The Magic Hunt (Midnight Hunters)

by Raand, L. L.

  The Hound tilted its head until its great muzzle rested against her palm. The hide was warm and soft, lightly furred like a newborn pup’s. Its—her—breath was warm and her body strong. Misha slid her palms down the huge neck, leaned closer until she felt the steady heartbeat deep within the broad chest. “I want to run with you.”

  The next time I hunt, you will come with me.

  The words, the voice, were Torren’s, streaming through Misha’s mind as clearly as if spoken. She had only ever heard the Alpha’s voice in her mind when the Alpha called the wolves to hunt, but she knew this was right. Somehow, she was Torren’s to call too. Her wolf did not question it, and neither did she.

  “Yes.”

  The Hound growled softly, as if pleased, and the mist drew around them and settled a foot above the floor, an ocean of cloud pulled from the sky and brought to earth. Misha rose, and the Hound pressed against her leg.

  “I like you better as a Hound than a wolf.”

  Torren’s laughter echoed through her mind, and Misha gasped as the huge beast rose up to rub its head against her chest.

  The door behind her swung open, and she heard a startled shout. She pivoted, saw Jazz and the imperator framed in the doorway, saw the glint of metal as Jazz’s rifle barrel jerked up.

  “No!” Misha jumped between Jazz and the Hound as a blast shook the air. The blow propelled her back against the wall and she couldn’t see, couldn’t catch her breath. Her ears rang with the howl of an enraged beast, and then the splintering pain carried her into darkness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sylvan was halfway across the Compound on the way to her headquarters when she heard the shot. Her wolf went on instant alert and every wolf within ten miles followed. The dominants outside the barricades shifted to pelt and took up protective positions along the perimeter. Those inside rushed to their posts along the walls. Nondominants hurried to safeguard the young, prepare arms, and secure the communication lines and emergency escape routes. Sylvan bounded across the yard in two powerful leaps, landed on the barracks porch with enough force to make the building shake, and crashed through the door. The scent of rage, fear, and blood tore a warning growl from her throat as she searched for an enemy.

  Two wolves in pelt crouched in an open doorway at the far end of the hall. The red-gray, the smaller of the two, blocked the doorway, keeping the younger black wolf from leaping inside—Niki, the general, controlling her soldier, and probably saving Jazz’s life. From within the darkened room, the sound of hell poured forth like volcanic flame—a deep-throated roar that spoke of fury and madness. Sylvan had found her enemy. She covered the length of the hallway in a single leap and gripped Niki’s pelt at the base of her neck.

  I am here. What happened?

  Misha is hurt. That thing is a threat. Niki quivered, her wolf verging on the edge of attack.

  Wait.

  Niki whined, her shoulders bunched to spring.

  Wait! Sylvan barred Niki and Jazz from attacking until she was sure she faced an enemy set on battle.

  Across the room, a huge beast crouched over Misha’s bleeding body. The open maw was cavernous, spreading across a foot-wide muzzle, the thick black lips drawn back from dagger like fangs as long as Sylvan’s hand. Its deep-set ebony eyes beneath a broad heavy skull glowed with crimson swirls of molten lava. The leathery mahogany hide was drawn tight over a muscle-bound body as large as a grizzly. The beast roared and the air glowed with power. Sylvan had never seen its kind before, but her wolf recognized a supreme predator and snarled a warning.

  You have violated my territory, and I will give you no quarter if you don’t stand aside now. I’ve come for my wolf.

  The beast’s head slowly swiveled back and forth, its claws scraping the floor as it took one step forward. A direct challenge. You are not trustworthy. Your minions hurt her.

  Behind her, Niki growled and paced. Sylvan stared into the Hound’s fathomless eyes. No, they would never hurt her. Now I will have what is mine.

  I will take her to Faerie. She is mine now.

  No. Sylvan snarled and let her wolf rise. She partially shifted, her claws and canines extending. Her muscles thickened and her pelt flowed heavily down the center of her chest and abdomen. She is mine and will ever be mine.

  She is dying. The poison has spread too far. If I don’t take her quickly, she will be lost. Even I cannot resurrect a soul from beyond the mists.

  I can remove the bullet.

  The Hound shook its head again, its claws raking the floor. Not soon enough.

  Sylvan feared the Fae spoke the truth. The wound in Misha’s chest ran black with poison. Guards routinely loaded their rifles with silver shot when a Were was imprisoned, and Jazz’s shot not only damaged Misha physically, the silver prevented her from shifting and healing. Removing the silver might be too late if the poison crippled the cells throughout her body. If the bullet had struck her heart or a major artery, Misha had very little time left.

  I will not let you take her to Faerie. I will not lose her. Sylvan let her power roll, filling the room, drawing on the will of every member of her Pack with the legacy of generations of Alphas. The Master of the Hunt shuddered under her will. You will do what needs to be done here.

  The Hound stalked to Sylvan, their heads nearly level. Its flaming eyes roiled with fury. It caught Sylvan’s gaze and issued a challenge. I will try, but if she dies, I will have your soul instead.

  Sylvan smiled thinly. You will have to kill me first.

  I will.

  Shouldering the Hound aside, Sylvan strode to Misha and lifted her into her arms. When she straightened, Torren stood beside her, her eyes a glacial blue. She was luminescent, glowing with power that cascaded over Sylvan’s skin like frigid mountain water. The Fae’s cold rage crashed against her own burning fury. If they fought, the clash of their powers would level the forests.

  “I cannot feel her wolf,” Sylvan murmured, locking eyes with Torren. If she could not call Misha’s wolf, Misha would not have the strength to heal even if she removed the silver.

  Torren rested a palm over the wound and closed her eyes. A shudder passed through her. “The bullet is in her heart. I can slow her heart and slow the bleeding, but that may not be enough. If you let me take her to Faerie—”

  “If you can quiet her heart, I can remove the silver,” Sylvan said.

  “Can you guarantee she won’t die?”

  “Can you?”

  “In Faerie, she would live.”

  Sylvan pressed Misha’s pale, cool face to her chest and let her wolf warm her. “But not as a wolf.”

  “Faerie is a world unto itself. She would be happy.”

  “Happy?” Sylvan asked softly. “Are you?”

  Torren’s face shuttered closed. “I will wait to take her as long as I can. But if you fail…”

  “I will not fail.”

  Sylvan loped down the hall, signaling Jazz and Misha to follow. Jazz drew back, whimpering softly as Sylvan stalked past him. Niki shed her pelt and rose, blocking Torren’s path.

  “You will never touch the Alpha,” Niki said. “I will tear your throat out first.”

  “You are welcome to try.” Torren swept through the building and joined the Alpha as she bounded across the courtyard into another log building. The acrid scent of blood and the chemical aroma of drugs flooded the corridor. A dark-haired female stepped into the hall, her eyes widening as she took in Misha in Sylvan’s arms.

  “Oh no. Alpha—”

  “The Prima?” Sylvan growled, and the female shrank back a step from the wave of power undulating in the air.

  “She rests. All is well.”

  “Stay with her. I will see to Misha.” Sylvan signaled Niki to guard Drake and kicked open the door of the nearest room. It banged against the inside wall with a crack like thunder. The dark-haired female quickly disappeared back into the room opposite them and closed the door behind her.

  Torren followed Sylvan as she laid Misha on a n
arrow table covered with a plain sheet in the center of the nearly empty room. The shadows were alive with the pain and bravery of a hundred injured warriors, and Torren sent her respects to the souls of the fallen.

  “Are you ready?” Sylvan asked.

  “Yes.” Torren took Misha’s hand in one of hers and placed her other hand on Misha’s forehead. She let her magic rise, a melody carried on a warm summer’s breeze infusing Misha’s blood, easing her pain, diverting the flow of poison away from her vital organs like river rocks channeled a roaring stream.

  “I must get to the bullet,” Sylvan growled. “Her wolf is fading.”

  “Wait.” Torren gathered all that remained of her magic. With a burst of power, the hawk screamed and dove for earth. Misha’s heart slowed to a stop, her blood stilled, and the silver settled in torpid streams swirling without direction in her veins. “Now.”

  Sylvan plunged her claws into the wound in Misha’s chest. Misha’s lithe body bowed upward as Sylvan slowly eased her hand deeper and closed around her wolf’s silent heart. Torren concentrated on keeping Misha’s heart calm, channeling the life force of the earth and the sky into Misha’s struggling mind and body. Her vision dimmed and a crushing pain filled her chest.

  “I am almost empty,” Torren gasped. “Hurry.”

  “I feel the bullet.” Sylvan’s words rolled through Torren’s mind on a ferocious growl. “I need time. Can you dilute the poison?”

  “No, but I might be able to draw some of it forth,” Torren murmured, winding the spidery black strands around the filaments of her magic and pulling them across the psychic chasm toward her body. She gripped them in her fist and scattered them into the midnight sky where the night winds carried them away.

  “I have it.” Sylvan dropped the bullet into a basin near the table and pressed her hand to the gaping wound. Sylvan threw back her head and howled, calling every wolf in her Pack to send her their strength.

  Torren sensed Misha’s spirit surge. As the Alpha’s power claimed Misha’s wolf, Torren withdrew, carrying all that remained of the black death with her. Misha’s heart began to beat faster. After a minute, Sylvan moved her hand from Misha’s chest. A healing wound appeared between Misha’s breasts. Only a trickle of bright red blood escaped. At the same instant, the inky thread snapped free from Misha’s body, and Torren pulled it inside her. Her magic nearly exhausted, she fell to her knees, struggling to destroy the poison.

  “What do you need, Torren?” Sylvan gripped the back of Torren’s neck. Her wolf raced beneath the wavering hawk, and the night wind lifted its wings.

  The pressure in Torren’s chest eased. “Just food and rest.”

  “You shall have both. I am in your debt.”

  “No. We will call ourselves even this night.” Torren grimaced faintly and pushed herself to her feet. Misha’s breathing was even and unlabored, a light bronze hue returning to her ashen skin. Torren met Sylvan’s golden gaze. “She is young and strong, and your power is great. She will be able to shift soon and finish healing. She will not journey to Faerie yet.”

  “I will not let you take her, healthy or not,” Sylvan said.

  Torren brushed her fingers through Misha’s hair. “I won’t, unless she asks.”

  *

  Dru jerked upright on the narrow bed as the door to the cell-like room swung open. The hall beyond was dim, and a faceless shadow glided inside. She’d been half-asleep in a pleasant torpor after the human servants had brought her food and the Vampire blood slave had satisfied her physical needs. Her cat was at full strength now, and she crouched, ready to attack. The shadow took form, and Dru recognized the icy floral scent. Francesca. Her cat relaxed only a little. The Vampire Regent was a powerful predator, and even though her bite was filled with pleasure, it was still deadly.

  “I see you’re well.” Francesca set a glowing torch that appeared as if by magic out of the darkness into the sconce on the wall and closed the door behind her. Her blood-red gown was cut low, hugging her breasts and draping over her hips and thighs in luxurious folds. Her flawless skin pulsed with a faint ruby flush. She’d fed recently and well. Her thrall spread through the room on a wave of heat and honey.

  Naked, Dru stood, a light dusting of golden pelt streaming down her belly as her sex filled to Francesca’s carnal lure. Beside her, the Vampire slave Daniela whimpered and struggled to her knees on the bed, her head bowed in supplication.

  “Regent,” Dru said, keeping her cat on a tight leash. Her beast wanted to fuck or fight or both, and either would do. “How may I serve you?”

  Francesca suddenly misted to the bedside and traced her fingertips along the curve of Daniela’s breast. The blood slave on the bed hissed quietly and her hips rocked in urgent invitation. “I trust my Vampire was pleasing to you?”

  “Most pleasurable, thank you.”

  “Did you fuck her?”

  “No, Regent, but I fed her and she answered my needs.” The Vampire had been more than hungry—she’d been starving. When Dru walked into the room after Francesca’s guard unlocked the door, Daniela fell upon her like a cat on a fawn. The first strike had been so deep and so potent, Dru had instantly spilled her essence over her thighs in a hot torrent. Reeling from the force of the Vampire’s bloodlust, she’d staggered to the narrow bed where Daniela had taken her throat again and again, each time driving her to an explosive climax. Now that the urgent pressure of the hunt had been relieved for the moment, her cat was supremely satisfied.

  “Good, because I will need you at full strength tomorrow.”

  “I am ready to hunt again now if you so command.”

  Francesca smiled. “Soon. I think first I’d like to watch you fuck my Vampire. She’s fed, and now she hungers for satisfaction of another kind.”

  Dru’s skin prickled as another pulse of Francesca’s thrall flowed over her. Her clitoris lengthened. Her cat’s night vision cut through the shadows and the room leapt into sharp focus. Francesca glowed with power.

  “Yes,” Daniela crooned, her hands over her own breasts. She lay back, opening herself to Francesca’s view. Her gaze, blind with lust, fixed on Francesca’s face as she reached for Dru. “Fill me.”

  Dru didn’t hesitate. Her cat was in control, and the need to couple rode her hard. She fell on Daniela, one hand between Daniela’s thighs and her mouth at Daniela’s breast. She bit, tasting the sweet warm tang of Daniela’s hormones mixed with the blood she had given her. Her sex clenched, and she rode Daniela’s thigh in wild thrusts while she fucked her.

  Daniela writhed on the crest of orgasm, her eyes a scarlet sea of madness. Her head thrashed, her incisors scoring Dru’s shoulder. Dru roared.

  Murmuring encouragement, Francesca stroked the tense muscles in Dru’s ass until Dru exploded in a hot shower over Daniela’s thigh. Francesca saturated them both with her thrall, driving Dru’s cat into an unquenchable heat. “Take her again.” She leaned down and kissed Dru’s straining jaw. “I want you hungry tomorrow. I want you to catch me a wolf.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “She is healing,” Sylvan murmured. As the moments passed, the wound in Misha’s chest closed completely.

  Torren sat beside the narrow bed, the long pale fingers of one hand resting lightly on Misha’s forearm. Her eyes had lost the ice of winter and held the soft brilliant blue of an early spring morning. “Young and strong.”

  Sylvan reached out in search of Misha’s wolf and found her curled up quietly in the shadow of a great pine. A hawk perched high above her, its wings tucked, its eyes sharp as it scanned the skies above. Sylvan’s wolf settled down beside Misha’s and nudged her shoulder to let her know she wasn’t alone. The small gray-and-white wolf took a deep breath, shook herself, rumbled quietly, and then settled back to sleep. Sylvan withdrew, leaving her under the protective watch of the hawk.

  “How is it I can sense you?” Sylvan asked.

  Torren smiled. “Misha is the link.”

  “And can you—touch my wolf? Through Mis
ha?” Sylvan frowned. She was the link to all her wolves, and if she was vulnerable, then so might they be. Her dealings with the Fae had been limited to her meetings with Queen Cecilia or her emissaries, and she’d never detected any attempt to intrude in her mind. Her wolf would recognize any invasion, warn her of the threat, but Torren’s hawk appeared as naturally to her wolf as one of the Pack.

  “Do you mean, can I see your thoughts?” Torren laughed softly. “I do not need a link for that, Alpha Mir.”

  Sylvan snarled softly. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your wolf never hides, and the greater the threat, the more she emerges, even when you are not in wolf form. Right now, you’re not happy about trusting me. You’re also worried about whoever rests in the room across the hall. And this one”—Torren stroked the length of Misha’s arm—“she’s special, and you want to see her safe.”

  “They’re all special.”

  Torren nodded slowly. “Yes. I can see that too. She will heal.”

  “And then what? What will you have of my wolf?”

  Torren regarded Sylvan steadily, seemingly unconcerned that holding Sylvan’s gaze would send a challenge. When Sylvan snarled softly to warn her she was stepping close to danger, Torren’s lips moved upward as if amused, but her eyes held no humor. “I will have whatever she will give me, it seems.”

  “She is a wolf. Tangling is natural, and Fae magic is seductive. She will want to dance with you, and if she does…” Sylvan shrugged.

  “But you are not concerned about a pleasant few hours, are you?” Torren asked quietly.

  “You touch her wolf, even when she sleeps, and her wolf lets you. If she gives her heart, once given, she will be bound.”

  “And I am Fae. You think I have enchanted her?”

  “Have you?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Torren met Sylvan’s gaze, and Sylvan’s wolf padded into the shadows of the deep forest. The aroma of pine and earth surrounded her. A cool breeze ruffled her pelt. She lifted her muzzle, caught the scent of a foreign creature in her territory. A strange not-wolf ran through her land, weary and hungry and alone. Misha’s wolf pursued and caught her in the clearing where Sylvan watched. The not-wolf, her power a gleaming halo pushing outward to where Sylvan crouched, did not fight back but let Misha take her throat. When Misha brought her down, the wolf and the not-wolf touched.