Dragon Hunter Box Set: A Dragon Shifter Serial

by Carina Wilder

  A brief movement drew his eyes to his left and he turned, his gaze focusing across the street only for a moment. A dark shape stood against a grey wall, most likely invisible from where he stood to anyone with a human’s eyes. But Lumen’s, shining in the dark, could make her out easily.

  She was tall, her face partially concealed by a large hood drawn over the top of her head. He could only see her nose, angular and feminine, and a set of full lips, locked in a determined frown. Her trench coat and lack of umbrella told him that she might be a local. She carried no purse—unusual for a young woman.

  Quietly he sniffed the air. The rain always brought out people’s scents, always gave them away, whether they liked it or not. He could tell how many hours it had been since a man had last worked out. Where a woman was in her monthly cycle. What sort of soap they’d used that morning.

  The woman across the way had a remarkable scent; heady, delectable and sweet at once. One that wasn’t new to him. He’d inhaled it a day earlier, melding at first with that of the hideous beast who’d tried in vain to jump him. And he’d known then what he still knew: that she was to be his.

  So, the Hunter was watching him again, and this could be no accident. There were only two likely reasons for it:

  She wanted him, or she wanted him dead.

  When the light had changed he strode across the street, distancing himself from his beautiful stalker. Whatever she was up to, he’d be better off closer to his flat; he needed to give himself the advantage of setting before turning the tables.

  She would be carrying blades—no doubt many of them—but he didn’t want to have to find out how proficient she was with them. Especially if it meant killing her on the spot if she actually managed to threaten his life. It wouldn’t do to slay such a woman, particularly given that she was destined to end up in his bed many, many times over.

  He sniffed one more time. Now, in addition to her remarkable, heady scent, he smelled something else: a trace of fear on her skin. Raw, penetrating. Not fear of him so much as a dread of the unknown; fear of what might occur if she got too close to him. She was, it seemed, frightened of her own destiny.

  He knew from their brief encounter the previous day that she’d never seen one such as him. One of the Old Blood. The concept of the Kindred was one that she hadn’t encountered in the flesh, and when she’d lain eyes on him she’d been stricken with a sense of disbelief.

  And yet he was all too real, as was his bloodline. Perhaps at some point, she would come to understand fully what it meant to be one of his kind. To gain from his knowledge, his skills. And, if they were to be together, she would find herself growing powerful and stronger than she’d ever imagined.

  But for now she was a simple human. Gifted in the art of tracking, but weak in comparison to a Dragon. She had no idea what she was up against.

  However, she was tenacious. As Lumen made his way down the street, the sound of her footsteps echoed behind him. So, she was pursuing him. Yes, of course she was. Her feet were slower than his, but nevertheless confident, determined. She was bent on a chase, and if he didn’t shift, run, or evade in another way, no doubt she’d try the trick she’d used on the Lapsed, jumping him from behind with a knife at his throat.

  * * *

  Neko had tracked him to the pub. A contact of hers—a nasty-looking skinhead who sold drugs in one of London’s seedier alleys—knew of the Dragon shifters’ hangout. He’d seen strange men outside one night while making a transaction with a client, and had theorized about what they were.

  “I’ll never forget those eyes,” he’d told her. “Like circles of frost, they were. He looked at me once, only for a second, and I thought I’d freeze on the spot. I’m not frightened of much, mind, but he was a scary twat.”

  “Are they there frequently?” Neko didn’t much care about his fears.

  “Yeah. I think the main one—the one with the brown hair and the ice eyes—lives in a flat nearby. But I’ll be fucked if I’m going to figure out where. I’d rather never see the bugger again in this lifetime.”

  She’d waited outside the pub for the man’s exit, hoping that he would walk, rather than fly, away. And when he’d stepped out into the night, her heart had predictably leapt into her throat, pounding uncontrolled and erratically.

  No, she’d breathed. Why does it have to be him?

  He was perfection, and she’d been hired to destroy him, just as the Lapsed had attempted to do. Maybe she would have been better off if she’d just let the creature have at it. But something told her that it would never have succeeded; that there was far more to him than met the eye. This man—this Dragon—whatever he was, would never have allowed something as weak as a Lapsed to take him down.

  But even with all of the information now swirling about her mind, she wasn’t certain—couldn’t be certain—that this man was the Kindred, that he was this Dragon shifter called Lumen.

  And killing an innocent man, shifter or not, would be wrong. She needed to be sure of his identity. There could be no doubt. But perhaps this inner dialogue was simply her way of putting off the inevitable, rationalizing her avoidance.

  So she followed from a distance, at first keeping to the opposite side of the street, until he turned at one point and looked at her. She froze, leaning back against a wall, hood pulled over her face. Had he seen her, recognized her features?

  But he didn’t react. Either he didn’t care or he was doing a fine job of pretending not to have taken notice. For a while he meandered down the street, before finally turning towards the doorway of an elegant row house. Neko ducked behind a short stuccoed wall for a moment as he turned once again to look back.

  If he was really one of them he would know that she was there, whether he could see her or not. He would scent her, feel her presence. No doubt he knew she’d followed him. He was probably flattered by it; probably assumed that she was so enthralled by him that she’d taken to stalking him like an infatuated schoolgirl.

  But of course, if he was as intuitive as she suspected, he would know why she was really there.

  She strode towards the house when he’d disappeared from view and looked at the place. Number 19. A large painted black door against a white façade.

  To her right was a list of buzzers. She leaned in to read them. Only one name began with L: Apartment two: L. Riddick.

  Could it be?

  Backing away, she looked up. A light flashed on upstairs, tall, curtained windows revealing part of a large living space. And after a moment a head appeared at the window, silhouetted against the bright light.

  Bollocks. It was him, and no doubt he could see her standing below.

  She turned and walked away, wondering what had rendered her so sloppy. It wasn’t like her to watch a flat in plain view of its owner. It wasn’t like her to let a mark go to bed without concluding her business. But then, it also wasn’t like her to murder formidable, sexy Dragon shifters.

  Everything inside her had changed the previous day, and all because of him.

  All right, Neko. Think.

  She had one week to kill the Dragon shifter. But for tonight she’d return home and gather her thoughts and weapons. It was all too much to take in, this conflict between mad lust and a job assignment that would provide her with a small fortune—and that might save lives.

  But Neko wasn’t sure that any amount of money was enough to convince her to destroy something so exquisite.

  Insomnia

  Three a.m.

  Neko slept, but her dreams were fitful, ugly and bloody. Her hands, coated in the deep crimson of dripping blood, her mind filled with searing anger. Something external was controlling her, forcing her to kill against her nature. Against her will.

  She shot up, hands at her sides, her chest heaving.

  It was all in your mind, she muttered. Fool.

  All was quiet as usual, the countryside fast asleep even while she was not. Her neighbours were mostly pensioners; elderly, retired people seeking peace and
silence, and most thought her a student who lived in the small village because of London’s high rents.

  She rose, dressed in nothing more than a long t-shirt and a pair of white cotton panties, and stepped lightly towards the kitchen. Always she walked on her toes, a cat stalking to avoid detection.

  In the fridge she found a jug of milk and withdrew it, grabbing a cup from the drying rack before filling it. She sipped the contents as she turned towards the kitchen table.

  “Jesus!” she choked out as the cup fell from her hand and hit the tile floor, shattering and spilling its payload in every direction. Neko grasped at her chest, searching for her absent knives, forgetting how scantily clad she was. Why hadn’t she armed herself?

  “You followed me home—Neko.” There he was. The light-eyed beautiful man. Sitting casually in her kitchen, a grin on his face.

  “And you, apparently, did the same to me,” she replied. “Though I’m not so easily followed up here, so I have to wonder at your methods.”

  “You’re not so difficult to follow. That is, if your pursuer can fly.”

  That was enough to incriminate him. He’d confessed his guilt. Alongside the turquoise eyes, he acknowledged the gift of flight. So, he really was the one. He was the Kindred, the Dragon-man Lumen that she’d been hired to slay.

  She spun back towards the counter, reaching for the block of knives that sat under one of the windows.

  Empty.

  Her hands went to the edge of the counter as she contemplated the notion that she might not live to see another morning.

  “What do you want?” she asked, fingers feeling along the underside of the chipboard. They stopped when they reached the small blade that she’d taped there ages ago.

  “Please don’t remove the knife from its hiding spot,” the man said. “I don’t want to have to kill you, not to mention destroy this lovely house of yours.”

  Neko froze, cursing herself once again for her sloppiness. It was as though her judgment had clouded over with this assignment. And he—this man—was inside her head again.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing to a chair next to his. “Sit. I’ve already removed two blades from the underside of this table, so we can at least have a nice conversation for a few minutes.”

  Scowling, Neko pulled out the chair and took a seat, yanking her t-shirt down in an attempt at modesty.

  “As for what I want,” said Lumen, “that’s simple, really. I’d like to know who hired you. To know who wants to take me—and my kind—down at the hands of a beautiful woman.”

  That silky voice. Smooth, flawless, a touch of the North in his accent that she hadn’t really picked up on when they’d first met. As his lips moved Neko felt herself go faint again—an irritatingly female reaction—and as though a hypnotist had worked on her, she wanted to stand up, to raise her shirt over her head and to sit on him. To kiss those lips, to offer up her body, the very one that was meant to raise her weapons against him.

  “I can’t divulge the names of clients,” she said, her voice tight, grating in her throat. He’d extracted so much the other day; she didn’t want the tactic to work again.

  “But you acknowledge that there is one.”

  “Yes.”

  He stood, pushing the chair away from the table with a loud scrape. Neko stood as well, shifting her weight, eyes darting towards the door. But she didn’t try to escape. Not yet.

  The man moved towards her. She was five foot nine barefoot, and he loomed tall over her now; he must have been at least six inches taller. Now she could smell him again. Something beyond intoxication was hitting her in deep waves, pounding into her body, just as it had done in the café.

  “What does your client want?” he asked, his face too close to hers, and yet not close enough.

  “He…he wants me to slay you.”

  She’d just signed her death warrant, and even in her disoriented state she knew it. If this man let her survive the night, her client would probably see to it that she died by some other means.

  “If you flew here, he might have seen you,” she said. “Or…”

  “You’re worried that he might have pursued me.”

  “Yes.” She thought better than to mention that Umbra had also hired another Hunter. Maybe whoever it was would find a way to help her out of this situation. “He may find you here, and kill you himself.”

  “I landed some distance away after I’d tracked your train route. I picked up your delightful scent and it led me here. No one followed me. And as you know by now, I can tell when someone is stalking me. The Lapsed that you killed the other day would not have had a chance, by the way. Though I suppose I should thank you for your actions again. Ironic that you should try and save me, only to pursue me another day.”

  Neko allowed herself a deep breath. So, the Dragon wasn’t leaving. And no doubt he’d slay her. Somehow, the thought appealed more than the idea of Umbra getting his wretched hands around her throat.

  “How are you going to do it?” she asked.

  “Do…it?” A curl of his lip. Was he actually enough of a sadist to find the situation amusing? Maybe he really was a cruel creature.

  “Are you actually going to make me ask explicitly how you intend to slaughter me in my house?”

  “I have no desire to slaughter you,” he said, stepping to the counter and removing the stiletto dagger that remained taped on the underside of its rim. He fondled it with long fingers, his smile deepening. “Why on earth would I kill someone who’s so useful—and so very appealing—to me?”

  Neko’s mind was beginning to focus. “If you don’t intend to kill me, then why the fuck did you hide my knives?”

  “Because I suspected that you stand to earn a fair few thousand pounds by killing me. And I also suspect that if and when I leave, you’ll try and figure out how to do just that.”

  She didn’t reply. What could she say? He was right.

  “Which is why I can’t leave.” Those powerful eyes of his locked on hers, rendering her all but useless once again.

  “What?”

  “You know where I live now. You know that I—a Kindred—exist, which in itself is dangerous. I can’t leave and expect to return to my life, waiting for you to slit my throat in my sleep.” More silence. “Unless we can come to an agreement.”

  “What do you propose?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Well, the first natural course of action would be to suggest that you not kill me. The next would be to ask you to work alongside me to track down this client of yours, my little stalker.”

  “Work alongside you? I’m a Hunter. We don’t generally work well with others.”

  “I’m a Dragon. Neither do we. So on that level at least, we’re compatible.” He really was enjoying this far too much, the sodding wanker. “So I propose that you tell me what your client is paying you. I’ll offer you twice as much. Then you will tell your client that you couldn’t find me.”

  “He won’t be happy to hear it. The best case scenario is that he hires another Hunter to do the job at which I failed.” He already has, in fact.

  “The worst scenario is that he harms you?”

  “Well, yes. He’s already paid me quite a lot. I suspect that he’ll want it back.”

  “I don’t imagine that he gives a vicar’s tits about money. And I won’t let him hurt you.”

  “Are you proposing to become my protector?”

  Lumen’s lips twitched again. “Would it be so awful to have a Dragon bodyguard?”

  “It might.”

  Then again, it might not.

  * * *

  Sleep

  She was so beautiful. Dangerously so.

  Lumen knew her house by now, the scent of each room, the floor plan and exits. How she looked when she slept; the noises she made when the bad dreams set in. What was in—and on top of—her fridge. Every sort of tea in her cabinets, and how her scent altered when he moved towards her, threatening touch. Drawing him to her,
just as she was drawn to him.

  Many of the Hunters didn’t know it, but they were descended from lines similar to his; their senses were heightened to detect those who were non-human. They had skills, often, that went unnoticed, even by themselves. Abilities to see through others’ falseness, to detect a lie.

  This one, he knew, thought of herself solely as a Hunter. She pursued and occasionally she killed Lapsed. But that was all.

  He could teach her a good deal, but she would have to learn to trust him. And a Hunter seldom trusted her prey. She would see him as feral, as likely to turn on her and slay her. It was like a wolf trying to gain the faith of a lamb; it would be a challenge.

  Her shirt was cotton, worn, and the kitchen was cold. And so he’d noticed the outline of her breasts, her tight nipples two pebbles under the fabric. Like magnets drawing him in—astonishing weapons, those. Nipples could turn the most sensible man into a drooling moron. They could steal the blood that was meant to supply his brain and reroute it elsewhere in his body, cruelly robbing him of intellect. Add to that the long, smooth legs that stood bare before him and he was a basic mess of testosterone and erect cock.

  “What is your full name?” The words came softly. The Dragon was trying to calm the lamb.

  “Neko Sands.”

  “Sands. And as you know, I am Lumen. Neko, the Lapsed are on the move. They are increasing in numbers. Do you know why that is?”

  “No.”

  “Because men knowns as Controllers are taking shifters, robbing them of soul and mind. There is a large population in London of solitary shifters—those who’ve come to escape their previous lives. To be alone. And the Controllers, such as the man who hired you, find them and use them for their own means. They turn them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They steal away their skills, their powers, as a vampire takes blood from its victims. All that’s left is an empty shell, a creature devoid of soul of mind.”

  “The Lapsed—they were once full-bodied shifters?” It made perfect sense. But why had she never known?