The Hunted (The Abandoned Series Book 1)

by C. J. Hart

  “Stop it,” she growls. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

  Positioning her next to a table, I sit in the chair adjacent. I can think of a hundred things I could’ve done to save her from this.

  She grabs my chin. “I know what you’re thinking. Please, don’t. Don’t torture yourself.”

  Kat had no choice; he had no idea Ash was coming for Cassie. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have lured me out. He was lied to; it wasn’t his fault. His father was the one who suggested he go hunting, and Kat played right into their hands by inviting me along.

  Cass lowers her hand and groans. “Dad’s on the rampage.”

  I am, too. And I will not stop until the red-eyed fiend is dead. “Can I get you a drink?”

  A flight of sparrows catches her eye. She smiles as she watches them fly, dive, and weave about each other. “No, thanks.”

  “Eat?”

  “I have been having an unshakeable craving for something sugary.”

  I should’ve known. She’d blow through my stash whenever she visited the Adler’s.

  “But just sit with me for a minute.”

  “Okay.” I wait. I wait for her to ask the question that has been on my mind the last two days. It must be on hers, too.

  “Did you tell Miles that I need another book?”

  But that’s not it. “Yes, she’s dropping by this afternoon with a stack of best sellers.”

  “Cool.” She smiles again, and then looks at me. “Guess what?”

  “The aliens are coming to suck out your clever brain?”

  “Nope. Two more guesses.”

  “Teddy bears across the nation are forming an army?”

  She giggles, clutching her stomach. “Ow. No.”

  “Hm.” I lean closer, whisper in her ear, “I love you?”

  Her face drops. She shakes her head. “Jess is bringing cupcakes. Sorry.”

  I don’t believe her.

  It only takes a second for her acting to fizzle out. “Fine. I love you, okay?”

  I grin, take her face into my hands, and kiss her. Gentle, because she’s even more breakable at the moment. Then I press my lips to her forehead and nose—I know that makes her giggle. “For the record, I knew the second I saw you that I was in love with you. And that will never change.”

  She holds a hand over mine. “The wolf and the damaged little girl. What a couple we make.”

  “Good title for a book.”

  “Mm.” She brings my hand down to her lap, thoughtful.

  I can tell she’s about to ask the question that I’ve feared—that’s been haunting me. And I won’t hold back, because she needs to hear the answer and so do I.

  “Seb, can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.”

  She turns over my hand, her eyes tracing the days-old scars. “What happens when a human is bitten?”

  “They become a monster.”

  THE END

  I’d firstly like to thank the girls who, while only having known me a mere few months, have put up with my craziness and affinity for caffeine and cupcakes. Sarah, Kristy and Stormy—you three rock, and I owe you a lifetime of cupcakes!

  Secondly, thanks to one of my BFFs, Troy, for giving me the push I needed to start publishing and to send this book out to the world. You may not think your simple words of “then go for it” meant much at the time, but it gave me the courage I needed. Sometimes I just need a little push to get me going, and you’re always there to nudge me along.

  An endless amount of gratitude to Mum—for reading the raw, very first version of The Hunted and telling me, “It’s good”; and to my other BFF, Kiera—for you unwavering 16 years of support.

  A special thanks to Stormy (again) for fangirling over Sebby and making me feel like a rock star. Watch out Seb-lovers, she’s already staked her claim! ;-)

  To all at Clean Teen Publishing: thank you for believing in my story! I’m truly grateful I stumbled upon your company through another of your author’s books, and am excited to be a part of your team. Thanks to Rebecca Gober, Marya Heiman, Courtney Nuckels, Dyan Brown for all that you’ve done.

  And finally, I should probably thank my uncle Scott and aunt Robyn for graciously lending me their names to be used in this story. (They aren’t actually Hunters, I don’t think …)

  C.J. Hart (Also known as RenÉe Swann and Renée Shearer.)

  Renée Shearer writes young adult fiction under the name of C.J. Hart. Renée is a full-time writer who lives in Sydney, Australia, with a crazy pooch named Abbey and a boisterous, somersaulting rescue budgie named Kaleb. Her days are spent living in her fictional worlds and consuming way too much caffeine. She has an (unhealthy?) obsession with all things cupcake- and coffee-related plus Kerouac and YA dystopia/fantasy books. Renée can often be found surrounded by books, marathoning crime shows and munching on vegan goodies, on Twitter (@Renee_Shearer), Pinterest, or dancing in a rainstorm.

  Renée hopes to one day visit Rio and is currently learning Brazilian Portuguese.

  Website: www.reneeshearer.com

  Social Media Links:

  Twitter: twitter.com/Renee_Shearer

  Pinterest: pinterest.com/reneeshearer87

  Tumblr: renee-shearer.tumblr.com

  Instagram: Instagram.com/reneeshearer

  Goodreads (under my adult fiction pen name): goodreads.com/ReneeSwann

  Goodreads (as C.J. Hart): goodreads.com/CJHart

  Facebook (as C.J. Hart): https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCJHart

  Stay tuned to hear about the upcoming release of book #2 in The Abandoned Series!

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  If you enjoyed The Hunted, check out another shifter series— Never Forgotten by Kelly Risser. The first book is free! Read the first chapter here.

  10 years earlier

  Meara, where are you?

  I started to fall asleep when I heard Daddy’s voice. At least, he told me he was my daddy. I’d never met him.

  “Daddy?” I called in the dark. My throat felt funny, like when Mommy made me gargle with salt water when I had a cold. I held back a sneeze; a strange smell tickled my nose.

  Meara, honey. I’m looking for you. Where are you?

  He sounded far away. Why was Daddy sad? My stomach tightened, and my eyes welled with tears. “Where are you, Daddy?”

  Silence. The pain vanished, quick as it came. He was gone. I jumped out of bed and ran to my mom’s room.

  “Daddy’s so sad!”

  I flung myself onto her bed and crawled up until I could wrap my arms around her. Burying my face in her neck, I breathed in the gardenia perfume she always wore. “He wants to see us, Mommy, but he can’t find us,” I mumbled against her skin.

  My mom sat up, wrapping her arm around me. She whispered in my ear and stroked my hair. “It’s okay, Meara. You just had a bad dream.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.” I raised my head and dared her to challenge me. She didn’t say anything, but she looked funny. Was Mommy scared? My lip quivered. “Mommy, why isn’t Daddy with us?”

  “Oh, pumpkin.” Mom sighed and leaned back against the headboard, her arm tight around me. “It’s complicated. I love your father, and he loves us, but it just didn’t work out. He can’t be with us.”

  “Why not?” I searched her face, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “You won’t understand, sweetie. I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

  All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy;

  for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;

  we must die to one life before we can enter another.

  - Anatole France

  Present Day

  "Meara, come visit the ranch. I’m sure Uncle Jake won’t mind.”

  It was the second to last day of my junior year. I sat on the low, brick wall in front of Cedarburg High with my best friend, Kim. We were waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up. I didn’t care for Mark. I kept my opinion to myself,
so I wouldn’t hurt Kim’s feelings.

  Kim would be working at her uncle’s farm in Minnesota this summer. I was staying here. We wouldn’t see much of each other, unless I visited her.

  “I don’t know, Kim,” I said. “I’m scheduled to work most of the summer at the shop.” My mom’s friend owned a sewing and fabric store in downtown Cedarburg, Wisconsin. Mom and I both worked there. Rebecca and Mom taught classes, made quilts, and ran the store. I maintained the website and worked the cash register.

  “You could get away for a week or two,” Kim persisted. “Just ask your mom, Meara. You’ll never know unless you ask.”

  “All right, I’ll ask!” I laughed at her scolding tone. I said it to appease her, but the idea was interesting. Why couldn’t Mom and Rebecca run the shop for a week or two without me? They did it during the school year.

  “I’m heading home.” I stood up and walked down the sidewalk. Mark pulled up to the curb in his crappy, old truck. There was no point exchanging words with him, so I avoided eye contact.

  “Don’t forget to ask!” Kim yelled after me.

  I turned back and grinned. “Why do you think I’m leaving now?”

  My smile slipped when I noticed Mark eyeing a group of freshmen girls. He exchanged meaningful looks with a tall blond. I wouldn’t doubt if they hooked up at a party or something. Kim trusted him too much. When was she going to wake up and see him for the jerk he was?

  ***

  “Mom? Hey, Mom, I’m home!” I yelled into the house as I always did, tossing my backpack on the bench in the front hall. When she didn’t respond, I figured she wasn’t home yet. Sometimes she stayed late to help Rebecca restock or change the window display. Heading to the kitchen to get a snack, I found Mom standing at the sink.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked and kissed her cheek. Not waiting for an answer, I took a carrot off the cutting board and opened the refrigerator. I was so preoccupied in my search for something tastier than a carrot, that it took me a few minutes to realize she hadn’t responded. I turned and looked at her. “Mom?”

  She didn’t respond. She washed the same dish over and over, staring out the window. What was going on? My mom was many things, but a daydreamer wasn’t one of them. I walked over, placed my arm around her waist, and gave her a small squeeze.

  “Meara!” She jumped and squealed. “You startled me. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “Are you okay?” I asked. Her eyes were shadowed and sunken with dark circles. Mom never looked this exhausted. She was the most optimistic, dynamic person I knew. She exuded so much energy that she tired me out.

  “Fine.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve been talking to you, and you didn’t answer.”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I didn’t hear you.”

  “Or notice when I kissed your cheek,” I added.

  She looked startled. “I guess I was lost in my own thoughts.”

  I touched her arm. “What’s going on, Mom? You’re not acting like yourself.”

  She smiled at me. My mom had a great smile, but this one worried rather than comforted me. It was fleeting, and it never reached her eyes. She touched my hair and motioned to a chair. “Honey, why don’t you sit down? I need to talk to you about something.”

  Uh-oh. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. Mom sat first and waited until I was seated. She took my hands in hers, holding them tightly. It was painful. I resisted the urge to cry out or pull my hands away. She seemed to need the contact. We sat in silence while she clenched my hands, then she sighed and closed her eyes. Tears escaped in a trail down her cheeks.

  “I saw Dr. Maxwell today.” Her voice was so quiet that it took me a moment to understand what she said.

  “Dr. Maxwell?” I was confused. Dr. Maxwell was my mom’s oncologist; he treated her breast cancer five years ago. “Why didn’t you tell me you had an appointment today?”

  She sighed and touched my cheek, “I didn’t want to scare you. I actually went in for some tests about a month ago, and he asked me to come back.”

  I couldn’t believe that she kept this from me. “You’re okay, right?”

  When she tried to smile, her lips just quivered. She shook her head and began to cry in earnest. Big, wet tears slid down her pale cheeks. “Meara, he said the cancer is back. Only this time, he found it in my intestines, liver, and kidneys. This new growth is aggressive. ‘Stage 4,’ Dr. Maxwell called it.”

  I blinked back my own tears. While my mother, who was so strong, sobbed next to me, I thought about the first time she had cancer. I was in sixth grade, and the severity of her situation hadn’t sunk into my twelve-year-old brain. Mom had been so strong, first going through a lumpectomy and then enduring months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. She lost her hair and got so thin. I remember feeling each individual rib in her back when I hugged her. It was agonizing to watch the person I loved most in the world wither away in front of me. Thankfully, the treatments took effect, and she slowly got better. The doctor gave her a clean bill of health a year after her original diagnosis.

  “You can fight it, right?” I asked.

  “Dr. Maxwell recommends slowing the growth with chemotherapy and radiation.” Mom composed herself a bit, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. I followed her movements, and my eyes tracked the long, black streak her mascara left on her hand. After I handed her a napkin, she dabbed at her eyes and added, “He says surgery is not an option. It’s too far spread.”

  “What does that mean?” I was angry now. Why would the doctor advise her not to operate?

  Mom took a deep breath, and I sensed how much it pained her to say these next words. “If they open me up, I might never heal. My prognosis is six months to two years, perhaps a little longer with intense treatment.”

  It wasn’t what I expected to hear. The horror of it made me jump from my chair and bolt into her arms with gut-wrenching sobs. “Oh, Mom. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Oh, baby, and I don’t want to leave you.” Mom held me tight, and we clung to each other and cried. Her body shook as she sobbed. I held her as tight as I could. I hoped to give her comfort and take my own in return. When we couldn’t cry anymore, we simply sat together, each of us lost in our own miserable thoughts. After a while, Mom straightened up and pulled away. She wiped her face with another napkin.

  “We’ll make the most of our time together, okay?” Mom touched my cheek. “And, I’ll do everything I can to fight this.”

  “Okay.” Grabbing a napkin, I wiped my nose.

  Mom patted my knee and stood up. “I’m turning in for the night.”

  I glanced at the clock. “It’s not even six, Mom.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I’m exhausted.”

  She looked at the vegetables on the cutting board and smiled apologetically at me. “I didn’t get too far with the dinner preparations. If you are hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge or lunchmeat.”

  “I’ll be okay, Mom,” I said. “Thanks.” I stood and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Once she left for her room, I put the vegetables away. I took out a container of leftover chicken salad and a Diet Coke, going in the living room to flop down on my favorite recliner. Aiming the remote control at the TV, I mindlessly grazed through the channels. I couldn’t remember what was on that night. I barely noticed what I ate. I was seventeen years old, and my mom was all I had. What was I going to do?

  ***

  I smelled the smokiness of bacon before my eyes even opened. Most weekday mornings were all about cereal and yogurt. We reserved hot breakfast for the weekend. Mom must have woken up early. I dressed fast and went downstairs.

  I yawned as I came into the kitchen. “You’re cooking?”

  Mom smiled. Although her eyes were puffy, she seemed better. “I figured that I owed you one after bailing on dinner last night.” She set a plate of scrambled eggs an
d bacon on the table. “Do you want some orange juice?”

  “I can get it,” I told her. “Go ahead and fix your own plate.”

  “All right. Pour me a glass, too, please.”

  We sat and ate in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. When we finished, Mom gave me a considering look. “I think it’s time to introduce you to your grandparents.”

  “My grandparents?” I repeated. “Mom, I don’t understand. You haven’t talked to them in years.”

  “I thought about it last night,” she continued. “Your grandparents are the only other family you have, Meara. When…” I gave her a look, and she corrected herself. “If I go, I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “But don’t they live in Canada?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at me expectantly, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, I asked, “Are they coming here?”

  “No,” Mom said. “We’re moving to Peggy’s Cove.”

  “For the summer?” I’d never get to the ranch with Kim, and Peggy’s Cove sounded boring. It was a fishing village in Nova Scotia. Super small and probably full of smelly, old people. I couldn’t think of a worse place to spend my vacation.

  Mom shook her head. “For good.”

  For good? My heart sank. “We can’t move. All my friends are here! It’s my senior year. I can’t start over at a new school.”

  “Meara.” Mom’s voice took on that no-nonsense tone. “We’re moving.”

  “But, Mom…” I whined, hating myself even as I did.

  “No buts, Meara. I’m not giving you a choice. In two weeks, we’ll be in Peggy’s Cove.” Her eyes filled with sympathy, but her voice remained firm.

  “This is so unfair!” I was about to say more when I looked at my mom’s pale face. Oh god. Unfair was the fact that she was dying. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

  “I understand, Meara.” Mom’s voice softened. “I know this is hard for you. I wish there was another option.”

  Standing, I put my plate in the sink. I had to get out of here before I said something I’d regret. How could she move us to Canada and not even ask me first?