of someone who expected his word to be obeyed and was never defied.

  “No,” she agreed, tightening her fingers around her hidden blade. Tempest slid the thin, six-inch blade from her pocket, keeping her weapon hidden. “But I’ve been a quick study.”

  Tempest stabbed hard, stepping forward with her body to strengthen the thrust. Pyre caught her wrist, jerking it to the side so that the blade skittered across his ribs, not between them. He shoved away from her and held up his fingers, blood covering them.

  She danced back out of his reach and eyed the doorway. It was so close and yet so far. Her gaze darted back to the kitsune as he looked up through a fringe of wine-colored hair, his eyes burning with intensity and the promise of revenge. The blood in Tempest’s veins turned cold at the sight, and she held her bloody blade tighter. It was like looking at a completely different person.

  The Jester sucked in a sharp breath and brushed the wrinkles from his shirt, like he was getting ready to have tea with a lord. “That wasn’t wise, luv.”

  She eased a foot behind her and shifted, swiping her blade at the fox as he came at her, his form moving so quickly she could hardly track him. A hand caught hers, and his thumb dug into the nerve that ran to her thumb.

  “Damn it,” she cursed as the knife dropped from her useless hand.

  The kitsune yanked her arm behind her and he spun, shoving her face-first against the cottage wall. She hissed as the rough wood scraped her cheek, but it was the least of her worries. Tempest had been taught hundreds of ways to kill a man, but none of them would apply if she couldn’t get a little space between their bodies.

  Pyre leaned against her, towering over her with his great height. He shoved her between the shoulder blades and yanked her arm farther behind her back. Black dots danced across her vision, but she managed not to cry out. The fox expected her to fight and that would make it worse. Tempest relaxed against him, the pain softening a touch. She’d suffered many injuries before, so pain was like an old friend. A physical ache was something she could fight—death was not.

  The Jester’s firm body pressed against her, one knee driving into the back of hers. There was nowhere to go, she was well and truly pinned. But she had one more trick up her sleeve. The damn shiv from the stool hidden in her corset.

  She wiggled her right hand that was pinned beneath her breasts. With some maneuvering, she’d be able to reach it. The shifter ran his hand along her left arm.

  “No more blades? I’m almost a little disappointed.” He laughed, a short barking cough of amusement. “Nothing to say?”

  Tempest kept her mouth shut and schooled her expression, blankly staring at the fireplace to her left. Silence hung between them. Only a couple of inches, and she’d have her weapon. Winter’s bite, did she ever wish she had her blades.

  “Cat got your tongue, city girl?”

  She needed to keep him distracted. “You and I could come to an understanding.” There were always ways to manipulate a man. Even the Jester had to want something, desire it.

  “You’re trying to bribe the wrong man,” he hissed.

  “From the stories I’ve heard, you’re exactly the type of man who enjoys a good bribe.” And arson, larceny, prostitution, and assassinations. “You’ve been at me for weeks to join your side. So what do you want from me? To be your own personal assassin? Information? Access to the king?”

  Tempest wiggled her right hand to the top of her corset and paused when his grip slacked and his left hand slid around her waist, his thumb splayed over her ribs, just beneath her breast. A touch below her stake.

  “What about something a little more personal? I love thwarting the king, so maybe I’ll take you as my mistress.”

  Her stomach twisted. She would play along for now, but she’d never be anyone’s mistress. Ever.

  He released her arm, and she quickly plucked the shiv from the top of her corset. Grabbing a handful of her skirt, he spun her around, one hand wrapping around her throat. The Jester stared down at her, haughty contempt written all over his face. His other hand curved around the back of her skull, and he grabbed a fistful of her hair.

  She inhaled slowly, even as her pulse raced when he dragged her head back, exposing her throat. His nose brushed along the edge of her jaw and then down to the smooth skin just behind her ear. “Are you going to tear my throat out?” she asked, her tone serene despite the storm brewing in her chest. “Like an animal?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If anyone is an animal here, it is you. You who kill without conscience or question.” His cool breath fanned over her skin. He lifted his head, his hand still cradling her skull. Tempest met his gaze evenly. “Even now, you show no emotion. Did they train all humanity out of you? Even animals don’t kill like the slaughter we saw today in the village. I’m no animal, but you are.”

  She peered up at the seething kitsune and studied him. Anguish and rage were clearly riding him hard. Tempest wrapped her leg around Pyre’s and slid her foot up the back of his calf. A flicker of surprise touched his face, and he softened. What a stupid male. It was just the opening she needed.

  She launched herself off the wall and toppled Pyre. They collapsed onto the floor. Tempest scrambled up his body and pinned his shoulders with her knees. Her scalp stung, and his hand still tangled in her locks as she placed the wooden shiv beneath his jaw. “Don’t move.”

  He blinked slowly, and she snarled when his hands curled around her ankles. “It seems we are at an impasse, luv.”

  Tempest pressed the makeshift weapon hard against his neck, a small drop of blood leaking down his throat. “You’ll bleed out before you could make a move.”

  “Now that you have me where you want me, you’re going to kill me?”

  Pursing her lips, she glared down at the kitsune. He’d turned her world upside-down. By all accounts, she should kill him and take his heart back to the king. But Tempest couldn’t ignore the evidence. Even the Jester couldn’t concoct such an elaborate scheme. Seeing the village had changed everything. She couldn’t blindly look the other way when innocents were suffering.

  Her eyes narrowed on the man laying beneath her. Even if she did kill the Jester another would spring up in his place. The devil she knew was better than the demon she didn’t. Whether all the stories were true or not didn’t matter. He was a means to an end.

  “Thank your stars tonight. I should kill you,” she whispered. “But we’re embroiled in something much bigger than ourselves. Only your grief and the love Aspen has for you have stayed my hand. No one can fake emotion like that. The slaughter of that village affected you just as much as it did me.”

  “How magnanimous of you, Lady Hound.” He quirked a wry smile at her. “So where do we go from here?” His fingers crept up her legs.

  Tempest pressed harder against his throat. “We come to a truce. My first condition: get your bloody hands off me.”

  His fingers lingered for second longer than necessary on the backs of her calves and then extricated themselves from her skirts. “Agreed, and I won’t tear your head from your shoulders when you release me.”

  She laughed at his chilling words. “You and I both know you wouldn’t kill me.” Tempest leaned close and sniffed at his throat like he’d done to her. “I don’t have your sense, but desperation clings to you like a foul odor. You didn’t nurse me back to health out of the goodness of your black heart. I’m your only shot at the king.”

  “So impertinent. Where have you bee
n hiding this side of yourself, Temp?”

  “Probably the same place you hid your Jester identity,” she retorted hotly.

  Pyre clasped his hands behind his head and arched a brow. “As much as I love being nestled between your sweet thighs, you think you could get up?”

  Heat scorched her cheeks at his crude words, but she didn’t move, her gaze boring into the Jester. “Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

  “Don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me.”

  Her lips twitched at his humor, but she managed to keep a straight face. Tempest slid back and started to stand, but his hands landed on her hips, pinning her in place. She lodged her shiv against his sternum as Pyre levered up and looked into her eyes. His eyes scanned her face, and he brushed his nose against hers.

  “In my culture, we seal our deals with a kiss.”

  Her stomach flipped, and a thrill of dread and excitement ran through her. Tempest scowled and squashed the feeling. It would be pure stupidity to allow such an emotion to take root in her heart. The Jester was dangerous.

  She kept her weapon in place and lifted her left hand, sliding her fingers through the deep red strands of his silky hair. The amusement fled from his expression and something hotter replaced it. The blackness of his pupils expanded in his eyes, and his fingers clenched in her skirts. He might not like what she was, but he was attracted all the same. Tempest had him.

  His warm breath fanned against her sensitive lips when she leaned closer. Tempest brushed her nose against his once and then placed a gentle kiss on his left cheek. His heavy breaths heated the side of her throat. A shudder swept through his massive frame when she pulled back and stroked his clenched jaw.

  “Afraid to kiss the Jester, luv?” he taunted.

  She cocked her head and made a decision that could change everything. He’d lost his grandfather today and a whole village of his people. Pain and grief like that needed comfort, even the lord of the dark courts. They were enemies, to be sure, but when she was in a sorry state, he’d protected her—even if it had been for an ulterior motive. Tempest pulled her weapon back and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him.