Taming the Hunter

by Michele Hauf

  “No,” he said softly, yet with a surety that she felt in her bones. “I’d like to stay the night with you. But I understand I’ve done something horrible. I can sleep on the couch out in the conservatory. I just don’t want to go back to the lonely hotel room.”

  “I’ll get you a blanket and pillow,” Eryss offered, and immediately went upstairs. She heard Dane open the door to the conservatory as she reached the top of the steps.

  From a hall closet, she retrieved a soft blue chenille blanket and then tugged a clean pillowcase over a fluffy pillow. Clutching them both to her chest, she bowed her face into the blanket and sought that wise, rational part of herself that she knew was her soul.

  She didn’t ask. She simply waited for an answer. And the one she got displeased her.

  Really? She shouldn’t trust him?

  Hmm...

  * * *

  Dane sat on the emerald sofa and stretched his legs, burying his toes in the grass. A guy could get used to living in a place like this. With a woman like Eryss.

  If the guy were not controlled by some wicked, witch-hunting dagger.

  She’d done the right thing by having her friend take the weapon away. Dane knew, without a doubt, that should he touch it again, it would once again control his thinking and he would go after Eryss with a vengeance. He didn’t want that to happen. No matter what crimes she’d committed against him in his past.

  Because it had been his past. Entirely different lifetimes. Entirely different people. Only the same souls. He wasn’t sure how to process that. This soul discovery stuff was new to him.

  But what was done was done. There was no reason to carry a grudge through the centuries. Somehow the dagger had been enchanted with his anger and desire for revenge, and now it seemed to possess a life of its own.

  He needed that thing destroyed. Or it would destroy him. And Eryss. The Agency did have a contingency plan for items too volatile to contain, and he would mark the witch blade as a candidate for that backup plan.

  He tugged out his phone, did the math on the time difference from the States to Europe and, instead of calling, decided to text his boss for further instructions regarding the dagger.

  The conservatory door opened and Eryss padded across the grass. She handed him a soft, snuggly blanket and tossed a thick pillow at the end of the couch. He wouldn’t even ask to sleep with her. He had no right. And if she’d wanted that, she would have offered. He didn’t deserve that intimacy with her.

  Not until he could prove he did deserve it. And he wanted to, so he would prove it. Because...he didn’t think a person could fall in love so quickly. But perhaps he had. How was a person to recognize love in the midst of such a conflicting storm of emotions?

  “Thanks. This means a lot to me,” he said. “You don’t have to be so kind, Eryss.”

  “No, I don’t have to be, but I want to. You should know that every bone in my body is screaming for me to push you away and wipe my hands of you. No woman would ever be stupid enough to allow a man to curl up on her couch for the night who, just an hour ago, came after her with a death wish.”

  “Then why are you allowing it to happen?”

  She sucked in her lower lip. Dane hated to see that soft, rose mouth shaped in sadness. Another glint of a tear glimmered in her eye. He hated himself for that.

  “Because you are mine,” she said in a wobbly tone that betrayed her struggling emotions. “And I am yours. And what we’ve had up until now has been amazing. And maybe we just need to get over this one bump in the road in order to really learn how amazing the two of us can be together. I’d like to celebrate my birthday with you.”

  Feeling his own tears threatening, Dane clasped her hand and looked up at her. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “Yes, you do. I’m no saint, nor do I belong on a pedestal. I’m a witch. And you’re a witch hunter. We should hate one another. And maybe ancient, visceral parts of us do. But we’re together for a purpose. We need to learn from one another. Souls don’t cling to one another through the ages for no reason. We chose each other, over and over, and we’ll keep doing that until a lesson is learned. And we’re going to get things right this time.”

  “Even if it kills us?”

  “If it kills us, we won’t have gotten it right.” She bowed her forehead to his and closed her eyes. Her hair swept his cheeks and Dane closed his own eyes, taking in her wintery sage scent. “Know me,” she said. “As you have always known me.”

  He knew she was speaking of the first time they’d found one another, fallen in love and married. He’d witnessed that time, but he hadn’t known all. Such as why she’d been compelled to kill his father. It was the key to solving this bizarre reenactment of their pasts.

  After she stood and dropped his hand, she tucked the blanket around him, and Dane leaned back on the couch.

  “Would you mind if I snuggled with you for a while? I’m so tired. And I know I need a shower, but—”

  “Come here,” he said. Lying down, he patted the couch before him and lifted the blanket.

  She climbed under the soft chenille and snuggled her head against his shoulder. Dane glided a hand up her back and held her gently, without demanding anything, inhaling sage and the sweet summer grass.

  And he wondered if love really could save them.

  Chapter 22

  Dane’s hair was still wet. He’d taken a shower in Eryss’s bathroom after he’d risen this morning to find himself alone on the couch. Now, freshly showered, he spied Eryss in the kitchen stirring something in a pot over the stove.

  She greeted him with a smile and a kiss, and placed a bowl of oatmeal before him. “Fresh-squeezed lemon juice or water?”

  “Both.” Cinnamon, chia and blueberries were stirred into the breakfast oatmeal. “I think your shower pipe needs a twist with a wrench. It’s starting to leak. If you have a toolbox I can take care of that for you.”

  “It’s out in the garage. You can’t miss it because it’s pink.”

  “I’ll do that before we leave. We’re going to see the werewolf who has the dagger today, yes?”

  She sat next to him and set juice and water before him. “I had intended to go to Malakai Saint-Pierre’s home and see what was up.”

  “I’m going along. I know the dangers, and I promise I will keep at a distance. But don’t shut me out of this, Eryss. This is not something we can defeat on our own.”

  “I agree. Will you allow me to put a protection spell on you? Something to keep the energy from the dagger away from you?”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  “Then here’s to working together.” She held up her water glass and Dane met it with a clink of his own.

  “Tell me what you want out of this relationship, Eryss. I’m curious.”

  “Are you thinking I want to get married, have kids and live happily ever after?”

  He lifted a brow. “You said you performed a spell to bring your long-lost love to you. What other intentions would provoke you to do so?”

  “Honestly? I’ve never thought beyond the finding him part.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was lying to herself or just him, but Dane wanted to believe her. On the other hand, if she’d confessed to wanting a life together, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t have upset him. And how crazy was that?

  “Can we take it one day at a time?” she asked.

  Dane lifted his glass again and she met it for another toast. “To one day at a time. And...to standing strong together. No matter what.”

  “No matter what.”

  * * *

  Malakai Saint-Pierre lived out in the country, near Clover Lake, which was a good drive from where Eryss lived. She’d called ahead, and Kai and his son Trouble were both eager to talk with her. She mentioned she was bringing Dane, and Trouble had cautioned her to ensure he kept his distance.

  “So, werewolves.” Dane scrolled through his cell phone messages as Eryss drove north. “I’ve seen one shift but didn’t sti
ck around to shake its hand and chat with it. Tell me what I need to know.”

  “They’re just like you and me when in their were or man shape. Regular guys. Though Trouble bears that name for a reason. When he and Valor go out drinking, that can turn into one heck of a hot mess. ’Course, it’s good for a woman to get into such a mess at least once in her life.”

  “Is that so? How many hot messes have you partaken in?”

  “There was a guy in high school. He may have been the one to teach me the virtues of beer drinking. Although he took it to excess. He liked beer, NASCAR and Jesus.”

  “Whoa. I bet the witch didn’t play well with his theologies.”

  “Never told him my beliefs. Just marked it off as an adventure and moved on.”

  “Am I another adventure?”

  “You are,” she said with certainty. “But you’re not the kind a woman can easily move on from. What about you? Have you ever had any wild and crazy relationships?”

  “I’ve been lucky on the crazy front. No wild women to speak of. And I would call myself a regular guy. Very calm and rational.”

  “And deadly with a dagger.”

  “Apparently. But I thought you weren’t going to hold that against me?”

  “I’m not. Maybe we’re both in our hot mess phase right now.”

  “You think? Well, if you’re a hot mess, I’m in for the ride.”

  “You know all the right things to say. That’s the place just ahead.”

  Eryss navigated down a narrow gravel driveway, which had been plowed to an icy slick space. Bare-branched maple trees stood among thick northern pines and straight birch trees with pale bark. The Saint-Pierres owned a vast amount of land that included forest. It must be a dream to have so much undisturbed nature right in one’s backyard. Eryss could live anywhere so long as she had nature. She might even consider surfing, just for the experience. Opening a brewery in California was looking more and more like it deserved a mark in the “possibility” column of her life.

  She parked before an architecturally stunning brick two-story, all angles and jutting roof and windows in shapes to accommodate the slants and lines of the building. Snow glittered on the rooftop, and the windows gleamed in the rare winter sunlight.

  A tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair skipped around the corner of the house. He wore only jeans, boots and a T-shirt that showed off his bulging biceps and tight abs. Trouble Saint-Pierre. He waved and gestured for them to follow him.

  “You ready for this?” Eryss asked Dane.

  “You were going to put a protection spell on me?”

  “Right. You want one against the werewolf, too?”

  Dane bristled proudly and shook his head. “Nah, I can take him.”

  No one could take Trouble, but Eryss wasn’t going to bust Dane’s alpha pride, so the protection spell against enchantment was all she put over his aura.

  * * *

  Dane was feeling slightly less manly bundled in a winter coat, gloves and scarf, while standing next to the werewolf with the abs on crack. If he’d gotten his name for a reason, Dane knew he had to be cautious. Especially since Trouble was, after all, a werewolf.

  No, Dane was good. He was smart, and could take a punch as well as deliver one. But he wasn’t here to fight. It was just that the wolf sent off weird I’m-ready-to-rumble vibes.

  “Dane, this is Trouble. Trouble, Dane.” Eryss introduced them as they paused before a shed around back of the house. They’d followed a snow-trampled path beside a narrow stream to get here.

  “The witch hunter,” Trouble said as he slapped a hand into Dane’s gloved fingers and squeezed. Hard.

  Squeezing back just as hard, Dane nodded. “I won’t take offense at such a label so long as you don’t take offense at any assumptions I should make regarding your name.”

  “Ha!” The man bounced on his feet and punched the air playfully. “You want to go a few rounds and see just how much trouble I can be?”

  Dane put up placating palms. “We’re cool, man.”

  “Yeah? I heard you went after Eryss with that freakin’ dagger last night. Not cool.”

  “I wasn’t in complete use of my faculties.”

  Trouble squinted at Eryss, and Dane assumed he wasn’t quite sure what he meant. More brawn than brains? Probably didn’t matter much because one punch from those fists would reduce any challenger to a whimper.

  “Eryss tells me your father is a swordsmith?”

  “Yeah, he’s inside. This is his work shed.” Trouble looked to Eryss. “I think we agreed that he wasn’t going to get too close to the thing?”

  “No problem,” Dane said. “I’d like to come inside. It’s cold out here. But I’ll remain by the door. Promise.”

  Trouble met Eryss’s gaze. She didn’t try to insult Dane by acting as if she had a right to tell him what he could or could not do. Finally, Trouble opened the door and gestured them both inside.

  The air was clear but smelled of smoke and iron, and it was humid. The warmth was a nice welcome after the frigid cold. Dane shed his gloves and unzipped his coat. Over by the forge, which wasn’t lit, but was highlighted by fluorescent bulbs strung overhead, stood another man as tall as Trouble and equally as built.

  Minnesota, the Nordic land of Vikings and lumberjacks, Dane mused. And werewolves. Of course, as he was learning, werewolves were naturally physically intimidating, no matter their form.

  “Dad, this is Eryss and Dane,” Trouble called, alerting the man who was bent over a wood table beside the forge. All dark power and unspoken growls, he looked up, but then smiled at them. “My dad,” Trouble said to them, “Malakai Saint-Pierre. You’ve met, yes, Eryss?”

  “We have,” Kai offered as he strode over and took Eryss’s hand. He kissed the back of it and winked at her. But his glance to Dane caused his nostrils to twitch, and he lifted his chin defiantly. “You the witch hunter?”

  Dane was prepared to deny the accusation once again, but then thought better of it, and thrust out his hand to shake Kai’s. He tried, but failed, not to wince as the beefy wolf slapped a palm against his and squeezed much harder than his son had.

  “You look like a schoolteacher,” Kai commented, taking in Dane’s vest and shirt beneath the open coat. “Not a sword-wielding maniac.”

  “Maniac? I’m not—please, you’re jumping to conclusions. And I’ve only just learned about the witch hunting thing. I am not a threat to Eryss. Trust me.”

  “The blade will determine that,” Malakai said. “Come take a look.” He strode back to the table.

  When Dane stepped forward, he was stopped by a giant fist to his chest. While he’d only tapped him, Trouble’s dark gaze cautioned him.

  Dane put up his hands again. “Right. I’ll just watch from the door, as agreed.”

  “Good boy,” Trouble said.

  The demeaning comment hadn’t been necessary, and it raised Dane’s ire. If he had the dagger in hand, none of them would dare to challenge or make fun of him. He watched keenly as Malakai held up the dagger beneath the light.

  “This is cold iron,” he said.

  Cold iron was simply a fantastical term for iron. It was used to denote steel and/or weapons that may have detrimental effects on supernaturals. It was more of a historical term than anything.

  On the other hand, Dane worked for the Agency. And he didn’t have to spin his own knowledge on the stuff. Cold iron was different from any other iron in that it did possess a supernatural nature. Yet he’d have to do lab tests to determine that nature. Of course, a man who worked with metals—and who was also paranormal—would surely recognize cold iron.

  “I’d date it to the early 1200s or even late 1100s,” Malakai added.

  “That is interesting,” Eryss said. “We believe Dane owned it in or around the thirteenth century. So he must have obtained it or possibly inherited it.”

  Both Saint-Pierre men gave Eryss wonky looks. Trouble leaned his palms onto the table and studied her as if she’d
just eaten a cockroach.

  “We’ve both reincarnated through the ages,” she explained matter-of-factly. “We were married in the thirteenth century. Then I killed Ivor’s father, for reasons unknown to us both. Uh, Ivor was Dane. And then he stabbed me with that dagger while I stabbed him with mine. We’ve basically been doing much the same every time we come to a new life. We find each other, then kill one another before our thirtieth birthdays. Mine is in two days.”

  Trouble blew out a breath. His father eyed Dane through the dark shadows that separated them. The look was not one Dane would like to meet in a dark forest or even on a dimly lit city street. But he maintained his stance. It wasn’t wise to show fear in the presence of werewolf.

  “It won’t happen again in this lifetime,” Dane said firmly. “It can’t.”

  “Shit.” Malakai gripped the dagger hilt firmly and studied the blade. “Did you see that?”

  “The dagger wobbled in your grip,” Trouble said. “I thought you were just losing hold of it.”

  “I know how to handle a weapon, boy. It moved of its own volition.” Again he glanced to Dane. “Did you say he was controlled by this last night?”

  “I believe it’s enchanted,” Eryss answered. “Possibly since that first time we went after one another in the thirteenth century. For some reason the dagger seems to find him through the ages, and it makes him go after me.”

  “And you two are in love every time?” Trouble asked.

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps sometimes we are enemies from the start. Other times I know we’ve been in love, in many lives. It’s a soul thing.”

  “I know about soul things,” Malakai commented with a broad smile. Eryss was aware he was happily married to a beautiful faery. “I also know this dagger is getting jittery. You should step out of here,” he said to Dane. “Now.”

  “Well, I, uh—”

  The elder werewolf swore and hissed. Dane saw the blade fly toward him. He had the instinct to duck, but at the last minute, instead of acting a coward, he thrust out his hand and caught the hilt in his hand. A swing of the blade cut the air.