The Huntress

by Michelle O'Leary

  Pushing past her, Mea once again headed toward Mike, aware that the crowd closed in between her and the female hunter as though nothing had happened. As a group, her fellow hunters were very willing to be entertained, but their attention spans were short. She was also aware that Regan was very quiet and very solemn at her side.

  "Don't worry about it, honey. There are some nice people here, I promise."

  "Are they blaming me for him being dead?"

  "What? No! Why would you think that?"

  They reached Mike, and he handed them drinks. Mea's was spiked with alcohol, and she eyed Regan's drink suspiciously. The girl was looking down at her feet.

  "Because I wished him dead when he was holding me."

  Mea stepped behind the girl and hugged her small form to her chest with one arm, resting her chin on the child's head. She spoke softly so no one would hear but Regan, "You have no reason to be ashamed of that. I wished him dead, too, when I saw what he was doing to you. I know nobody here has even thought to blame you for it, sugar."

  Regan rested against her and tipped her head back, little face open with a trust that made Mea want to sing.

  "You promise?"

  "I promise."

  Mea kissed her on the forehead, and they smiled at each other. Then Regan lifted her drink to take a sip.

  "Hang on, let me see that." Mea took it from her and sipped it warily. No alcohol. With a grin, she gave it back. "All clear."

  Uncle Mike looked wounded. "I wouldn't have put anything in her drink!"

  "You've done it to me before."

  "That was an accident, damn it! I only did it once. When are you going to let that go?"

  "When I forget the hangover I had the next day. I was only fourteen, Uncle Mike."

  "I said I was sorry," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably, but he caught sight of Regan snickering behind one hand, and his face lightened. "She did make a funny little drunk, though."

  Regan began to laugh outright, and he grinned back, unaware that Bella had appeared behind him like magic.

  "Are you getting her drunk again, Michael Conley?"

  He jumped as though stuck with a hot poker and paled so guiltily that he set Regan off on another gale of laughter. Mea took the drink from her again before she spilled it, grinning as Bella winked humorously over Mike's shoulder.

  "I didn't—I wasn't—"

  "Calm down, Mike. I was kidding." Bella drifted around him and approached Regan with a gentle smile. "Hi there, sweetheart. I'm Bella, Michael's assistant and tormentor. I heard some good news about you today."

  "What's that?" Regan managed to say around her giggles.

  "That you were just recently adopted by our favorite hunter. Congratulations!"

  "Thank you." Regan glowed like a new star, and Mea thought that the warmth of her smile would be enough to heat the whole academy for at least a year.

  "But—" Bella eyed her shrewdly. "I can see by your wasted appearance that Mea is going to take after her uncle and not feed you properly. Let me help you fix a plate of food."

  Regan looked up at Mea askance and she handed the girl her drink with a nod.

  "Go ahead, but watch out for the dish with purple peppers on it. It's hot as hell."

  Bella frowned like a storm at her. "Watch your language around the child!"

  Baffled, Mea watched them begin a slow trek down the buffet table. "What'd I say?"

  "Damned if I know," Uncle Mike replied, and they shrugged at each other in mirrored incomprehension.

  Mea had only taken one sip of her drink when her ex-husband Job stepped out of the crowd and approached them. He nodded courteously at Mike. "Director. May I steal Mea away for a moment?"

  Mike's expression was grim. "That would be up to her, Hunter."

  Job turned to her, handsome face wreathed in a beguiling smile. He didn't seem to notice that it had no effect on her. "Mea, I need to speak with you on a private matter."

  She had a feeling that she knew what he wanted, and with a glum look at Mike, she tossed back the rest of the drink. The diplomatic thing to do would be to listen to what he had to say, but diplomacy wasn't her strong suit. About to move away with her ex, she searched out Regan's small form anxiously.

  "She'll be fine with Bella. I'll go join them."

  "Thanks, Uncle Mike."

  Job led the way across the courtyard, and Mea followed, praying that the alcohol spreading heat through her stomach would lend her some patience. Beyond the crowd, he courteously cupped her elbow and walked her towards the overhang of one of the balconies. There were a few tables strewn out this way, but no one sat there. They were essentially alone, and Mea grimaced under the cover of the dim light.

  "What is it that you want, Job?" she asked abruptly, hoping he would get this over with quickly.

  "You look truly beautiful tonight, Mea. Is that one of Powel's creations?"

  "Yes, it is. You wanted to speak with me?"

  "Every time I see you, you grow more beautiful, and I can't believe I was such a fool to let you go. We were so good together, you and I. We were like two halves of the same whole."

  He reached for her hand, and she stared into his face impatiently, avoiding his touch with mild revulsion. She was hard pressed not to knock him on his ass and tell him where to stick it. That would be putting too much emotion into it, though—she was afraid he would take it the wrong way.

  "Hunting with you was like hunting with my own shadow—we were so in tune with one another. I can't understand how we grew so much apart. Whatever happened to our plans to be together forever? A love like ours shouldn't be denied, Mea. I'm asking you to be my wife."

  Nauseating. Mea had to swallow the bile in the back of her throat before she could tell him what to do with his proposal. In the pause, she heard something on the balcony above them. Someone was up there. That in itself wasn't so strange, but her instincts told her there was more to it than that. Moving out from underneath the balcony, she looked up. The vine was like a curtain, casting a lacework of shadows that she couldn't see through, but instinct told her that she knew who was up there. She felt him like a heat on her skin.

  "Mea?"

  She ignored Job, running a thoughtful thumb over the thin slice on her neck and smiling to herself. This was turning out to be a really good day.

  "Is someone up there?" Job scanned the vines himself, frowning in discontent.

  He didn't like to be upstaged and Mea felt a stab of alarm. She knew for a fact that the cadets at the front gate would not have let Stone into the academy, so he must have scaled the wall. Not an easy feat, but do-able. His presence here would cause an uproar, and Job was on the verge of going up there to discover him.

  "I need another drink," she announced and walked away, certain that Job would follow—she hadn't given him an answer yet.

  He joined her, face stormy. "I'm sorry they disturbed our privacy, but I need to know how you feel. Will you marry me?"

  "Job—" she started, but he interrupted.

  "We're perfect for each other, you know that. And I've always wanted children—though you said you didn't want any."

  "I said I didn't want yours," she said bitingly.

  They were about to reenter the crowd and he caught her arm, holding her back. "I need an answer."

  She turned to face him, eyes flickering past him to the balcony. She could still see nothing and a thought struck her.

  "Shit," she muttered. Stone had heard everything. Everything except her telling Job to go shove it up his ass. He was probably here for Regan, but still—she didn't want him to think she would ever consider the self-involved idiot in front of her. Stepping back, she looked up into Job's handsome features with a grin of pure malice. This was going to be so much fun.

  "You want an answer?" Turning, she whistled piercingly. "Uncle Mike!" she hollered, using her singer's lungs to project over the rumble of the crowd.

  Perceptive enough to know when a show was about to start, her fellow hunters
parted like a wave, leaving an open channel between her and Uncle Mike. Mike took no notice of the many stares, acting as though she was calling to him from across their own living quarters.

  "Yeah?"

  "Could you remind this man why it is that I am no longer his wife?"

  He munched thoughtfully on a vegetable stick, and even from this distance Mea could see the hard gleam in his eye as he stared at Job. Stepping to one side, Mea glanced at Job and was gratified by the stiff wariness on his features as he bore the weight of the director's stare.

  In a conversational tone that nevertheless carried across the courtyard, Mike answered, "You cheated on her, you dumb fuck."

  Laughter rolled around them, and Mea waited with a smirk until it died down a bit before she concluded her show. "The answer is no, Job. There's no chance in hell that I would ever be your wife again."

  That sparked conversation within the crowd. Using the renewed noise for cover, she stepped closer to him, ignoring the furious redness in his cheeks and his balled fists. "Did you really think I would ever take you back? If you want any more humiliation, you just let me know."

  "You cold hearted bitch!" he snarled, but low enough that no one else heard.

  "Mmm, yes, and maybe next time you'll remember that."

  Then she walked away from him, grinning to herself in satisfaction. Mike had a similar expression on his face when she approached. He handed her another drink.

  "Feel better?"

  "You have no idea," she sighed, and he laughed loudly.

  "Asked you to marry him again, huh? How many times is that now?"

  "Who's counting? He can't figure out why I'm not dying to worship him." She rolled her eyes with a shake of her head, then looked around. "Plus he's trying to get back in your good graces— Where's Regan?"

  "Bella took her to meet some of the younger cadets." He nodded to a small knot of people just beyond the buffet table.

  There were some cadets that looked barely older than Regan herself. Bella presided over the group and nodded to Mea with a smile of reassurance.

  "It'll be good for her to meet those close to her own age. Right?"

  Mea was worried about how Regan would cope with a group of strangers all huddled around her. Mike put a warm, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Of course it will. Help her get over what she's been through."

  "Right. You're right."

  Watching the group nervously, she nibbled on a carrot stick. Suddenly Regan burst out of the group and hurried towards her. Mea's stomach dropped, thinking her fears were realized. Vowing to blister each and every one of the cadet's asses, she moved toward her daughter.

  "Mea!"

  "What's the matter? What'd they say to you?"

  The girl skidded to a halt in front of her and glanced around at Mike.

  "Ah —" Tugging on Mea, she moved her away from him. "'Scuse us, Uncle Mike."

  That was when Mea noticed that Regan didn't look upset, just excited. Relief loosened the knot in her chest.

  "Sure. No problem," she heard Mike say in a low, baffled tone. She would have laughed, but the urgency on Regan's face held her.

  "What's going on?"

  "Stone's here!" Regan hissed, glancing around hurriedly to see if anyone could hear.

  Mea's eyebrows went up in surprise. She hadn't planned on telling the girl, and no alarm had been raised—so how did Regan find that out?

  "He is?" She must not have put enough shock in her tone, because Regan gave her an exasperated look.

  "I'm serious! I was showing the others the gen tracer I brought with me. I guess they don't get to have one until later on and they were real interested, so I was showing them how it worked and —" She pressed her lips together, and stared pointedly in the direction of the balcony, eyes sparkling with excitement. "He's up there!"

  "Okay, sugar, calm down. Show me."

  Regan pulled a wrist tracer out of her pocket. It was much too big for her little arm, so she just held it. Mea glanced at it and sure enough, there was Stone's white silhouette pacing back and forth. He seemed agitated. Mea's lips turned up in a small smile.

  "Well, well. So he is. Don't get too excited, love. Somebody might wonder what's up there, and then he'll be in trouble again."

  Regan sobered immediately, but didn't put the tracer away.

  "You keep a watch on him. That's all we can do right now."

  "Okay."

  "Did you eat?"

  "A little."

  "Let's get some more into you before Bella throws a fit."

  She moved back toward the buffet table and Mike joined her, face questioning.

  "Crisis averted," she answered his look cryptically and began fixing a plate.

  "Where'd she get a tracer?"

  "The ship." She could see him frowning at the girl intently, and she nudged him with an elbow. "What the hell are these?" she distracted him, pointing to some oddly colored lumps.

  "Shakra rolls. Don't give me that face. They're good for you." He chuckled when she snorted and skipped over them. "You never did like shakra."

  "That and Brussels sprouts."

  She shuddered delicately and hoped his attention wouldn't return to Regan. She would tell him about Stone if she had to, but she'd rather not. He wasn't likely to be pleased. She had just about decided that the distraction had been successful when Regan approached her with a confused expression.

  "Ah, Mea…?" She held out the tracer. "I don't know what's going on."

  Mea glanced at it, and then dropped her plate on the table with a crash. The child might not be able to interpret what she saw, but Mea could.

  "Oh, shit." She took off at a dead run across the courtyard, kicking off her shoes as she went.

  "Make a hole!" she yelled as she ran, and the trained hunters parted immediately. She had to swing around a terrified cadet, but it didn't slow her. It would take too long to go around the building to where the stairs were so Mea calculated how best to scale the balcony as she went. There was a table next to a pillar… She leapt onto the table without pause, using her momentum to push against the pillar with one foot and get enough lift to grab the railing. The force of her assent and the weight of her body swung her up and through the vines, into the relative darkness beyond.

  She'd pulled muscles in her newly healed side, but she didn't notice that pain until later. What held her attention were the figures in front of her. There were three dark shadows bent over a prone form, and she snarled in fury, "Stand down!" She barely recognized her own voice.

  Two of the shadows jerked back quickly, and she recognized them as a couple of Job's friends. Job was still crouched over Stone, staring at her. The broken light touched his face with odd shadows and twisted it into ugly lines. There was blood on his face, and she hoped Stone had gotten in a few good hits before they took him down. Moving toward them with dangerous, liquid movements like a cat about to pounce, Mea focused her attention on her ex-husband.

  "You'd better pray he's not dead, Job, or I'll be killing me another rogue."

  He backed off slowly, face wary. "He's an intruder."

  "You know he's my partner. You met him."

  She heard one of the other hunters swear, but she ignored them, moving to stand protectively over Stone. Crouching with her eyes still trained on Job, she felt at his neck for a pulse. It was strong but rapid, and he shifted painfully under her. Glancing down, she met his dark, turbulent gaze.

  "Nice party," he wheezed, and with a cough that trickled blood over his lip, he lost consciousness.

  Mea activated her transceiver. "Warren, immediate evac!" she snapped, and heard the android sputter in her ear.

  "Wh-what?"

  "Man down."

  "On my way."

  Thankfully he didn't ask her why she wasn't calling for a hunter transport and taking the downed man to a hospital. With one hand monitoring his pulse, she stared up at Job, feeling true menace darken her blood. He seemed to see the murder in her and stepped even farther b
ack, expression petulant.

  "I didn't see who he was. Besides, he's not your partner. He's not even a hunter."

  "You didn't attack him because he's an intruder."

  "He attacked us first."

  "I wonder why, with three hunters coming at him."

  They heard rapid footsteps, and they could see people coming with a light. It was a whole crowd with Mike and Regan in the lead. When she saw Stone's prone form, Regan cried out and surged forward, landing on her knees next to his head. The light revealed a lot more than a child should see, and Mea lifted her chin, forcing Regan to look up at her. "He's alive. He'll be fine." She lifted her eyes to Mike as she continued to sooth the girl. "Warren's on his way. We'll take him to Ema, and she'll fix him right up."

  He wasn't a stupid man. To be the director, he had to understand subtleties. If Stone went to a regular hospital, they wouldn't be able to keep this incident quiet, and the Coalition was bound to find out about it. For Mea's part, she didn't give a damn if the Coalition blew a gasket over what had happened or if Job and company got what they deserved. However, there would be an investigation, and Stone's new identity would come under scrutiny again. They'd been lucky once. She didn't want to take that chance again.

  Mike nodded his agreement and turned to the people crowding in around them. "Back off, everyone! Show's over, so get yourselves back downstairs."

  Mea ignored his efforts to disperse the crowd, concentrating on calming Regan. The girl was crying silently, moving her hands aimlessly over Stone's bloody head. "He'll be okay, hon. He's a survivor, remember?"

  "He's bl-bleeding! Is he breathing?"

  "Here, give me your hand." She pressed the girl's fingers on his pulse, which was still strong. "That's his heart beating. It's strong and regular. He is going to be fine."

  Mea wondered who she was trying to convince more, the girl or herself.

  Mike turned back to them and pointed to Job and his friends. "You three, in my office now! Bella, make sure they get there."

  The older woman's eyes were hard, and she gestured curtly for them to follow. As they passed, one of them bent towards Mea. "I'm sorry. I didn't know he was your partner."

  Mea refused to acknowledge him, slowly running her hands over Stone's body to see if she could get an understanding of the extent of his injuries. The head wound, though messy, was not what she was worried about. She could hear him breathing, and it didn't sound good. There was a dent in his ribcage, and she suspected that one or more ribs were broken. It was possible that he had a punctured lung. He had a broken arm close to the elbow, a dislocated shoulder, and broken knuckles, but what really worried her were the wounds she couldn't see or feel.