Hunter, Hunted: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 1)

by Ashley Meira

  It took another two hours of diffusing and restarting the electricity – along with smacking my arms and legs against the bed like a fish out of water to restore blood flow – before my fingertips stopped getting numb. My progress was slow, but it was progress nonetheless.

  The problem with the numbness, aside from the obvious, was that it wasn’t supposed to happen. When a mage summoned a ball of flame or a block of ice, they weren’t supposed to feel hot or cold. The magic wasn’t supposed to affect them unless they allowed it to. Unblocked sensation was a mark of someone who wasn’t capable of controlling their magic. Learning that I’d fallen that far back filled me with frustration. I tried to take comfort in the fact that I’d only slipped with one element, but it was hard for a pessimist to be an optimist, especially when it felt like their world was falling apart around them.

  There was a knock at my door. I opened my eyes, letting the electricity fade. Wiggling my fingers and toes, I looked at Alex expectantly. There was a fine sheen of sweat across his forehead and strands of hair were stuck against his face, the midnight black a stark contrast to his alabaster skin. Pink dusted his cheeks, signaling a good workout, but he barely looked winded. God, I was sleepy just from my shock play, and he’d been working out longer than I had.

  “You look like you need a break,” he said, giving me a warm smile that made me feel like I was coming home. Whoa, no, bad thoughts. No feelings. None. Bad place.

  “I need a two day nap.” I let out a satisfied groan as I stretched, but it was interrupted by a loud yawn.

  He nodded to my bed. “You can have a two hour nap.”

  “I can’t sleep,” I said as another yawn forced its way out of my mouth. “You go ahead, though. Feel free to use my bed and make cute noises while you sleep naked.”

  He chuckled but shook his head. “I feel bad leaving you alone.”

  A smile found its way onto my face as those thoughts I’d chased off a few moments ago came rushing back. “Ipos and Rowan are still here.”

  “No, they’re not. Even your butler is gone.”

  “Actually, he was Lady Maxwell’s. I sent him back to her estate to take care of things. Where did Ipos and Rowan go?”

  “I don’t know. I think Rowan may have looked upset, but it’s hard to tell.”

  “Failed Feline Facial Reading 101? For shame.” I made a big show of wagging my finger at him. “The fact that Ipos is with her probably wouldn’t put a smile on her face, though.”

  Alex leaned against the doorframe. “What’s the story there? Or are you not going to tell me that, either?”

  I stepped up over to him and pressed my back against the opposite side of the frame. “That’s not my story to tell.”

  What was going on, though? They may not hate each other anymore, but Rowan made it a point to avoid Ipos. In fact, her leaving the room whenever he showed up was what led to us getting to know each other well enough to start hooking up in the first place. Why was she so eager to chat him up lately? Twice in two days was way too many civil conversations for the amount of interaction they usually had.

  “Did you speak with the Council? About taking over the family.”

  “No,” I said, looking at everything but him. “It’s kind of a bad time, isn’t it?”

  “You’d make a good leader.”

  “I don’t think you know me well enough to say that.” I’d be a horrible leader. I was weak and lazy and…just horrible. There were plenty of more stable, more competent, people that could take over. Once upon a time, I would’ve stabbed every other competitor with a Q-tip to be the head of this family. Now, I didn’t even care.

  “I’ve got a good instinct about people,” he said.

  “I’m sure,” I said, trying to keep the skepticism from my voice. He changed his mind in the end, but he did come all the way to Haven to accuse me of murder. “I’m still a bit out of shape for the job, though.”

  “When’s the last time you heard about the head of any Order family going out into the field?”

  I shrugged. “Still.”

  The look on Alex’s face told me he knew he wasn’t the reason I was being shifty. I wasn’t mad at him, I was pissed at myself. I should be above this. One little booboo and I go soft sitting around here in my house of self-loathing. I never cared about anything other than the mission and my position before my forced convalescence. Now, I could be the poster child for self-pity.

  I pressed my hand flat against his firm chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart under my palm. Maybe I was weaning off my fondness for booze and replacing it with sex. It was certainly possible, but I was too exhausted – mentally and physically – to get it up right now. Fuck that eleventh-hour desperation. How about an eleventh hour bubble bath and nap?

  His hand gently enveloped mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles.

  “How was the training?” I asked, my eyes following the motions he was making.

  “Good. Not as fun as working out with you,” he added with a soft smirk, “but still good.”

  I managed a tired smile. “No sex before a big fight, sorry.”

  “No last hurrah before the final battle?”

  “Kind of hard to kick a demon in the face when my legs are all wobbly. Besides, I’m really hoping this won’t be the final battle.”

  “Rain check, then?”

  “And here I thought I was going to have to keep making the come-ons.” I chuckled and it sounded weak to my ears. “A rain check sounds great.”

  “It’s a date.” He winked. “Now, if you’re sure that you’re okay, I think I’ll go take that nap.”

  “Sweet dreams,” I called, checking out his ass as he walked down the hall.

  Eight out of ten – his pants weren’t tight enough.

  11

  As it turned out, we only needed to make our way toward the outskirts of town, where the industrial section of Haven was. The four of us stuck to the shadows. It was a longer path, but there were no shortcuts when you were being stealthy. Or something like that.

  The last few streaks of red and purple faded hours ago, devoured by the encroaching darkness. The scenery was almost romantic, with thousands of glittering stars peppering the pitch-black canvas that was the sky. The moon, nearly a perfect circle, provided the majority of our light. Soft, silvery beams highlighted the darkened forms of the tall grass that tickled our legs and the sharp edges of the factory buildings that loomed over us like sleeping giants.

  The air smelled of fresh leaves, and a sickly sweet tang – likely from the factories – permeated the atmosphere. A fresh breeze blew against our faces as we skulked behind Vaughn’s shadowed figure, chasing away the metallic smell of industry wrought by the buildings around us.

  Unlike us, Vaughn did not stick to the shadows. He walked boldly along the dirt roads and into the shell of an abandoned factory. We adopted greater stealth and carefully scanned the area for lookouts. I frowned, glancing at Ipos to confirm that there was indeed no one patrolling. No perimeter guards at all? Did that mean they were all inside?

  The crumbling walls of the factory made for easy climbing, and after a slow and cautious – there may not have been guards, but there were tripwires and sigils littered around the area – trek, we were soon crouched along the ledge of a large, pane-less window.

  Fires burning in oil drums cast a flickering light across the coven of figures converged in the center of the room. The excitement in the air was palpable. I could feel my heart speed up, my hands gripping the side of the window as we watched the figures below move along to a beat only they could hear; their bodies, wrapped in dark, heavy robes, twisted and writhed in ecstasy around a giant sigil with a design so elaborate it must have taken hours to complete.

  At the center of this hellish dance stood a single figure. It was smaller in frame than those dancing around it, its body draped in a dark red cloak. A pair of slim, pale hands sifted through the cauldron in front of it. A pale green fire – hellfire, the wild, devastating
flames only demons and their infernal servants could conjure – glowed underneath the cast iron cauldron. At least we confirmed an infernalist was involved, but the thought did nothing to comfort me. The mage sat silently, unmoved by the frenzy around it as it focused all its attention on the concoction in front of it.

  Alex gestured to the left. Dread and relief fought each other for dominance over my heart as my eyes landed on two figures near the far left wall. They were kneeling with cloth bags over their heads, their arms tied behind their backs. It was too dark and far away to discern anything more than that. Their frames were slim, it was possible they were female. Sacrifices, certainly, but where was the third?

  Deafening echoes rang out across the room as Vaughn sauntered in, hands in his pockets. The hunter’s eyes darted about the room, his lips wavering between a grimace and polite neutrality. He held himself erect, however, and walked toward the ghoulish dancers on unsteady legs.

  His voice was just as unsteady, the conversational tone he tried to uphold sounding more uncomfortable than social. “So, we almost done here?”

  “The full moon will reach its zenith soon,” the figure said. “Very soon.”

  The gender was still a toss-up, its voice had a slight feminine tenor to it but was otherwise androgynous, holding a haunting quality that was further amplified by the acoustics of the empty space. Its words were spoken quietly, but they seemed to boom with each syllable, making the hair on my arms stand up straight. The voice was filled with an undertone that I could only describe as twisted pleasure, and it made me want to spend the next few hours showering its vibrations off me.

  At the mage’s words, the dancers’ movements became wilder. The very concrete and steel of the factory strained to respond to the savage call. Vaughn stood at the edge of the eye of the storm, looking like he was torn between running and staying – caught between wild fury and silent calm.

  “Right,” he said uncertainly, walking around the dancers towards the captives. “So, once this ritual is over, I’ll gain control over the family, right? You summon this demon and he’ll grant us power?”

  The four of us exchanged confused looks. Oh, you poor bastard. Please tell me you didn’t get the wool pulled so far over your eyes that you’re pissing through fluff. He looked serious. Did he really believe that’s what this was all about? You don’t fucking sacrifice people to summon regular demons, you moron. What the fuck did he do, sleep through his entire time at the academy? Even if this was a summoning ritual, a demon conjured up by magical means isn’t going to be summoned to grant wishes. It’s summoned by psychotic servants that laugh when their master begins to chomp down on them.

  “Great changes are upon us. The death of Cassandra Maxwell heralds the beginning of a new dawn.” Yeah, way to avoid the question, Voldemort. “A masterful execution, by the way.”

  Vaughn shrugged. “I just smuggled the cauldron in and heated the stuff up like you told me to.”

  “Every action carries an important weight, Mister Maxwell.” The voice seemed to rise in pitch at the name, carrying with it an almost amused lilt. “Rest assured, your contributions were essential in reaching this point of our long and arduous journey.”

  Why did villains always speak this way? I rubbed my temples. Stupid fancy talk gave me a headache. And no, it wasn’t just because I sucked at it.

  “Hey, didn’t it say we needed three sacrifices?” Vaughn looked at the two prisoners. “Where’s the third?”

  The mage waved a long, dark-nailed hand ahead of itself, gesturing at the dancers twirling circles around Vaughn. Seriously, way to be vague.

  There had to be over a dozen cultists writhing around – their constant movements made it hard to count – not to mention Vaughn and what appeared to be a very dangerous, very verbose, spellcaster. At least I wasn’t alone.

  There was a walkway lining the upper areas of the factory, meaning we had a blind-spot right below our feet; it’s possible there were extra bad guys hanging around just underneath us. No one seemed to be paying any attention to that area, however. Even Vaughn, who had gazed around the room with unease, hadn’t spared a glance in that direction.

  “It’s not just demons,” Ipos whispered. “There are humans and vampires, too.”

  “Great, a mixed bag. My favorite,” I said flatly. “What about the caster?”

  Ipos shook his head. “I can’t give you specifics.”

  I nodded at both of them, jerking my head to the left. They nodded and stalked off in that direction while Rowan followed me to the right. Fortunately, being out of commission hadn’t affected my light steps, and both Rowan and I were silent as we crept around the walkway. Another cursory glance around the room revealed there weren’t any more hostiles than the ones we’d already spotted.

  Ipos and Alex were along the opposite end. Alex had his gun out, his other hand wrapped around the hilt of his machete. Ipos was unarmed and at least four times as dangerous. Sorry, Alex, but there’s a reason why he was Lucifer’s lieutenant and it wasn’t his good looks.

  A few hand signals later and we had agreed on a shaky plan. The caster was our main priority. I would blast the other ritualists away, Alex would take Vaughn, and Ipos would take the caster down before the others could recover. Once the others were dazed, Alex and I would go help Ipos. After we took care of the Dark Lord, we’d handle the backup dancers. Easy peasy.

  Maybe we should’ve asked for Heaven and Hell’s help. Or at least a giant bomb.

  I took a deep breath and began channeling magic through my body, careful to avoid being too overt in case the energy drew attention. Their security still made no sense. Were they really so arrogant? There were no guards outside, no sigils – except the ritual circle – inside. There was also the issue of the sacrifices. Why bother taking hostages if you’re already planning on sacrificing one of your own? And vampires? What the fuck was going on? I would really, really like to go just one day without being bombarded by a hail of questions.

  Instead of seeing the tornado of thoughts as a distraction, however, I allowed it to push my powers further, whipping my magic into a frenzy. I no longer cared if they knew I was there. By the time they reacted, they’d be on the floor. A bright light seared behind my eyes as I let the energy rush out.

  A gust of frozen air rushed around me and my back hit the brick wall with a heavy thump. The sound of glass shattering rang out as giant spikes of ice shot out from the ritual circle, knocking some of the ritualists off their feet while impaling the others. There was a small, perfect circle in the middle of the ice, a pale blue glow emanating from the center. A barrier. I guess the caster had faster reflexes than the others; I’d expect nothing less from a boss monster.

  Ipos and Alex had already launched themselves over the edge by the time I recovered from my area spell. I vaulted over the railing and landed on my feet thanks to a burst of wind. I threw an ice spear through a ritualist that was charging toward me and rushed to dispel the sorcerer’s barrier.

  “Leave it,” Ipos yelled, cracking his neck side to side, his tattoos glowing, as he walked confidently towards the mage.

  Sliding to the ground to avoid another attack, I shot a leg out and kicked the assailant’s feet out from under him. Ipos was capable of breaking through the barrier – I’d be better off running interference. Still on the ground, I rolled away from another attack and lifted a hand to shoot a fireball at the enemy, burning right through him. The body stood there for a moment, a giant hole gaping through its abdomen, before crumpling to the ground.

  Blood and magic thrummed through my veins in a way that was almost erotic. I smiled. This was the most alive I had felt in a long time. The adrenaline running through me was exhilarating. It was the ultimate high. Even the smell of burning flesh did nothing to deter my excitement. I stumbled slightly as I stood up, but ignored the dizziness in favor of sending out an arc of lightning towards a trio of approaching lackeys.

  The sound of steel clanging against steel drew my atten
tion to Alex and Vaughn. They were toe to toe, but Alex appeared to be gaining the advantage. I was surprised, Vaughn was better than I could have imagined.

  A sharp pain hit my side and I fell to the ground again. The ritualist above me surged forward, his dagger glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights. I summoned a barrier as he stabbed at me, the pain tearing through my mind instead of my body, solidifying the energy and shattering it in front of me. The resulting shockwave sent the ritualist flying, his back hitting a metal beam with a resounding crack.

  When I stood up this time, rainbow-colored spots swarmed my vision and I was reminded of the first time I tried smoking dream ivy. Instead of a pleasant daze, though, I felt like I was unstoppable, a god among men. With the energy coursing through me, I ripped a boulder from thin air and into the abdomen of another ritualist, the sound of his ribs shattering satisfying me more than I thought it could.

  What didn’t satisfy me was the feral roar that rang out from the center of the room. There was too much blood to see clearly, but I knew the prone figure laying a few feet away from our willowy mystery caster was Ipos in his demon form. A flash of white, his teeth, bared in a growl glimmered beneath a sea of crimson. His eyes were narrowed into slits, and as he tried to rise with a wild roar, a glow surrounded him, pinning his body to the ground.

  “Satanica Potestas,” the caster said. Its robes were disheveled from Ipos’ manhandling, but it appeared unharmed otherwise. “A rudimentary spell, hardly worth using on the low-ranked demons it was created for, but with a bit of reconfiguring, it can bind even one of Lucifer’s dukes. Well, with a bit of reconfiguring and enough magical power, of course.” The figure turned to me, its hood revealing little more than thin, bloodless lips curled up in a sick smile. “You keep powerful company, Morgan Wallace.”

  “It’s Maxwell,” I corrected, barely hearing my words over the rush of my blood.

  The figure tilted its head like a little bird and took a single step towards me. “You’ve grown into such a fine young woman. I’m glad, though I expected nothing less. Maxwell now, is it? Do you see them as more of a family than Sir Sullivan, or was it just their Lady? Well, they’re all the same in the end. However, I suppose I should offer my condolences over the loss of your ‘mother.’”