The Huntress (Lupus Moon Book One)

by Kevin Sorrell

  "The thought had never crossed my mind."

  The man-bear glared at the woman. He softened. "Good, 'cause ain't no wolves around these parts." He reached out and grazed the woman's cheek. "Only thing here is us guys." He dropped his hand to her chest and pulled open her duster, revealing a skin-tight purple halter top. The woman's turgid nipples punched through the thin fabric. "Mmmm. Very nice," he growled. "Looks like you could use some of big daddy here." The man sat back and presented his crotch, patting the sizable bulge behind the denim zipper.

  The other patrons laughed. The woman looked around. She was the only female in the establishment. She turned to the burly man and flashed him a warm, sexy smile.

  Then slammed her fist into his dick. The man howled, and the woman shoved him, stool and all, to the floor.

  "Hey!"

  Another biker, tall and well-built, stood from his table. "I don't know who you think you are, but you're not gonna come into our town and start disrespecting our people!" Several others roared their agreement.

  The woman narrowed her eyes. "Really?" She stepped from the stool and strolled over to the biker, staring him in his dark, beady eyes. "Well, the way I see it, I can damn well disrespect whoever the fuck I want if they step to me wrong." She looked the biker up and down. "Are you trying to be next?"

  Several men cackled like schoolchildren instigating a fight on the playground.

  The biker reached into his back pocket and pulled out a butterfly knife. He flipped it open and spun it a few times before grasping the handle. The blade stopped a few inches from the woman's face. Her expression never changed.

  "You got a real slick mouth on you," the biker said. "I think it's time someone teach you some manners."

  "You can try." The woman smirked. "You wouldn't be the first."

  The biker snickered. He lunged with the knife. The woman slipped the blade and caught the man with a right to the gut. He doubled over, and she grabbed his head, slamming her skull into his face and sending him reeling.

  The biker, staggered, came black with a lazy right. The woman snared his arm and spun backward, driving her leather-clad elbow into his left temple. She dropped back, fired a knee into his stomach, then leveled him with a standing kick.

  From behind the woman, Burly Man climbed to his feet. He grabbed a barstool, swung it overhead. "Fucking bitch!" he bellowed, charging.

  The woman sidestepped the big man, stuck her left leg out. He tripped and tumbled into Science Teacher's table, the barstool coming free and sailing into the face of another well-liquored patron across the bar. Enraged, the man hit the biker next to him, and that man's friends jumped to his aid. They bumped the adjacent table in the process, spilling the beer of three more bikers, and they joined the fray.

  Two men rushed the woman. She ducked the first biker's right and landed two gut shots to the second, finishing him with an uppercut. She spun and laid out the first man with a spinning heel kick.

  The woman sauntered back to the counter as the melee ensued. She calmly took a seat. "Gimme another," she said, motioning to her empty glass.

  The bartender stared at her, astonished.

  The woman reached into her duster and produced a wad of cash. She removed the gold clip, slapped down the entire amount. "This should cover the damage."

  The bartender's eyes bugged. He scooped up the money, flipped through the bills. "Y-Yes, ma'am! Anything you say, miss...?"

  "Craine," the woman said, disregarding the brawl taking place just a few feet behind her. "Alex Craine."

  TWO

  Richard Baines was, if nothing else, a creature of habit.

  Sitting in his usual booth in the corner of Hagley's Diner, he waited quietly as Beverly, a middle-aged waitress with the friendliest disposition he'd ever seen, filled his order. It was the same thing every morning, Monday through Friday. A cup of coffee, black, no cream. On special days, Baines would treat himself by adding a few packets of sugar.

  This wasn't, however, one of those days. Baines had placed his order the same as always, but his warm, soothing voice was dampened by preoccupation. Beverly hadn't noticed, though, bouncing off to fetch the cup of joe without a care in the world.

  Baines adjusted his glasses. He envied Beverly. He wished his mind could be so relaxed, so...at peace. He'd been befuddled a lot lately, and nothing had convinced him that the coming days would be any less complicated. It wasn't supposed to be this way; things were supposed to be simpler...

  Easier. Baines exhaled, turning his attention from his concerns and placing it on the patronage. There were the usual sights: a young couple at a window booth sharing an early milkshake, a nuclear family occupying a space in the opposite corner, two women gossiping a few tables over, Wilford Mason glaring back from the counter...

  Baines tore his gaze away as Beverly returned, placing a ceramic mug before him and filling it from a fresh pot. Wisps of steam curled skyward as she poured, faintly obscuring her gently-weathered features.

  "How's things at the church?" she asked.

  Baines shrugged. "Been noticing a lot more empty seats lately, but we're hanging in there."

  Beverly smiled and spun off to return to pitcher to its cradle. Baines followed her with his eyes, then took a tentative sip. Weeping Springs Baptist Church was the source of Baines' meager income, and a major contributor to his mounting frustration. The last half-decade had been marred with declining attendance, but the last two had been particularly brutal. Older members passed away with alarming frequency, while the younger generation were more concerned with the adulation and attention afforded by fake friends on social media rather than spiritual salvation. And though Baines wasn't anti-technology by any means, he did take issue with the Internet as an electronic fount of opinions, memes, and ideas that called into question the very idea of religion--which, in turn, only amplified the lack of interest and distrust in the institution to which he had faithfully devoted the last several of his fifty-one years.

  Baines sighed and glanced at the sugar caddy. What the hell. He reached for a couple packets.

  "Yeah, I know! Me either!"

  Baines glanced at Mason. A local hunter and mountain of a man, his hairy mitt threatened to crush his smartphone. "All this time, and they still haven't found anything! It's been a month, man, a whole damn month! I told 'em if they worked as hard finding out who tore up my chicken cages as they do writing up bullshit tickets, they'd have the sonofabitch by now!" Someone on the other end spoke. "The whole goddamned thing is a shame if you ask me!" His eyes immediately shot to Baines. "Sorry, Reverend."

  Baines chuckled, then turned to the window in time to catch a black Corvette roar past the diner and turn at the next intersection. He frowned, shook the thought away. He brought the augmented beverage to his lips and took another sip.

  Much better.

  "You were so right, Susan. The girls love it here," one of the chatting women told the other. "It's so quiet and peaceful. And ohmigod, those mountains! You sure don't see anything like those in Missouri!"

  Baines smiled. He'd had the same impression when he first visited the old mining town years ago. He adored the throwback feel, and the close-knit nature of the residents. Like a famous fictional bar, it was a place where everyone knew everyone's name, and newcomers stuck out like a sore thumb.

  But it was the first part of the lady's comments that brought concern back to the forefront of Baines' thoughts. The one that reminded him of his daughter. At sixteen she had already endured the pain of losing a parent with the tragic death of her mother, Marianne, and had what little normalcy remained obliterated when Baines uprooted them and moved from Texas to Colorado. Since then, they had built a new life; he had taken over as pastor of the town's failing church, and she had grown up to become a beautiful young woman. They had become close, but the advancement in his daughter's teenage years brought with them the desire to spread her wings, which of course meant conflict--the latest spawning an argument which resulted in the two not
speaking for the past two days.

  Baines had been reasonable, he thought. She'd wanted to go to a school party; he'd said no. The event was to be chaperoned, but since Marianne's death, Baines hadn't been keen on letting his little girl out of his sight for fear a lack of vigilance would cost him someone else he loved. And though it would've eased his mind, attending the party himself was out of the question, something his daughter had quickly agreed with. Nevertheless, Baines had denied his teenager's request, so the freeze-out began.

  Baines sighed, scratched at his graying beard. His little girl was growing up, and as much as it pained him, he wouldn't be there to protect her forever. But for now, he would do whatever he could, and a little discomfort on her part was worth it if it meant keeping her safe.

  Still, Baines wanted his girl to be happy. Perhaps he could make it up to her. Maybe some ice cream and a ride to Victoria for a movie. She'd always loved that. Baines brought his cup up for another sip.

  He hoped she would again.

  THREE

  "You didn't tell him you were coming, did you?"

  Alex narrowed her eyes. She fancied herself a free spirit and didn't appreciate being taken to task. "No, I didn't. That gonna be a problem?"

  The bespectacled Latina on the laptop grumbled. "Alex..."

  "Look, I need to be sure first. I don't wanna raise a stink if I don't have to."

  "Please. You're a black woman driving through small-town Colorado in a souped-up Corvette," the Latin retorted. "Trust me, you've already made a stink."

  Alex glanced between the slats of wood covering the only window. Her car sat outside, ready for its next mission. The woman had a point.

  "So you think it's a legit case?"

  "I'm not sure," Alex said, leaning back in the rotting office chair, casually picking her tightly-trimmed nails with the point of an eleven and a half-inch Bowie knife. "I haven't had a chance to look around much. There's a lot of terrain. A lot of places to hide."

  "So it's going to take time," the woman said, a worried look marking her delicate, mid-forties face. "Time you might not have if it's true."

  Alex shrugged.

  "Just be careful," the woman continued. "It might be a lot of area, but it's still a small town. Word travels fast, especially when you're trying to avoid someone."

  "No lie there," Alex said, moving to the next nail. "What about my package? Did you get it out?"

  "Should be at your next stop."

  "Cool. Check you tomorrow, doc." Alex pressed a button on the keypad. The woman vanished.

  Setting the knife on the dilapidated desk, Alex stood and stretched her tattooed arms over her cornrowed head as she surveyed the crumbling remains of the 1940s gas station that doubled as her temporary base of operations. It wasn't much--dust and grime blanketed the walls and furniture, shattered glass littered the floors, and the only light came courtesy of the sun seeping through the boarded windows and crusted garage skylight--but it was more than enough.

  And Alex had laid her head in worse. She moved across the office to a withering set of shelves, where she took stock of her supplies. She had only brought the basics: two Walther P99 pistols with shoulder holsters, a Remington 870 Express Synthetic twenty-gauge shotgun with six-round side saddle, silver-tipped bolts along with a Barnett RC-150 compound crossbow and quiver, six silver throwing knives sheathed in a bandoleer, and a wrist pouch packed with three silver throwing spikes. Alex's duster rested alongside the items, as well as a portable charger, hot plate, and a stainless steel teapot with metal mug.

  Alex smirked. Time to go hunting.

  FOUR

  "I can't believe you actually lied to your dad. You know you're going to hell, right?"

  "I can't if I already live there. And this isn't the first time. Daddy still thinks I'm a virgin."

  Kristen Baines and Jenny Moreland had been friends since the fifth grade, when they met in Mr. Freeman's Earth Sciences class. New to the area and keeping very much to herself, it was the more outgoing Jennifer who made the first move, cracking wise about the clashing hues in their colorblind instructor's outfit on an otherwise boring and drab Tuesday. The laughter brought Kristen out of her shell, and ever since then, where one went, the other wasn't far behind. As time went by, Kristen had become more confident in herself and her personality flourished, revealing a growing rebellious streak that Jennifer found simultaneously exciting, if not wholly expected, given who Kristen's father was.

  "But you are a virgin--aren't you?" Jenny asked over the thumping bass. Loud hip hop poured from the speakers next to the deejay's booth as they entered the high school's gym. The place was sparse but filling fast with teenagers talking, dancing, and flirting, while several teachers lined the far end of the basketball court.

  Kristen returned a sly smile, framed perfectly by her long, chestnut locks. She was an effortless beauty, secretly the envy of more than a few of her classmates.

  Jenny's baby blue eyes widened into pools of shock. "What? When did this minor miracle--"

  "Last week."

  "Shut. Up," Jenny said. "And you didn't tell me?"

  "I just did, didn't I?"

  "You slut!" Jenny teased. Then, in a hushed tone, "How was it?"

  Kristen frowned. "Nothing special. More blood than anything."

  "I hate it when that happens."

  Kristen froze. "Wait, how many times have you...?"

  "Bled? About four," Jenny said. She stopped, read Kristen's concern. "Is that too many?"

  "I think you need to get checked out," Kristen said with a nervous giggle. She resumed her course--

  Smashed into a blonde Goth with a pixie cut. "Watch where the fuck you're going, bitch!"the woman growled.

  Kristen regained her balance, took in the woman. She wore a frilly black dress, and though young, was several years past her sixteen. Kristen held her hands up. "Sorry."

  The woman glared at Kristen, searing her soul with intense, emerald eyes. She pushed her way past the girls. Jenny stuck out her tongue.

  Kristen shook her head and moved to the wall, where she found a vacant spot. She and Jenny put their backs to the brick and scouted the floor.

  Jenny's eyes were the first to lock on something. She elbowed Kristen. "Hey."

  Kristen followed her friend's stare to a group of boys across the gym where Derek Wilson--tall, dark, and possessed of a thousand-megawatt smile--leaned against a retracted set of stands. A senior, he was one of the stars of Weeping Springs High's exceedingly-mediocre football team, his only claim to fame being his supernatural handsomeness.

  Jenny cleared her blonde locks from her face. "Bet you'd give anything to be in the locker room with him after the game."

  "I would," Kristen replied on auto-pilot. She'd had a thing for Derek since the previous year, but, deciding he was out of her league, never made a move. Instead, she wasted her time on a string of nobodies--one of whom was slick enough to get Kristen in bed. It was something she worked to forget.

  "So go talk to him," Jenny said. Kristen shot her a look.

  "What? Are you crazy? You can't just go up to a guy like Derek and start blabbering about anything. You have to have a plan."

  "Or you could just be yourself. And make sure you use small words. Derek's a jock, not a brain."

  "Way to be stereotypical, there, Jenn."

  "Hey, I've got class with the boy. Just calling it like I see it." Jenny adjusted the neckline of her form-fitting blue dress. "So you going or not?"

  Kristen looked Jenny in the eye. She was serious, even defiant, as if she would march right over there and start a conversation with Derek if Kristen didn't move fast enough. But she wouldn't do that, would she? That would break one of the most secret tenets of the girl code!

  But Kristen didn't want to take the risk. She looked across the gym and took a deep, steeling breath.

  She took the first step. Followed by another. And a third. Kristen couldn't believe it. She was doing it! She was finally going to say somethin
g to Derek. But what would it be? Kristen's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't thought it through; she'd simply reacted to Jenny's prodding. Whatever it was going to be she had to think of it quick. Derek and his friends were coming closer. Ohmygod, his friends! What if they rejected her? Laughed at her? Kristen swallowed hard and buried the fear beneath the pounding of her heart. She could do this. She had to. As she neared paydirt, Kristen caught the faintest wisps of Derek's cologne. It was the same kind her father used, but it smelled so much sweeter wafting off the quarterback's chiseled frame. Kristen made a note to bring it up in case her mind went blank and the conversation waned. She was determined to not let that happen, though. She had come too far, and this was her time. Her chance. Hesitation tugged at Kristen's steps , but she fought through it--

  Only for the Goth to slither in and claim Kristen's prize, wrapping a lithe hand around his head and whispering in his ear. No doubt it was disgusting, and Kristen's suspicions were confirmed once Derek flashed his blinding smile and the woman turned to her, laying bare her treachery with a taunting sneer before taking Derek's hand and leading him to the door. Caught off guard, and sensing the stares of an increasing number of classmates, Kristen did the only thing she could. She retreated as fast as her two-inch heels would allow to the safety of the wall and Jenny, who had taken her phone from her clutch the capture the proceedings.

  "Fuck him," Jenny snarled upon her return. "If he'd rather mess around with a skank like that, he wasn't worth your time, anyway!"

  Kristen nodded, but the words did nothing to console her. She seethed; her eyes gathered moisture, threatening the integrity of her makeup. She should never have listened to Jenny. It's not like she ever had a shot with Derek in the first place. Kristen wanted to be anywhere but there, but there were eyes still on her. What she had to do was play it off, wait several minutes before calmly making her exit.

  That's exactly what she would do.