Hunter's Mark: A Star-Crossed Book (Loki's Wolves 0)

by Melissa Snark

  The wight threw back its head and released a piercing shriek. A burst of embers exploded off it—cinders struck her face and arms. Searing pain, more burnt fur. The wight twisted and thrust, flailing within her grip.

  Baring her teeth, Victoria snarled and hauled back with all her strength. The spirit fought her but she gained ground—and dragged it off Daniel inch after steady inch. As soon as he got free, the hunter rolled over onto his side, where he remained for only a second while he recovered. Surging upright, he lunged for an object beyond the end of the bed and out of her field of view. She lost track of his location.

  "Daniel! Are you gonna give me a hand?"

  "Hold on! Don't let go."

  "Yeah, easier said than done!" Retaining her grip onto the wight demanded all her concentration. The sprinklers cast a steady rain upon them, but in proximity its hazy aura of soot and heat got worse. The undead thing was strong and slippery—sliding right and left in her arms despite her claw hold. It reeked—rotted meat and maggots. She hung on with grim determination even though the cinders and smoke clogged her throat and lungs.

  The wight's head twisted around to face Victoria. Eyes of burning coal stared at her from its ghoulish visage. Screaming, it struck at her face with its gnarled hands. She flinched and avoided having her eyes gouged out. Instead, the spirit racked deep gashes down both her cheeks. She howled in anguish and threw up her arms to defend against another attack, instinctively releasing the wight.

  The wight coalesced, a conflagration at its center and billowing smoke about its periphery. It whipped about to face Daniel, spraying sparks which combined with constant water spray to create dirty rain.

  The hunter returned like the incarnation of vengeance, the enchanted bone-handled knife brandished in position for an overhand swing. It threw a potent bright green aura that cut through the thick smoke. He thrust it straight at the wight's torso, aiming for whatever heart remained at the spirit's center.

  The ghost slipped aside and the blow missed. The deadly silver knife sliced through empty air following an unimpeded arc. It passed within millimeters of Victoria's shoulder—so close the weapon's hunger brushed across her soul like the kiss of death.

  "Watch where you aim that thing." She recoiled further, pulling her arms tight against her torso. In her haste to retreat, she stumbled over her own feet.

  "Sorry!" He shouted the apology at the same time she spoke. The hunter struggled with a continuous cough that hampered his readiness. Assuming a defensive stance, the hunter performed a tight turn, fighting the smog and shower in search of the wight.

  Arms stretched wide, the smoking man stepped out of a billowing column behind Daniel. It reached for his head, no doubt intending to finish what it had started—to suffocate or possess Daniel.

  "Look out—behind you!" Victoria took two steps toward him but hesitated. Conflict raged through her. As a protector, her first instinct was to rush to his aid. Self-preservation, however, screamed for caution. She refused to charge straight toward the cursed knife.

  The wight leapt and knocked Daniel over. Entwined, man and spirit crashed to the floor. Daniel struggled against an enemy that flowed and fluctuated upon the air. Thick bands of smoke wrapped around the hunter. The tendrils coiled about his limbs and encased his torso. His struggles weakened as the wight deprived him of oxygen.

  A continuous growl rumbled her chest. She circled closer, watching for an opening to the wight. It promised to be tricky—she had to evade the enchanted knife. Thanks to his distress, the hunter's movements were erratic—except for his sword arm.

  Daniel aimed the wicked blade angled straight up toward the ceiling. He held steady—offering the knife. The exertion of maintaining the posture showed; the joints in his hand were white with strain, and the veins and sinew in his forearm bulged. Rivulets of water streamed along his hand and down his arm.

  Profound respect overcame her, not only for the man's astonishing self-control but also for the amazing trust being demonstrated. While the wight sought to strangle him, Daniel chose to place his life in her hands. She must not fail him.

  Victoria lunged headlong toward him, her fear forgotten. She seized Daniel's wrist with one hand, stabilizing the position of the knife. With a quick motion, she stroked her fingers across his knuckles, letting him know it was safe to release the weapon into her care. Touch facilitated an emotional connection that astonished her, although it lacked the complexity of the pack bond she shared with her fellow wolves. The empathy flared between them, conveying only the most fundamental emotions—his suffering and stubbornness, her determination and devotion.

  Daniel's grip on the hilt slackened. Under different circumstances, she would have assumed he'd let go due to weakness, however, she experienced the exact moment he reached the decision and acted upon it. His fingers opened and the weapon passed into her hand.

  The knife's inherent malice pounded on the door to her soul with an angry fist—a lightless void questing to consume her brightness. Victoria gulped and held fast to the bone hilt even while her soul recoiled. She performed a quick assessment, eyeballing the spectral figure of the wight, and took aim. A short, direct thrust drove the blade of the knife straight into the center mass.

  The wight shrieked at a pitch that pierced Victoria's sensitive ear drums, adding to the auditory assault of the blaring alarms. Pain lanced through her head and she winced, regretting not having shifted enough to have the high-pointed ears of a wolf that could be flattened. The spirit thrashed in an agony. It cast smoldering pillars off its corpus—thousands of bright embers danced about her. In combination with the dagger's glowing halo, the room lit up like a spooky haunted hall.

  An audible crack split the air. The wight imploded, sucked straight into the blade, consumed whole. All its smoke and cinder was also pulled into the cursed knife. A deep pop like a belch followed. Sated, the enchanted dagger lost its green halo and turned silver.

  Victoria couldn't let go fast enough. She released it and toppled over. She landed beside Daniel, not too far from the swath of rug she'd rent with her claws. Not that it mattered. Thanks to the incendiary spirit and the zealous fire suppression system, the carpeting would have to be replaced. Never mind the damage to the furniture and walls... A glance around confirmed the fancy suite had been reduced to a disaster area. Oh, and all their papers and maps—soaked. It'd be a miracle if any of it could be salvaged.

  She tried to speak, got out, "What a..." before a deep cough wracked her chest. She gave up talking in favor of hacking and wheezing. Beside her, Daniel suffered through a similar fit.

  She sagged into her humanity, a sluggish change compared to her breakneck transformation when the fight began. Her claws retracted into her fingers and toes, the wounds healing over after the tips vanished. The plush fur across her body returned to smooth tanned skin. Thank the goddess, she still had her clothing—sopping wet but otherwise intact. She hadn't taken her change fully to the midway point. Her feet, however, were bare.

  As soon as her regeneration kicked in enough that she could move, Victoria rolled over and knelt beside the hunter. She went over him with the professional concern of a registered nurse, fearing he'd sustained permanent damage to his lungs.

  Panic surged through her. Reacting on impulse, Victoria seized the front of his shirt and ripped through the cotton, revealing his tanned chest which was free of visible burns or bruises. Two words were tattooed over his heart—Absit omen. The tattoo burned white hot, still flush with magic. She had no idea what it meant and was too concerned for him to care.

  Her examination yielded alarming results. He was unconscious. Soot ringed his nostrils and his complexion had a bluish tinge indicating he wasn't getting enough oxygen. His breathing was alarmingly shallow, his heart rate weak and unsteady. He could still die and without the proper equipment, she couldn't do much for him.

  Reluctantly, Victoria turned to magic. She was a competent nurse and she possessed a solid array of knowledge and skill. How
ever, she'd always been a mediocre healer at best. She could heal minor wounds such as scrapes and bruises, and broken bones so long as the fracture was clean. Internal injuries defied her ability beyond the most rudimentary assessment.

  "Freya, please, help me—help him." Offering up a heartfelt prayer, Victoria turned to her goddess. She pressed her hands flat against his sides, beneath his diaphragm, and gathered the energy necessary to weave a restoration spell. A soft glow emanated from her palms and—she knew from experience—her eyes and mouth also emitted the same light. The magic connected her life pattern to Daniel's, allowing her to extend her awareness so she perceived the damage to the lining of his respiratory tract—swelling and airway collapse.

  Freya's answer came as a deluge of divinity that surged into Victoria. No words—only pure power. The mystical halo she mustered on her own increased a hundredfold and strobed with the brilliance of a nova. The goddess lifted her priestess on an exhilarating high, granting a tantalizing glimpse of wondrous things beyond mortal comprehension.

  Thank you. Thank you. With profuse gratitude, Victoria grabbed hold of the primal essence as best she was able and channeled it into Daniel, infusing the hunter with the curative magic. Her effort bathed him in radiant light.

  You are most welcome, My Priestess.

  Uttering a soft cry, Victoria bent and covered Daniel's mouth with her own in a life-giving kiss. The firm press of their lips allowed her to better direct the healing spell to where it was most needed. With Freya's assistance, it required less than a minute to accomplish what would've taken her hours alone.

  The kiss turned sensual, a caress rather than a curative. Abruptly, Victoria became aware of the press of Daniel's hands against the back of her head. She rested atop him with her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest. Her hands still gripped his sides but the magic had ceased.

  Stunned, she lifted her face to stare into his sleepy gaze. Bedroom eyes. Daniel was aware and alert—and he would be okay. Thrilled and relieved all at once, she offered him a stupid smile.

  Unfortunately, the fire alarm and the sprinkler spray continued unabated. She yelled to be heard over the din. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm okay," Daniel shouted in return. "Thanks to you."

  Heat suffused her face. Overcome with inexplicable shyness, Victoria slithered off his chest and plunked down cross-legged on the sodden carpet beside him. He also sat up, glanced around, and scooted over to grab his scary-ass knife. As soon as he returned the dagger to its scabbard, the thing's terrifying presence was muted.

  Victoria breathed a sigh. "It's really Freya you should thank."

  Daniel hesitated and a quicksilver reaction swept over him, rendering his expression unreadable. She halfway expected him to refute Freya's involvement or existence. Few people believed in the old gods or even demonstrated the courtesy of polite tolerance. Of course, Daniel wasn't an ordinary man. For one, he fought monsters for a living.

  "Thank you, Freya." He dipped his head in a show of respect.

  Tell him he is welcome, Freya said. His appreciation pleased the goddess. More than that, she approved of his ready acknowledgement of her existence. So intimate was the bond between priestess and goddess that Victoria experienced Freya's pleasure as though the emotion was her own.

  "She says you're welcome." Belatedly, it occurred to Victoria that she'd just broken one of her people's strictest rules against using their magic to help outsiders. Her healing was only meant for other wolf shifters and their human and wolf kinfolk. The realization rendered her stunned—she'd never before made a mistake this huge.

  Before Victoria managed to compose an apology, Freya spoke again, I do not object to having helped him. He is your ally and he fought well even though he was overcome by the wight. Healing him was appropriate and honorable.

  "Thank you, Goddess," Victoria said, speaking quietly enough that she wouldn't be overheard over the constant, and now annoying, blare of the alarm. And hell—wasn't someone going to do something about the blasted sprinklers? She was sick to death of getting drenched.

  Freya snorted quite indelicately. That won't be a problem much longer.

  A great boom detonated cracked wood and the door to the room exploded inward. Firemen clad in full emergency gear burst into the honeymoon suite.

  "Oh yeah," Victoria muttered. "We're being rescued."

  Chapter Eight

  * * * *

  A dozen different emergency vehicles ranging from police cruisers to fire engines occupied the street in front of the hotel. Traffic cones and cops redirected the few passing vehicles. All the hotel occupants congregated in clusters while a mix of uniformed officers and hotel security stood watch over the unhappy crowd. Most of the guests were disheveled as a consequence of having been dragged out of bed. Following the fire alarm, the entire hotel had been evacuated while safety crews performed a thorough inspection of the property.

  "Okay, Victoria. That's everything I needed to know." Officer Sims flipped his report pad closed.

  "Are we done then?" A wave of heartfelt relief swept her to have the uncomfortable interview finally over. Throughout, she'd stuck to the cover story she and Daniel had hastily constructed—a fire had started in their room, setting off the alarm and sprinkler system. She didn't know the cause of the fire but if pressed to speculate, maybe bad wiring had been at fault?

  "We're done. If there's anything else I can do for you..." His gaze lingered on her—an interest that had nothing to do with his job and everything to do with the way her wet t-shirt clung to her breasts.

  "Thank you, but no." She offered a polite smile in rebuff. Although there were things the police officer could've obtained that she needed, such as a dry set of clothes. After an hour in the back of the ambulance beneath a thermal blanket, her shirt and jeans were still soggy.

  On cue, an EMT with the ambulance crew appeared from around the side of the vehicle. Jerome—early-thirties, handsome, dark hair, and brown skin. He halted. His hostile regard flickered to Officer Sims. He raised his arm; a pair of plastic flip-flops dangled from his fingers. "I found a pair of sandals for you. They may be a bit big."

  "I'm sure they'll be fine. Thank you." Standing between the two men, she set the shoes on the ground and slipped her feet into them. As predicted, they were a couple sizes too large but she didn't care—better than going barefoot. Now she just needed to find her missing companion and—

  Through convenient coincidence, Daniel approached from the direction of the hotel. He wore his sheriff's badge in plain sight on his belt—the credential that allowed him to move among the other officials but then hesitated, frowning at the two men who'd been hovering over her for the last half hour. She suppressed a snort—served him right for disappearing on her.

  "Oh, I see my husband. Thanks guys! You've been terrific." Victoria slipped between them and made a beeline for Daniel.

  "Sorry for leaving you alone for so long. I had to run interference with the local police." Daniel settled his hand against the small of her back. The hunter had acquired a clean shirt, but she caught the distinct odor of wet denim. He must be at least as uncomfortable as she was.

  "No problem. I understand." She hesitated, pondering. "I think I have a lead on locating Mac."

  "Yeah?" He lit with feline intensity. A question trembled on his lips, but he held it and followed her, demonstrating an impressive combination of self-discipline and trust. "That's great. All those old papers are probably ruined. Even if something survived, I doubt we'll be able to get back into the suite anytime soon. There's an arson investigator on the scene."

  Victoria winced. "Do they think we...?"

  "Maybe... But even if they do, don't worry about it." He shrugged. "My family has enough influence it won't stick."

  She pressed her lips together in a grim line and bit her tongue. His family might have sway, but hers didn't. Arson charges could ruin her career. But no, he'd trusted her with his life during the fight with the wight. She o
wed it to him to believe he would put the same effort into defending her as he would himself.

  "Hey." Daniel brushed his fingers across the inside of her elbow. His touch elicited a visceral reaction—electrified her skin—so every hair stood on end. His voice was a caress. "You know I've got your back?"

  "Yeah, I know." A smile split her mouth. Joy suffused her heart. Of its own volition, her hand snagged his in a tight grip. She swung their linked arms in a gesture of unity.

  Her smile faded, and she hesitated for a moment, considering. Everything she owned except the clothing she wore was currently inaccessible—at home in Phoenix or up in the hotel room. Daniel only had the weapons he carried on his person, which happened to include the wicked knife—a questionable blessing or curse.

  "Where are we going?" Daniel shortened his long stride to match hers.

  "Over to the Longhorn Saloon." From the look of it, the bar was still open. No matter, she hurried her steps, concerned it would close its doors at midnight since it was a weeknight. Outside of the college towns, small Arizona cities seldom had much nightlife.

  "All right."

  She let go of his hand and headed toward the corner at the closest stoplight. He turned, observing her progress. Maybe he expected her to wait or look back. She kept going and had the gratification of his rushed steps as he kicked it into high gear. Daniel caught up with her on the corner. When the walk sign lit, they crossed together.

  "Do you have your lock picks on you?"

  "Right here." He patted his pocket.

  "Good. We're going to need them."

  "Man, you just love the mysterious lead-in, don't you?"

  Victoria only smiled.

  They entered the Longhorn Saloon and paused within the entryway to survey the area. The bar was crowded with unkempt refugees from the Hermosa Inn. Apparently, others had shared their idea to refuge there. It made blending in far easier. They worked their way to the rear of the establishment where the restrooms were located in a short, dingy hallway. Just past it, a third door bore an "Employees Only" sign.