The Magic Hunt (Midnight Hunters)

by Raand, L. L.

  Dru pressed tighter to the limb, her head resting on her paws as she watched the trio move into the small clearing. The blood trail was visible even at a distance. The black wolf was bleeding heavily, and if the Alpha was a personal escort, the black wolf was of major importance. More interesting news to take back to her new employer.

  She hissed softly, her breath a mere whisper on the breeze as she recalled the moments she’d spent in Francesca’s bed. She’d fed Vampires before, but never one as powerful as the Regent—the pleasure that had been forced upon her was beyond description. And dangerous. She’d been weak after, not from blood loss—she could host a dozen Vampires and not feel the effect—but from pleasure. Whatever the Vampire Regent had done to her had clouded her mind and drained her body of strength. And even now, she craved more. For one mad instant, she contemplated stalking the wolves and ambushing the wounded wolf. If she brought the black wolf back to Francesca as a trophy, she would secure her place in the Regent’s bed.

  But Sylvan was said to be invincible in a fight, and even the promise of pleasure vicious enough to drive her cat to her belly was not enough to banish all reason. Dru backed down off the limb, dropped softly to the ground, and turned to go back the way she had come. Francesca would be grateful to learn that her prisoner was hiding in Sylvan’s territory, and for now, gratitude was enough.

  *

  Drake stumbled to a halt. I’m delaying you and it isn’t safe for any of us. Send Max ahead to bring back a Rover. I don’t think I can run the rest of the way.

  Sylvan circled her anxiously, whining unhappily in the back of her throat. She nosed Drake’s neck and licked the wound on her shoulder.

  The bleeding is slowing, but the wound isn’t closing. The more I run, the more I’ll bleed. We’re in Pack land—it should be safe to stop now.

  Sylvan paced. We might be pursued. They were foolish enough to attack us once in our own territory, they might be again, especially if a patrol found the dead we left behind.

  Drake stiffened. I will not run or hide from a fight. If we are attacked on our own land, we must fight.

  Sylvan’s lips drew back. There is no hiding from a wolf, even if we wanted to. They’ll smell us. But we can at least choose a place to fight to our own advantage.

  I’m sorry.

  You’re wounded. There is nothing to be sorry for. Sylvan spun around, and Max, surprised by her quick movement, flattened on the ground in automatic submission. Sylvan lifted her muzzle, calling him to her. Go on ahead. We’ll wait here. Bring back a Rover and a medic.

  Yes, Alpha.

  Run faster than you’ve ever run.

  Max’s eyes gleamed. You can count on me, Alpha.

  Sylvan watched him go, raging, barely able to resist charging back to Blackpaw territory and killing anyone in her path. If she didn’t have to look after Drake, she would lead a raiding party back there without worrying about explanations. They had violated her territory, attacked her soldiers, wounded her mate. There was no answer for what had been done but swift and lethal retribution.

  Drake curled up against a rocky escarpment that rose to the tree line thirty feet above her head. No one could come up behind her, and unless they dropped from the sky, she was safe from above. She watched the narrow path they’d taken out of the woods and readied what strength she had left in case of attack. Sylvan stood guard in front of her, her legs planted wide, her head swinging from side to side, fury in every quivering muscle. I’m going to be all right.

  Sylvan didn’t acknowledge her, although Drake knew she felt her words. Sylvan’s rage was as formidable as it had been after Andrew had been killed, and Drake doubted anyone other than her could penetrate Sylvan’s cloak of fury. But Sylvan would always hear her, even when ruled completely by her wolf. Even half-feral, Sylvan was hers. We can’t fight them now. We don’t even know what happened—why our patrol was attacked. When we retaliate, we will have a plan, and we will attack with purpose. Come lie down with me.

  I must watch the trail.

  You can watch it from here. I need your heat. Come.

  Sylvan hesitated for only a few seconds, then spun around and dropped down by Drake’s side. She pressed close, putting her body between Drake and any enemy who might approach. Drake rested her muzzle on Sylvan’s shoulder, her breath a soft trickle of heat against Sylvan’s ear. We’ll be home soon. Safe.

  Sylvan growled.

  Drake nipped softly at her muzzle. I know you’re worried. Just stay by my side.

  I will never leave you.

  Drake closed her eyes, certain of the truth of Sylvan’s words.

  *

  “Can’t you get any more speed out of this thing?” Max grumbled from the passenger seat, aggressive hormones flowing off him in waves.

  Niki gritted her teeth and fought the wheel as the Rover rocked over the uneven ground, its oversized tires crushing the underbrush, and the fenders peeling bark from trees as she squeezed the vehicle through passages where no trail existed. “Not if I want to get us there with the undercarriage intact. I can feel the Alpha. We’re close.”

  What she felt was rage, a terrible fury that pounded through her, heating her blood to a fighting frenzy Sylvan was ready to go to war. Max was barely holding back his wolf. If he made any sudden moves, she was going to be at his throat.

  A cool hand wrapped around the back of her neck. Sophia’s lips caressed her ear. “You’ll get there in time. I need you to keep everyone else calm. Max—and the Alpha.”

  Niki snarled but nodded. She could sense Sylvan but not the Prima, and her stomach clenched. Her wolf clawed for freedom but she had more experience than any other wolf at absorbing the Alpha’s call. The Alpha needed her to be in control now, and she would be. “All right. But stay in the Rover until I tell you it’s safe.”

  “She won’t hurt me,” Sophia murmured. “But I’ll wait.”

  After what seemed like an eternity, the Rover’s headlights slashed across an opening in the treeline and Niki edged into a small clearing. Sylvan rose naked in half-form from the shadows, her jaws elongated, her limbs ending in huge lethal claws. She strode directly toward them, snarling a warning. Niki slammed the Rover to a halt and sucked in a breath. Pheromones so potent she almost choked flooded her system. Shuddering against the onslaught, struggling not to shift, Niki pushed out through the door and stumbled a few steps toward Sylvan. Dropping to her knees, her arms outstretched on either side of her body, she tilted back her head and exposed her throat. One swipe of Sylvan’s massive claw would tear out her throat, and even if she shifted instantly, she would probably die.

  “We’ve come to help the Prima,” Niki said softly, her gaze downcast. “We offer no challenge.”

  Sweat dripped from Sylvan’s pelt-streaked body and a low continuous rumble emanated from her heavily muscled chest. Niki heard the sound of the Rover door creaking open behind her but dared not move.

  Go back!

  Sophia, her white-gold hair shimmering in the waning sunlight, slipped up beside Niki with the med kit in her hand. She knelt, her shoulder brushing Niki’s. A soothing calm quieted Niki’s clamoring heart.

  “Alpha,” Sophia said gently, her voice steady and strong. “Will you let me help the Prima?”

  “No one touches her,” Sylvan snarled.

  Sophia flinched at the fury emanating from Sylvan and glanced up. “I must touch her to care for her.”

  Niki grasped Sophia’s arm. “Go back.”

  Sophia pulled slowly away. “Please, Alpha. Let me help her.”

  Sylvan knew Sophia was no threat, but her wolf was beyond control. She’d been hunted, attacked, her mate seriously injured. She was beyond reason. Sylvan breathed deeply, drew on the strength of Pack and the unwavering loyalty of her closest Packmates. “Don’t. Hurt. Her.”

  “Never,” Sophia whispered.

  Sylvan turned, knelt by the slumbering black wolf, and motioned for Niki and Sophia to edge forward. “She’s been deep in sleep for the l
ast few hours. The bleeding is better, but she’s not strong enough to heal everything on her own.”

  “How safe are we here?” Sophia asked, opening her kit and removing fluids and medication. “I don’t want to move her until the bleeding has slowed.”

  Niki stood over them, Max at her side. “You’re safe to do whatever you need to do. The other centuri are here. We’ll keep the Alpha and Prima safe.”

  Sylvan scented Dasha, Jace, and Jonathan in the forest and focused on Sophia, who parted the pelt around the gash in Drake’s shoulder. Drake twitched and Sylvan growled. Niki crouched next to Sylvan, easing slightly between Sylvan and Sophia.

  “Alpha, Sophia is a medic. She’ll take care of the Prima.”

  Sylvan looked on the verge of attacking. Niki shuddered but kept her gaze fixed on Sylvan’s cheek, avoiding direct eye contact but keeping her head up, exerting the strength of her position as Sylvan’s second. When Sylvan needed a cool head in the midst of battle, she was there. And this was a battle to define all battles.

  “You must see to the prisoner when we return,” Sylvan said, her voice so contorted by the partially transformed vocal cords her words were barely distinguishable from one another. “If I see her I will kill her.”

  “I’ve given orders for her to be placed in a cell under guard. I will interrogate her as soon as we return.”

  “I want to know why. I want to know who gave the order.” Sylvan rose to her feet, power flooding the forest, and tilted back her head to howl at the rising moon. “I want to know who I should kill.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Francesca lounged in the center of her broad bed, human twins—both young, blond, beautiful, and naked—curled up on either side. Idly she stroked the somnolent brother and sister and watched the monitors set into the Louis XVI armoire on the opposite wall. At just after sunfall, Vampires and those who hoped to host for them before the next dawn streamed into the club. Underground in her lair, human servants, blood bound, and blood slaves fed her court, handmaidens, and guards. Once the Vampires had fed, they were sexually potent and most lingered in their quarters, satisfying their urges with each other—with or without a coterie of their blood hosts. Ordinarily, she would have spent the early evening enjoying half a dozen hosts along with the sexual skills of her favorites, but tonight she had fed alone. Michel was absent from her bed again.

  As she often did, Michel had spent the daylight hours in the offices Francesca kept in the lair beneath Nocturne, dealing with the business of running their various enterprises up and down the eastern seaboard. Like Francesca, Michel did not need to sleep during daylight hours and, like her, did so less and less as the decades wore on. But usually when it came time to feed, Michel was at her side. The one power Francesca still held over Michel, the oldest and most formidable Vampire of her line, was the ability to enhance Michel’s sexual pleasure with her own erotic allure. If she lost that hold on Michel, all that remained between them was history. Loyalty was a fleeting concept for immortals. The world around them changed, allegiances and alliances disappeared as death claimed others. She held dominion over those she ruled through only two means—violence and passion. She smiled to herself as the female beside her murmured and pressed close, her full breasts warm and heavy against Francesca’s arm.

  “Again, please,” the female whispered.

  Francesca circled her nail around the female’s nipple, leaving a thin trail of scarlet. The female keened softly, her hips rolling, and the scent of need teased Francesca’s senses.

  Violence and passion. So little really separated them. Violence, though, was a much simpler weapon.

  If one of her Vampires angered or challenged her, she imprisoned them and didn’t let them feed. They wouldn’t perish, but eventually they would long for true death, going nearly mad from hunger. If a Vampire threatened her rule or broke her commandments, she would take their head. Immortality, even for them, was relative. Swift, violent judgment. But those she ruled by passion, she did so only from her bed—the bed Michel had abandoned in favor of a series of Weres and blood slaves.

  Beside her, the female whimpered, and the male stirred. Francesca stroked his chest and abdomen, smiling at his instant arousal. She’d fed from each already but hadn’t been inclined to satisfy her sexual urges with them. Humans had so little stamina, and their blood, while adequate to replenish the absent elements in her own blood, failed to invigorate her sexual interest. She studied the two of them, amused by their blatant craving. They were slaves to their passion, while hers was her most potent weapon.

  “Please, please,” the female gasped.

  “Yes. Soon.” Flowing over the naked form, Francesca guided the female until the blonde faced the sleekly muscled male. Stroking them both, Francesca enveloped them in her sexual thrall. Easily entering the female’s mind, she teased her with images of unbearable pleasure and laughed softly as the voluptuous blonde straddled her brother, taking him inside with a wild cry. He groaned, his open eyes dazed and unseeing, as bloodlust swept him up in his own thrall-induced fantasy. He cupped the female’s breasts as she rode him in long frantic thrusts, her head thrown back and her belly heaving. Francesca leaned over and took the male’s throat. Hot sweet blood flooded her mouth and she pulled deeply.

  “God!” he cried, his abdomen rigid. Half rearing off the bed, he pumped his essence in long hard jolts into the convulsing female as Francesca swallowed.

  When she’d finished with the male, he slumped back in a stupor and the female fell across his body, whimpering as her orgasm tailed off. Humans were interesting to toy with, but they only whetted her appetite in bed. Francesca rolled onto her side and reached for the teacup on the silver tray beside her bed. She sipped the fragrant concoction and sent a mental call for Charles. With Daniela still in the dungeons and Michel absent, Charles would have to satisfy her needs for now.

  A moment later a rap sounded on the door and Francesca rose, pulled on a gauzy, champagne-gold dressing gown, and called, “Enter.”

  Charles came in, leading Dru. The cat Were looked leaner and edgier than when Francesca had last seen her. Her facial bones stood out beneath taut skin. Her green eyes were stark. She looked hungry.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you with business, Regent,” Charles said with a courtly bow, “but I felt you would want to hear what our tracker has discovered.”

  Francesca raised a brow. She hadn’t expected the cat Were to return so soon. “You’ve had a successful hunt?”

  Dru flicked a glance at the bed as a spark of gold flashed through her eyes. Francesca drew a breath, scenting the potent Were pheromones. Yes, humans were amusing, but Weres were so much more satisfying. The cat was hungry, and not just for food. She hadn’t satisfied herself after her hunt.

  “I hope you’ll think so, Regent.” Dru tipped her head in greeting, but her eyes held Francesca’s.

  Francesca sent a call to the guard outside her bedchamber and the door instantly opened. A tall, slender dark-haired Vampire slid into the room. “Yes, Regent?”

  “Take these two away, would you please, Richard.”

  “Yes, Regent.”

  Francesca motioned to Charles and Dru. “Let’s move into the sitting room.”

  She led the way and indicated that Dru sit beside her on the blue brocade sofa. Charles took the one opposite, carefully crossing his long legs, his thigh-high boots gleaming over his form-fitting black trousers. His white ruffled shirt was open at the throat, the full sleeves falling to wide ornate cuffs. In his time he would have been thought a dandy. Now she found his nonchalant masculinity refreshing. Francesca reclined with one arm stretched out along the curved back of the sofa and stroked Dru’s cheek. Dru’s canines gleamed as her lips drew back in a soft hiss.

  “Tell me,” Francesca said, toying with the tawny curls at Dru’s nape.

  “I’ve tracked your prisoner almost as far as the wolf Were Compound.”

  Francesca stilled. “Which wolves?”

  “The
Timberwolves.”

  “Really.” For the first time in weeks, Francesca was glad for Michel’s absence. “And her flight into wolf territory wasn’t by accident? They have a vast holding. Perhaps she was lost.”

  Dru snarled. “The path was no accident. The prisoner had a wolf escort.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “The scents were clear,” Dru said confidently. “Were and Fae, running together.”

  “You weren’t able to intercept them?”

  “I wasn’t close enough to overtake them before tonight,” Dru said, “and I thought it more important that you have this information immediately.”

  “Yes.” Francesca stroked Dru’s neck and the cat’s pheromones spiked. Indeed, the cat was hungry, and no doubt good for several vigorous rounds, but Francesca didn’t have time to indulge. “You’ve done well. Before you rest, you might like to visit one of my handmaidens. Daniela. She hasn’t fed today, and when she does, I think you’ll find the experience most”—Francesca drew a finger down the center of Dru’s chest—“satisfying.”

  Dru shuddered, her skin shimmering with golden pelt and sex-sheen. “I’m sure I will.”

  “Indulge yourself. You’ve earned it.” Francesca nodded to Charles, who led Dru to the door and instructed one of the guards to take Dru to Daniela’s quarters. She waited until they were alone again to speak. “That is unexpected.”

  “Yes.”

  Francesca poured claret into two crystal glasses and handed one to Charles. “Your assessment?”

  If Charles was surprised Francesca sought his counsel rather than Michel’s, her usual advisor, he didn’t show it. He took the wine and settled back on the sofa, his posture relaxed. “It would appear the wolves have broken their treaty with you.”