Masters of the Hunt: Fated and Forbidden

by Sarra Cannon

  A jolt of elation jumped from Talon’s eyes, but quickly dimmed. “You had her blood?” A coldness swept across the cell again, reflecting the mood. “How?”

  Drake let out an exasperated humph. “Do you give a rat’s ass about how? I did. All you need to know is it may save her life.”

  Another war flashed over Talon’s face. His upper lipped curled, revealing a set of canine teeth. He snarled a warning. His mouth drew into a sharp line. He pushed off the wall and approached the bars. The rattle of metal echoed in the small cell as a key turned in the lock. Talon threw the door to the left. It churned like gears springing to life when it drew open.

  “Wise decision.” A slow smile spread over Drake’s face, until Talon slapped a pair of cuffs on him. He almost laughed at the absurdity of a shifter handcuffing a vampire, until the damnable things started to chafe his skin. He tested their strength with a quick tug and found them unmovable. “What the hell?”

  “A device courtesy of team eight.” Talon thumped him on the back—hard. “UV radiating cuffs. Works well on vamps.”

  “I’m not sensitive to the sun anymore,” Drake said, eyeing the round metal for signs of their freaky magic.

  “No, but too much UV concentration, lasers, or fire are effective weapons for a vamp of any age.” He grabbed the shotgun and dragged Drake down the hall. “Of course, shooting you in the heart and decapitating you would be effective too, but that’s if I wanted you dead. And I don’t...yet.”

  “Well, chief, aren’t you a sweet talker.” He twisted his wrists, curious about how much force it would take to break the blasted cuffs. “And quite the little science whiz.”

  “Not my invention.” He opened the door to an inner office and shoved Drake inside. “But incredibly handy.”

  The air stank of shifters. Shooter and the lead beeatch—emphasis on the B—stood over a desk, pointing at and perusing some paper. Valkyrie, aka lead beeatch, looked up, narrowed her pretty brown eyes, then pointed to the handcuffs and grinned. “It’s a good look for you, Drake.”

  “Thanks. You got something in black though?” He lifted his wrists high to give her a decent show, while inching forward to catch a glimpse of the paper. He flicked his gaze down, identifying a city map, and backed up faster than they could track. He continued the conversation without missing a beat. “Want the color to match my eyes.”

  “We might be able to arrange something,” Valkyrie said. Her posture stiffened, arms crossing over her chest. She turned her scrutiny on Talon. “Any reason the vamp’s out of his cell?”

  Talon strode to the desk, snatched the map, and held it in front of Drake’s face. “He can track them.” When Valkyrie went to speak, he waved his hand and cut her off. “Don’t ask.”

  “I’d track them a lot better without cuffs on.” No way in hell was he going to face some sicko—probably another phage—with his wrists shackled. Ok, maybe he would for Jame, but he wasn’t telling that to the shifters. No reason to put the idea in their minds.

  A gush of wind hit him in the chest. Two massive paws wrapped around his coat collar and yanked him inches off the ground. A wolf’s snout sniffed his jaw, baring long pointed teeth. Drake’s fangs sprang in response. He breathed deeply willing them away.

  “No need for the bravado, Talon. I understand your meaning.” He patted the shifter’s furry arm. He leaned closer, allowing the nasty canine breath to fill his nose. A black haze fell over his vision as he stared into the wolf’s golden eyes. “Listen well,” he whispered the faintest of sounds so Talon alone would hear. “You know of my feelings for your second-in-command. I will not allow her to come to harm.” The darkness inside him seeped from his skin sending forth icy pinpricks. “If you believe nothing else, if you trust not my word, then believe that, trust that.”

  A heartbeat of time passed before Talon shifted. Swift and seamless, fur disappeared, skin stretched and colored, bones reshaped, eyes returned to blue. Without a word, he encircled Drake’s wrists and removed the handcuffs. Shooter grunted in protest and moved to intercept, but Valkyrie, in a shocking move, reached out for the man’s forearm and held him back. She shook her head once and Shooter stood in place again as if he’d never budged.

  “What do you want us to do, Talon? Your team members, your call,” Valkyrie said. Compassion etched on her face in the draw of her brows and the frown on her lips.

  The room fell quiet. Drake dared not move. His heartbeat—yes, he had a heartbeat and could also stand garlic, wood, crosses and holy water, thank you very much, damn urban legends—drummed a wild rhythm.

  “Our time’s running out and we have no other leads. Let the vamp track them.” Talon pointed his thumb at Drake. “Keep a close eye on him and call me the second you have a location.” He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a cell. “I’ve got to check on Sera, but then I’m heading your way.”

  “We’ll put a lockdown on him. No worries, amigo.” Shooter’s lilting voice came off a shy too thrilled about their new orders for Drake’s taste.

  “Do not.” Talon stepped up to Valkyrie, imposing his size. The little psyke-shifter femme fatale circled her hands in a quick sweep to transform the air particles into a wall—a bleeding solid cement wall. Talon showed no signs of surprise. Hell, he didn’t even seem to notice. He walked to the side of the wall, leaned his weight on it, and stared down at Valkyrie. “As I was saying, do not go into the danger zone without me. You’re to await my arrival. Understand?”

  Valkyrie cocked an eyebrow. “I said your call. Stop stressing so much. You’ll get wrinkles.” She pinched his cheek and walked by him, crumbling the wall as she did so. “Now, go check on your girl and be ready for action.”

  A pocket of wind swept toward Drake, coiling around his body. “Now you, my friend, are going to be a good vampire,” Valkyrie said as she motioned toward the door. The air grew thicker, encircling Drake’s waist, wrists, and ankles. The clever snare worked better than even the cuffs. He smiled, begrudgingly impressed at the way the wench used her abilities to trap him. “Do we understand each other?”

  “Not going to be a problem. We all want to see this end well,” Drake said, showing a bit of fang. No reason to let them forget who—and more importantly, what—they were dealing with.

  “Excellent.” Valkyrie clapped her hands like a cheerleader.

  Go, team. Go. The thought had Drake snickering and kept his mind off the fear creeping through his veins. If that son of a bitch hurt Jame— He cut off that train of thought with a sobering, “Let’s get a move on, eh?”

  “Come on Shooter. Time to head out.” A pair of 10mm pistols rested in Valkyrie’s hands—girl went old school on her firearms. She checked the chambers, nodded, and placed them in holders strapped to her thighs. “Talon, we’ll call you. Be quick about your visit.”

  “I’m already gone,” Talon said. A blur flew passed them next, splitting the air and shaking the door.

  “Show off.” Valkyrie shimmied into a brown leather jacket and held the door open. “After you, vampire.”

  “Want to get a view of my ass, huh?” A certain shotgun wacked him in the kidney for that remark. Drake flashed a fang filled grin over his shoulder. “Shifters. No sense of humor.” Then, his attention directed inward as darkness bled across his vision. He focused his mind to one task, and one task only, nothing and no one else mattered. He sniffed the night air, catching a weak scent...almost imperceptible...of oranges. Jame. With the trail detected, the night enfolded him, unmasking the predator behind his civil façade.

  Chapter 23

  BLUE ROCK WAREHOUSE, CALGARY OUTSKIRTS, ALBERTA

  “Four hundred feet to destination.” The GPS spoke the directions like a call girl. Sera shook her head at it.

  “Gotta say Siri, I don’t feel so bad about giving your owner that headache now.” Getting around the hotel’s security hadn’t been easy, but a shot of her firepower in an empty restroom provided the perfect distraction for her escape. Procuring a vehicle had bee
n a bit trickier. But when that jerk-off had hit on her in the parking lot and grabbed her arm, well...knocking him over the head didn’t seem as bad a crime. Besides, she only intended to borrow the car, not steal it.

  Sera slowed the Porsche to a crawl as goosebumps broke over her arms. Warehouses loomed in the darkness like spiders’ webs, waiting to capture prey. She flinched, imagining the monsters inside. “Easy. Steady.” She could do this. She had to. Leaving Talon behind with nothing more than a simple note for him to discover had been the hardest part. But she wouldn’t let him walk into danger for her. She couldn’t.

  Slowing the car to a stop, she put a single foot on the ground and scanned the area. Down a dusty trail from the main roadway, three buildings sat in the middle of an industrial park. The center structure housed a tin sign with the words Blue Rock scribbled across it. “That’s the place.”

  She closed the door, pocketed the keys, and walked in plain sight. No sense hiding when she wanted to be found. The agents’ lives depended on it. Her shoulders tucked back and her spine straightened. She made certain to keep her head high.

  “Let’s get this over with.” She spoke to the emptiness, but hoped Guy was listening. The little shit had a habit of tuning in and out—with far more out lately. It made her gut tighten.

  Her senses tingled as she passed the large construction yard. Rubble littered the vicinity while massive equipment hinted at another building’s assembly. Her boots churned the dirt, changing the black to ashen gray. Dark, empty windows stood in rows like silent guardians across the tops of the buildings. The wind beat against the grooved aluminum roofs, creating a howl that swept over the area.

  Her blood chilled, but she forced her feet to move. “Breathe, Sera. You’re not powerless. Breathe.”

  Foreboding gripped her, an icy hold that transformed her muscles into a tight mass. Pressure collected in the middle of her forehead and she pinched her nose for relief. The movement reminded her of Talon’s habit, and for a moment, she froze to the spot. What the hell am I doing? Guilt tore her insides in two. She’d bailed on him, leaving nothing more than a pathetic note. If she walked into that warehouse, she might not walk back out. And she hadn’t said anything to him. Nothing about her true feelings.

  And how DO you feel, pet? Guy’s words wafted over her psyche like feathers—far too soft.

  “Does it matter?” she said on a sigh. “And where do you keep disappearing to?”

  I’m always around. You just can’t admit it. A taunting laugh rolled around her mind. Not so good with the gooey stuff, huh?

  “And there’s the old Guy.” Even as her teeth crunched together at his irritating jibe, she smiled. She didn’t want to walk into that place alone.

  You’re never alone, pet. Never.

  She bit her bottom lip and shoved away the implication in Guy’s words. “Let’s shelf that convo, okay? We’ve got trouble.”

  Ha. As if that’s something new.

  “Stuff it.” The grinding notes of a Dio tune calmed her enough to approach the warehouse’s solid green doors. She pushed the heavy metal and squirmed through the narrow opening. Lights flickered from long fluorescent bulbs suspended on crossbeams. It took some blinks for her eyes to adjust.

  Row upon row of boxes rested on grated shelves and ran from floor to ceiling. The stacks blocked the high windows at the top, preventing escape.

  “Good thing I’m not claustrophobic,” she muttered.

  A faint shuffling drew her. She leaned forward, straining her ears toward the sound. It emanated a few rows from the entrance. Keeping her back to the door, she walked with soft footfalls. As she passed the first two, she glanced down the aisles for signs of life. The stacks on both sides rose like towering spires. She listened, looked, and even sniffed, but nothing revealed itself until she approached the third row.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. The noise echoed over the corridor. She squinted, trying to identify its source. Five steps into the aisle, her boot’s rubber sole skid on the slick tiled floor. “Shit,” she cursed. Pausing and holding her breath, she glared at her shoes and debated on removing them. Needing to be found and getting caught in a trap were two far different things. Scratch, scratch. The strange scuffling continued; whatever creature made the commotion appeared undisturbed by her approach—or oblivious to it.

  She let out a long slow exhale. “Steady girl. You can do this.”

  Glancing at her watch, she counted five minutes until the official meeting time. If she wanted the advantage, she needed to get a move on. The scratching grew louder as she tread further into the aisle. Her senses heightened, prickling tiny flames along the back of her neck. A tide of heat rose from her core. Heavy steel grates blocked the end of the row, boxing it in. Her eyes locked on the dead-end, until the scratch, scratch started again less than a foot to her right.

  She blinked rapidly and reached toward the sound. Four cardboard boxes of varying heights and shapes stood on the lowest shelf. Her hands locked around the top left box and shifted it inches. Cursing her stupidity for not carrying a flashlight, she willed her eyesight to see in the dark opening. The scratching grew louder when she pushed the box further aside. She chanced leaning over the lower boxes to get a better look.

  Scratch, scratch, scratch. Her eyebrows shot up, the noise sounded over her shoulder. She spun around, ready to face whatever was causing it. Scratch, scratch. It rattled from the right. Scratch, scratch. Again to the left. Her heartbeat sped up. One after another, the scratching multiplied until it surrounded her on all sides.

  So, pet. Having fun?

  Shut up. Shut up. She screamed at Guy. “Enough,” she cried at the infuriating racket, feeling her blood rush through her veins in a swarm of molten lava. “Come out or I swear I’ll light this whole place up.”

  “Well, wouldn’t that be an ironic twist?” A man moved from the stacks, a figured dressed in black. His face remained in the shadows. His voice, though rough and hardened, gave her the strangest sense of déjà vu.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “A real déjà vu moment. No, Seraphim?”

  Her stomach clenched, the acid churning like a sea storm. She clutched her throat. What had sucked all the air from the room? Gods, she couldn’t take a breath. Her words fell hollow from her lips in a strained whisper. Only one man—no boy, really—ever called her that ridiculous nickname, angel. “Matt?”

  He emerged into the harsh warehouse light, a walking memory, a wraith from the past. The boy that had been her friend, the boy that had asked her for a date, the boy that had hurt her, the boy that she’d burned. Now, the boy existed no longer; the shell of this deranged man remained.

  “Dear gods above,” she said unable to hide her horror. Half his face drooped, covered with hideous scars. The skin puckered and sagged at awkward angles. The rest of his body remained hidden under a dark turtleneck, pants, boots, and even gloves. He stared at her with hatred in his brown eyes.

  “Attractive, isn’t it?” He touched the scarred side of his face with a gloved hand. “I consider it a war wound.”

  Sera reached toward him. Time rolled back to that fateful day so many years ago. She choked on a sob. Despite having gone too far, she never believed Matt truly meant to hurt her—she couldn’t believe it—and the guilt at how she retaliated tore her heart in two. “Matt, I’m so sorry. I never meant to—”

  “Save it.” He stepped away, hiding in the shadows once more. A sharp whistle rang through the air. Eyes cut the darkness, peering at her over boxes and behind stacks. “Eight years in a coma is a long time to dream, Sera. A long time to plan revenge.”

  Creatures emerged from every direction. Sera watched as their human facades fell away, unmasking the same monsters that killed the innocent people of Buckhorn. A simmer started deep in her veins as she glared at their wide snapping jaws, rows of long sharp teeth, and bulging eyes. The fire swam in her blood, igniting an inferno under her skin.

  “What do you think of my new friends?” Ma
tt’s one remaining eyebrow rose while the damaged part of his lip curled.

  She didn’t respond, instead taking count of the creatures. When she tallied twelve flanking her on all sides, she shrugged and turned to Matt. “You keep some interesting company these days.” Her words steeled as if from another’s mouth. She pushed her emotions into a tiny ball, sealed far away.

  If you feel pity for this bastard, we’re dead, pet. Guy’s presence whispered in her ears. He’ll pounce on the weakness and use it to his advantage.

  “I know,” she said, gritting her teeth.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they? And the perfect servants.” He approached one of the creatures and patted its head. Apparently female, its brown hair curled around her extended jaw. Long lashes swept over her bulging eyes and pale cheeks like some nightmare Snow White. Matt continued, grabbing the female’s chin and yanking it forward. “Phage, they’re called. They obey their master’s every command, completely submissive.” He shoved the female to the ground and stepped on her back.

  Sera’s insides twisted at the display, but she held still.

  “If they’re very good, they can earn control over their baser instincts, and even their freedom.” He dug the heel of his booted foot between the female’s shoulder blades. “And of course, they’re rewarded with meat.”

  “Meat.” The female hissed between a mouth of fangs. The pointed teeth ran from the front of her lips all the way to the base of the jaw, and dug into her gums.

  “Yes.” Matt bent his head and cooed at the female. “Your dinner is right there.” He nodded at Sera and removed his foot, releasing the creature.

  “Meat. Meat.” The chant began and rose to the rafters. The female sprang from the floor, leading the charge. Phage stalked toward Sera, encircling her and cutting off any chance of escape. “Meat. Meat.”

  A wave of fire spread from her core to her limbs. Flames singed her palms. Her survival instincts warred with a twisted sympathy for these creatures. If Matt used them, if they couldn’t fight his control, how could she just kill them? She’d be no better than a monster herself. Her stomach churned. She sidestepped three feet to position a large crate at her back. Phage closed in, poised a breath from launching an attack. She yelled over their growls to Matt. The bastard had climbed atop a box and sat with a smile on his face, enjoying the show.