Mating the Huntress

by Talia Hibbert

  Her mother arched a brow. Chastity waited for the inevitable explosion of disgust.

  Then Solomon Adofo said, “Makes sense.”

  Chastity was so shocked, she almost swallowed her own tongue. “Makes… sense?”

  “Oh, yes,” Dad said, nodding thoughtfully. “Of course. You remember,” he said, turning to look at Ma. “‘Her first kill will rip out her own heart’.”

  Well, fuck. That did make sense. In the most twisted way possible. Chastity stared blankly at the wall as her parents talked further, as they compared notes and decided how early was too early to call a family meeting. She was still staring at the wall, her mind moving rapidly and yet uselessly, her thoughts incoherent but frantic, when Ma tapped her on the shoulder.

  She looked up, and saw the little wooden acorn trapped between her mother’s fingers. “You want this, Smudge?”

  “No.” She squeezed her eyes shut as her deepest, most primal instincts rebelled. “Yes,” she admitted, and held out a hand.

  Ma passed it over and gave her a considering look. “You know seventy ways to maim a man, so I’ve never been overly concerned for your safety. At least, not before. Are you concerned for your safety?”

  She understood, with a jolt, that her mother was asking about Luke. About whether his was a dangerous sort of desire. “No,” she said, because it was the only possible answer.

  “Do you have any reason to believe that your judgement may be impaired?”

  The logical response was, undoubtedly, Yes. Her behaviour over the last couple of days had been erratic, to say the least. Over the last few weeks, in fact—because Chastity was slowly coming to accept that her reaction to Luke had been odd from the very beginning.

  She’d identified a Werewolf and had decided to just… let him be? To observe him every morning at the café, plotting his eventual demise, even when she’d believed him actively dangerous? To keep something from her family, something so huge? She’d even started altering rotas to make sure Dad was never around in the mornings, since he was the only man in the family likely to know a Were in human form. And yes, she’d done it all with the aim of killing Luke—but had she ever truly wanted to do that?

  Suddenly, she wasn’t certain. She’d wanted to kill a Were, that was for sure. But a secret part of her soul might have wished that the Were in question didn’t have to be Luke.

  His smile made her dizzy, his scent made her weak, his touch took her to heaven, and she adored him. He was a monster and she was a huntress, and she adored him.

  Maybe there was something to this mate thing after all.

  “My judgement is not impaired,” she told her mother. “Not in the slightest.”

  7

  Full Moon Rising

  It had been a long damn day.

  Ma had called a family meeting at the arsecrack of dawn, so Chas had barely slept at all before reciting her unbelievable story in front of every sibling and a couple of nearby cousins. She’d handled the usual probing questions, then stuffed herself into a ridiculously floofy, scarlet Halloween costume and stomped off to work.

  At Cup O’Go, holidays like Halloween were always busy—but today had been frantic. The constant influx of customers should’ve made time pass quickly, but instead, things dragged. Because no matter what Chas was doing, who she was smiling for, or how many pumps of pumpkin spice she put into a latte, her mind was stuck on Luke.

  She’d hurt him. She’d hurt him and she desperately wanted to fix it. The need was so urgent, every beat of her heart felt like an echo of his name. The hopelessness in his eyes, the gentleness of his voice as he tried his best to fix things, it all played on a torturous loop in her head until she realised that the thing weighing her down and fucking her up was pure, unadulterated guilt. The worst she’d ever felt.

  And on top of all that, she missed him. After five bloody minutes apart, she missed him.

  But no matter what she wanted to do, no matter how much she’d like to go to him, the fact remained that tonight was the full moon. Not only would he be pissed with her, he would also be, you know, a Werewolf. And while she’d seen that side of him before, she had reason to believe that the full moon changed things. It would be reckless to go to him now, unsure of the welcome she’d receive. She couldn’t do it. And that fact made her absolutely furious.

  When she and Valour finally locked up at 6 p.m., Chastity was ready to go home and scream uselessly into her pillow.

  So, of course, when she let herself into her shitty little flat, it was to find that one of her many sisters had taken up residence.

  Someone’s boots were by the door—but they all swapped and copied each other so much, it was hard to discern whose. She could rule out Honour and Liberty, because they had massive feet, and these combat boots were on the smaller side. So, she thought as she took off her coat and followed the sound of frying, spitting butter to the kitchen, it was either Mercy, Constance, or…

  “Vicky,” she sighed, as her favourite—and most aggravating—sister came into view. Victory was standing in front of the narrow kitchen’s old-fashioned hob, her muscled body and vital beauty a contrast to the tired and chipped appliances. “What are you doing here?”

  The taller woman spared Chastity the barest of glances before turning her attention back to her frying pan. “Evenin’, baby sis. Nice costume.”

  Chas snorted. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “I mean it.” She flipped a pancake with irritating height and precision. “Little Red, right?”

  “I’m a red velvet cupcake,” Chas gritted out, fiddling self-consciously with her poofy skirt. “I took off the icing headband.”

  Victory cracked up. “Icing headband?”

  “You know Dad buys the costumes. He thinks he’s funny.”

  “Which is funny in itself. Really, though, it’s a shame you’re not Little Ms. Hood today. Would’ve been ironic. You know, since you’re screwing a Werewolf and all.”

  Chastity’s hand shot out to grip the doorframe, her knuckle joints screaming as she squeezed the wood a little too hard. “Wh-what? How did you—I mean, we’re not—”

  Victory flicked her pancake onto a plate already piled high with them, put down the frying pan, and turned to face a panicked Chastity with a smile. “You’re cute when you’re confused. Lemon and sugar, or—?”

  “Better get the syrup.” Closing her eyes for a second, Chas leaned against the doorframe and took a deep, soothing breath. A centring breath, one designed to bring her back to herself. Which might be impossible, since she felt like half of herself was absent—and presumably running around in another skin, eating small forest creatures.

  But she managed to yank the swirling pieces of her mind back into place, cobbling together an approximation of a Totally Okay Chastity just in time to follow her sister and those pancakes out of the room.

  They sat on Chasity’s second-hand sofa, crossed-legged and facing each other, the stack of pancakes wobbling precariously between them. Victory wolfed one down first, her scarred hands moving efficiently as she ripped and swallowed. Then she said, “Me and Valour have been spying on you all month.”

  “Valour?!”

  “Sure. Your problem is, you still think of him as a little kid when he’s probably the smartest of us all. He spotted the Were straight away, Chas. And he knew you had too.”

  This was probably going to be an uncomfortable conversation. Chastity debated the pros and cons of shoving a whole pancake into her mouth at once.

  “When you didn’t do anything, he decided to tell me. He thought telling Ma might get you in trouble. So, between us, we figured out that you were planning to hunt the thing alone. To prove yourself, right?”

  “Right,” Chastity mumbled, but the word was muffled. She’d decided to eat the whole pancake. It tasted like syrupy sawdust.

  “Well, we thought it was a good idea. But I wanted to keep an eye on you, just in case that old witch was right and you died or whatever. So, Val watched you at work and
reported back, and the longer you took to make a move, the weirder things got. He started telling me the Were was nice to you. He said you probably didn’t want to kill it. And I have to admit, I was suspicious of that thing to begin with. The night it ripped your hoodie, it…” Victory stared distantly over Chastity’s shoulder, like she was seeing those wild, moonlit woods again. “It wasn’t like other Weres. Of course, after everything you told us in the meeting this morning, that makes sense. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  “You eventually made a move, so I stalked you just the teeniest, tiniest bit. When you were in that thing’s house—”

  “Luke,” Chastity corrected, unable to keep quiet once she’d finally swallowed the pancake. “His name is Luke.”

  Victory executed the sort of smug, older-sister look that said she’d been waiting to hear that. “Sorry,” she murmured, clearly fighting a smile. “Luke. When you were in his house, I had a lock on him through the window—or at least, I did until you guys started making out. Gross, by the way.”

  “Oh, fuck off.” Victory was a sniper. A very good sniper. So she must’ve had a great view down her scope that night. Chas’s cheeks heated.

  “Heh. Anyways, eventually you got appropriately stabby—you did well, by the way—but I was ready to shoot that motherfucker until I realised that he wasn’t trying to kill you. Then you took the knife out of his chest and sat around looking like a war widow, etcetera etcetera, you know the rest. Next day, Val saw you leaving the carpark with, um, Luke, so I waited near his house again. By that point, we were 99% sure you were pulling some Romeo and Juliet shit, but I just wanted to be absolutely positive that you weren’t going to get eaten.” Victory’s lips twitched. “Well, maybe you did get eaten—”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “—but all I saw was you guys having some weird argument. Looked very dramatic.”

  “You can stop talking now.” Chastity bit into another pancake and chewed until the urge to break down and ask her sister for advice finally passed. She didn’t think Victory had much experience in soothing the hurt feelings of a preternatural creature. “You and Val are a pair of weirdos,” she muttered eventually. “But… thanks. For making sure I didn’t die.”

  “Well, as far as I can tell, you were never in any danger.” Victory eyed her thoughtfully. “You’re really into that Were, hm?”

  “I suppose,” Chas sighed. It was all so inconvenient, having people who cared about you when all you really wanted was to bottle up your feelings and never, ever speak of them.

  “How come you’re grumpy, then? He’s cute, and he looked like a good kisser.”

  “Would you stop?” she snorted, no heat in the words.

  “Relax. I’m not going to steal your monster. Although, if he is telling the truth and there are others like him…”

  “You can’t just decide to date a Werewolf, Vicky.”

  “Yes, I can. It would be nice to sleep with a guy without worrying my thighs are gonna accidentally snap his neck.”

  Chastity laughed despite herself. “I’m sure. But I don’t know how they… I mean, they have this whole ‘mate for life’ thing, and I don’t know if they really date outside of that.” She wrinkled her nose, thoughtful. They must, right? The ones who were into romance at all, that is. But then, knowing you’d eventually find your mate could make other relationships seem less important.

  “Wait,” Victory said, narrowing her eyes. “Mate for life? Is that what Luke’s trying to do with you?”

  Oops. After a moment’s hesitation, Chas mumbled, “Maybe.”

  There was a stunned pause, Victory’s usually expressive face going completely blank. And then, out of nowhere, she burst into laughter.

  “What?” Chastity scowled. “What’s so funny?!”

  Her sister tried to reply, but couldn’t manage in between hysterical whoops.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re the most irritating person on planet earth, I swear to God.”

  Victory slapped her own thigh and bent over double.

  “I’m eating all of these pancakes. Screw you.” With a sniff of annoyance, Chastity attacked the rest of the food.

  She’d almost finished the stack by the time Victory calmed enough to speak, wiping actual tears from the corners of her eyes. Finally, the chuckling huntress said, “For life. That’s adorable.”

  “Whatever,” Chas glared, a strange sort of indignation flaring in her chest. Something inside her wanted to take offence at her sister’s flippancy, but she refused to do that. Instead, she asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me I should run a mile? Keep an eye out for some nice, human man instead?”

  “Why would I do that?” Victory snorted. “Chastity, we’re from a family of Werewolf hunters. You’re basically dating a monster. A fucking fortune-telling witch attended your birth. Everything about our lives is ridiculous and impossible and arguably ill-advised. Do whatever the hell you want. We’re warriors. You’ll be fine no matter what.” Her tone hardened slightly, her eyes narrowing as she added, “We’ll make sure of it.”

  Aw. Implied threats of violence against her future spouse. Chastity’s heart swelled. “You’re very annoying, but also one of my top six favourite sisters.”

  Victory rolled her eyes. “Cute.” Then, with a wink, “I love you too. So, you and the Were made up yet?”

  Chastity bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “No.”

  Her sister waited for more, then arched a brow when none was forthcoming. “You fucked up, right?”

  “Seriously? How do you know he didn’t fuck up?”

  “I mean, maybe he did. But you must’ve too, because you’ve got your whole ‘guilty and resentful’ thing going on.” Victory waved a finger at Chastity’s face. “This is how you look when you want to apologise but don’t have the guts. Kind of like you’re constipated.”

  “I have the guts,” Chas snapped, trying to smooth out her expression. “But Christ, Vicky, it’s the full moon. He’s probably out there pissing up a tree trunk or something.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  Chastity grunted.

  “Fine. You can apologise when he’s not furry. But, you know… I met the guy on a full moon. He was rather scary. He was also,” Victory said slowly, “quite human.”

  The pair fell silent, staring at the empty plate between them.

  And then Chastity made a terrible decision.

  Either this mating thing really was fated, unavoidable instinct, or Chastity was losing it. Possibly—probably—both. She huffed out a laugh, her breath a curl of ghostly smoke in the darkness. It was late, but not so late that there weren’t any trick or treaters to witness her weirdness.

  The kids she passed, all kitted out in costumes and toting bags for the treats they’d collect that night, gave her sideways looks as she chuckled to herself. But she kept walking until the neat streets of the suburbs disappeared and the city devolved into abandoned, burned out factories being eaten alive by foliage as nature reclaimed its space.

  As Luke’s forest finally came into view, she sped up, her heels clipping sharply against the pavement. Yes, her heels; she was still wearing this bloody costume, hadn’t had time to change before the soul-deep tug towards her missing half dragged her out of the house. At least she was wearing thick, red tights beneath the skirt, and a hoodie and jacket over the flouncy, red-and-white bodice.

  She rubbed her gloved hands together and crossed the street towards the edge of the forest, not bothering to head to Luke’s cabin. He wouldn’t be there, would he? Not with the moon a fat, gleaming pearl right above them, veiled in silvery shadow but still gleaming bright and whole. He’d be here. In the darkness. Where he belonged.

  The forest was separated from the pavement by a rickety fence, the kind anyone could easily cross—but no-one ever did. In fact, before last month, she couldn’t remember ever giving the ominous mass of trees and undergrowth a second thought. Even now, something about it seemed subtly r
epulsive, as if earthy tendrils were curling over her skin, whispering warnings against her chilled flesh.

  But she refused to be afraid. She was an Adofo. And she just might be a Werewolf’s mate. She was so desperate to see him that, for a second, she thought she caught a glimpse of his unnatural eyes, flashing within the depths of the forest. Then, a moment later, she heard the familiar rumble of a growl that vibrated through her body, from the soles of her feet to the tips of her curls. She should’ve been terrified.

  Instead, she was… eager.

  Moving closer, bracing her hands against the wooden fence, she peered into the darkness. “Luke?”

  No answer. But she was gripped by a near-compulsive need to give chase, to follow her screaming instincts until she’d reached her goal. And so, moving as if in a trance, Chastity jumped the fence. The dagger strapped to her thigh dug in a little as she raised one leg awkwardly, and her heels sank into the earth as she landed. Then her ridiculous tutu-like skirt caught and tugged on a jagged edge of wood.

  “Bloody costume,” she gritted out, pulling at the gauze until it ripped. Once she was free, she moved deeper into the dense undergrowth, pushing aside whip-sharp branches and stepping over rotting logs until true darkness blanketed her like suffocating velvet.

  And then, in the midst of nothing, she saw those eyes.

  “Luke,” she breathed. “I—I want to talk to you.” Of course, he might not be able to talk back. It was full moon night, after all. But he was still himself in this form, wasn’t he? She’d seen that. So she stepped closer, towards him, her heart pounding its way out of her chest.

  He growled, low and raw, a thrill rolling over her until the fine hairs on her skin stood to attention. She tensed, unsure for a moment. But then she shook off that uncertainty and did what she’d come to do.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “About yesterday. I mean, I’m not sorry for freaking out—I think that’s fair—but I tried to push you away, and I know I hurt you.”