Hunter's Promise

by Billi Jean

  She grimaced at that, unsure what he had in mind, but certain she wouldn’t like it.

  Revenge. Did she want that? No, she wanted death. Nice, quiet, peaceful death.

  As if reading her mind, Arawn said thoughtfully, “Aye, you will wish for much more than the bliss of my lands before long, but first you must pay your debt to Lucifer, eh?”

  Before she knew what he was going to do, he touched her face, laying his palm there as if to caress her cheek. But where he touched her, sizzling bone deep heat blistered her flesh.

  She screamed and struggled to move away, to break his hold—anything to stop the pain. Almost as suddenly as the agony of his touch began, he dropped his hand and she fell at his feet, retching and gagging on her vomit as the torture of his touch reached new heights of pure, white-hot agony

  “Go, live, wear this mark,” he said as if through a tunnel of wind. “If you can find true love before the sun sets on the last night of the Winter Solstice, then will this curse be broken. If no’ broken it will begin again the next year, and thus, until you find someone who can see beyond your guise to the person you wish to be, you will suffer. Until then, you will suffer from the pain of your mistakes without a memory of how to reverse this curse.”

  The words were there, flooding her brain, but the meaning slipped away just as the room did, until blackness filled her vision. A child’s hand appeared out of the darkness offering help and in desperation, Hunter grasped it.

  A soft green light split the black asunder. Then as quickly as it soothed her, the glow disappeared at a stern call from a man she should remember but couldn’t recall.

  The agony returned a hundredfold, until it was her entire reality. Nothing and no one mattered, only breathing one breath after another in the hopes that it would end.

  Chapter Two

  Rick Kincaid raised his fist and the team behind him stopped.

  “Stay down,” he said quickly, and ran closer to where two people had materialized out of nowhere.

  Markee, a werewolf, and a witch, Aubrey, faced him, then immediately focused on the house. Why was he not surprised by their arrival? Oh, yeah, because the two had been a constant source of entertainment for him since he’d pulled the short stick and ended up watching a deserted house just outside of Boston.

  The alarm they’d put on Hunter’s house had gone off fifteen minutes ago. Since then there’d been no movement inside, but he knew she was there. She was supposed to be in hell—as in, Satan’s house—toasting marshmallows or something like that. The fact she’d showed up here, a mere few weeks after the shit had been cleared was remarkable. Ballsy, even. But that was the sexy punk rocker, skater, chic-witch who’d saved his life back in Washington. A real firecracker, a spark he couldn’t quite stop thinking about, no matter how hard he tried.

  “Report,” Grayson, his commander on this mission, snapped over the com link. Kincaid slid a glance at Aubrey, wondering again what the two of them had going on. Grayson kept his cards close to his chest, but Kincaid was certain the man had it bad for the dark-haired beauty.

  “She’s in there,” Kincaid reported. “But she’s not made a move,” he clarified through the link.

  Markee and Aubrey stood in the open, not even bothering to duck behind the car near them. He held in his grumble. The street was truly a dead end, with a mile between Hunter’s house and the next, which was also, oddly enough, deserted. For being so close to Boston, the area was unnervingly quiet. “We just got company.”

  “Yeah? Well, get ready, because more might be on the way.”

  “Right,” he said, and gestured to his men. He had a team of six with him, but the human-immortal teamwork thing wasn’t working out so well. All six of his men were human, so there went the cooperation. He had another team at the L.A. house she owned, but they’d spotted nothing.

  “Go in. See what shape she’s in, and try to work well with others,” Gray added in a low tone.

  “Don’t I always?” he asked, but disconnected before Gray could say a word. “We go in,” he said by way of greeting the two.

  “Good. She’s here,” Markee cautioned.

  “Yes, she’s returned,” Aubrey said in her soft Gaelic burr.

  Kincaid didn’t gripe. It wouldn’t do a damn thing. None of the immortals he’d met since the Washington state mission respected—or even really heard—him when he spoke. He might as well walk around naked, Little Rickie, his fondest body part, waving hello for all who seemed to care. Grayson said that it was probably better that way. Jack was taking enough slack for them all, and hell, he wasn’t even mortal—not any longer. Kincaid was surprised Jack and Trouble hadn’t shown up, actually, but Grayson had hinted that Hunter was on the time-out list for the shit she was accused of.

  “We need to go slow, right?” he reminded them, because he’d never learned to keep his mouth shut.

  Surprising him, Markee glanced at him—another first. “Yeah, there could be a demon in there,” he said, but sounded as if he didn’t buy it. “So keep that gun loaded, but don’t shoot unless you’re threatened. I scent blood, too, so be cautious.”

  Kincaid grabbed Markee’s arm and stopped him from charging ahead.

  “Blood? Explain,” he demanded. “Hunter’s bleeding?”

  Markee shrugged him off. “She’s been in hell. What do you expect will be in there? A pool party?”

  Kincaid grunted. Funny. Real funny. “Answer the—”

  “Grab me again and you’ll lose a hand,” Markee snarled, shoving him back so hard Kincaid would have fallen on his ass if he hadn’t anticipated the move.

  Of course Markee also jumped the shrubs hiding most of Hunter’s house and headed for the porch.

  Rick was right behind him, motioning to his men to stay down and back. One man lost was reasonable—a unit, not so much. Aubrey walked up the paving stones and toward them, silently but with a disapproving shake of her head at Markee.

  “We are supposed to stay together, Markee,” she reminded the Lykae.

  “There’s nothing you two can do that I can’t do alone,” Markee snapped, but waited for Aubrey before he vaulted over the porch railing and landed quietly on the wood.

  Aubrey sighed, but again, followed him. Aubrey had freaked him out the first time he’d met her. She’d not been on any of the surveillance tapes, so the way her face and hands glowed when she did her magic had been a shock. Unlike Hunter—or the witch known as Trouble—Aubrey’s body glowed with blue swirls, almost like hidden tattoos, under her skin.

  Most of his dealings with the immortals were a shock, though. Of all the beings he’d met, Aubrey was the most human, outside of the woman now suffering in her house.

  Hunter. The little spark of energy who’d saved his ass and his dignity in Washington. Or maybe reality had checked his dignity at the door. Either way, she’d saved his life. In Rick Kincaid’s book, that meant he owed her.

  Markee waited half a second with his head near the door, hauled it open—of course not knocking—and stalked into the house. Aubrey was right behind him.

  Flushing years of training down the toilet, Kincaid followed, not sure if he was going to get blasted with Hunter’s famous blue electric shock, or attacked by a demon in the middle of doing who knew what to the witch.

  Instead he heard Aubrey cry out and Markee suck in a harsh breath. Aubrey fell to her knees by a couch. Two steps into the room, Kincaid could see why.

  Hunter was unconscious and naked, sprawled half on the ground. She was bleeding, blackened with grime, or maybe soot. But at least she was alive, since she was also moaning painfully.

  “Hunter, oh, Danu, Hunter.” Aubrey reached out with a hand that trembled and paused with it hovering over Hunter’s face.

  A sense of relief washed over Kincaid, then he got a real good look at the tiny bundle of energy.

  He felt as if he’d taken a bullet in his chest.

  This wasn’t the Hunter he had watched line after line of video feed on—before she
’d erased it all. This Hunter was still blonde, but the pink or blue, or even purple chunks she colored her hair with were missing.

  So was half her face.

  She was still the prettiest damn woman, but now the entire left side from her temple to her jaw was raw and blistered. Her lips were untouched, so was her left eye, but not her left cheek. It was as though someone had slid a hot iron—or a hand—down her face.

  Aubrey repositioned her, grimacing as if she might break down and start crying at the condition Hunter was in. Kincaid had to admit, she was bad. Someone had also beaten her with something that left long, narrow, bloody lines on her body. There was blood on the top of her small feet and more dripping from her hands. He stepped closer and realized someone had impaled her hands and feet with something, leaving behind bleeding holes.

  His palms sweated at the amount of pain she had to be in.

  “Don’t,” Aubrey said quickly when Markee went to touch her. “It will hurt her. Here,” she whispered and pulled a blanket over her nakedness. “We need to move her so she can be healed.”

  “Aubrey, you know we have to take her in,” Markee said urgently. “But we have to do something. Call someone first—”

  “I ken that,” Aubrey murmured distractedly, examining Hunter’s blistered face. “She is… This is, I dinnae think this was from Lucifer, the king of your Hell,” she added, glancing at him.

  Kincaid lifted his eyebrows. “Why are you looking at me?”

  Markee snorted. “The man knows nothing about hell.”

  If only that were true.

  “I know more than my fair share, wolf-man. Now, what does hell have to do with Hunter being back, and like this?”

  “Aye? You are no’ a Christian?” Aubrey asked, still appearing confused.

  He shrugged uncomfortably, but realized the woman wasn’t letting up until he answered her. “I’m Episcopal.”

  Aubrey blinked, frowning at him as if he made no sense.

  “Aubrey.” Markee pulled her attention back to him. “What do you mean? Explain.”

  “I believe she was marked for a reason, but I don’t ken it was done by the Christian devil, Lucifer. This…” She gestured to Hunter’s face. “This is…something else,” she murmured. “This has the feel of a guise, or a curse, eh?”

  “A curse? Are you kidding?” Markee asked.

  “Does it matter?” Kincaid demanded. “We need to get her to a hospital.”

  “No, no hospital.” Markee stopped him from picking Hunter up. “We were instructed to take her in by Torque.”

  Torque. Head of the new Immortal-Human Central Command.

  “I was told to take her as well,” he agreed, but wanted to make one thing clear. Hunter was with him. He didn’t trust Markee or any other immortal with Hunter’s safety—not with what she was being accused of. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “Nay, you will harm her. I will shift her there. Markee, you go with him, back, or—”

  “I’ll meet you there.” Markee ran a hand through his brown hair and blew out a breath. “She’s alive though, right?”

  “Aye,” Aubrey whispered. “She is.”

  Why did that sound wrong, as if she doubted that?

  “Kincaid?” Grayson said in the com link, startling him.

  “Gray.”

  “Report.”

  Gray was a man of few words, but right now Kincaid didn’t mind so much. He couldn’t think of what to say, how to even describe the situation, or the emotions boiling inside him.

  “Right. She’s here. Alive. Aubrey is bringing her in,” he added.

  Both Aubrey and Markee watched him as he spoke.

  “Fine,” Gray said. “I’ll inform Torque. He’s waiting on news.”

  “I’ll be there by half six,” he said and signed out, pulling the link out of his ear so he could stretch his neck and not worry over it. “Torque is going to be waiting on her.”

  Markee’s frown grew, but he seemed in agreement. “I’ll meet you there, Aubrey.”

  Aubrey’s tattoos began to swirl, and as they did, she chanted under her breath. Slowly she and Hunter disappeared.

  It felt odd, as if he’d just gotten some relief from the constant worry over Hunter, then it was back—only much worse than before. There were a lot of people—immortals—pissed off at Hunter De la Croix. More who wanted her back in hell, and others who preferred to put her in their own brand of it.

  “Need a lift?” he asked the wolf, to get his mind off Hunter’s fate. He doubted the man would take his offer.

  Sure enough, Markee snorted and left, not even bothering to shut the door. That was fine. Kincaid wasn’t staying. He’d already gone through the entire house from top to bottom. It was Hunter’s—hidden by a simple twist to her name. She’d changed the De la Croix to Cross. Not that hard to find, especially since he’d been watching her since way before Washington.

  He walked out, signaling to his men to stand down. Mission over.

  Only it wasn’t. He squinted at Markee walking down the street and doubted it was over for him either.

  Hunter couldn’t be the woman people thought she was. Women like that didn’t save people’s lives. And they sure didn’t put themselves in hell for their friends. His bet was Markee wasn’t going to leave Hunter in the heat alone.

  He knew he wasn’t. His mission here might be over, but his new one had just begun.

  * * * *

  “She’s not awake yet, if you were going to ask,” Torque offered when Kincaid, the human bent on driving them all crazy, strode in. Kincaid had no business being here, but it didn’t stop him. Torque kind of admired that.

  “You kinda admire that? You like him.” Beauty nudged him with a hip.

  Curling his arm around her waist, he grunted at another not-so-tender poke to his ribs. “He shot at Jaxon without checking what he was shooting at.”

  “Well, Jaxon can be a pain at times.”

  “Mr. Kincaid, come. Sit down,” Beauty said aloud, nicer than him by far.

  Torque kicked out a chair farthest from them for the guy, and Kincaid smirked and took the hint.

  “You are so jealous. It’s kinda hot, but be nice. It gets you more sugar.”

  “That’s not what you said last night, sweetheart.”

  “So, you two often communicate like that,” Kincaid asked, “when people are around?”

  Beauty busted up laughing and he pulled her closer and took a seat, adjusting her on his lap. They’d been examining a map of the area where the team had found the Alaskan compound. The Bering Strait was known for freezing in some parts during the deepest of winter, but crossing over was illegal. Not to mention dangerous. The other compound, nearer to Russia—where they’d lost Vik and the humans turned changelings—was one hell of a distance. The idea they were connected was a stretch.

  “Yes, all the time. It’s convenient for one…and two, we like to talk about people,” Torque offered, just to see what Kincaid would say.

  “Torque! I apologize, really. Torque isn’t used to being nice to people he can’t boss around.”

  Kincaid raised his eyebrows and sat back, grinning. “You can boss me around. I can take it. Believe me. I might not do it, but I can take an order as good as the next.”

  Torque snorted. “Just not survive a death shot, or impaling, or a vampire bite—”

  “Yeah, that’s true.” Kincaid jerked forward, resting his arms on the table and scanning the map. “Going on a honeymoon? I hear it’s pretty cold in Siberia.”

  “Funny, really. What do you want, Kincaid?” Torque asked, already guessing at the answer.

  Kincaid focused on him. “Look, here’s the deal. I owe that girl my life—”

  “Hunter,” he clarified, just because it was fun to pull the guy’s chain.

  Grimacing, Kincaid gave him a quick scowl, but continued. “Hunter. I pay back shit like that, so when is she going to wake up?”

  “You owe Hunter your life?” Beauty asked, sipping
her iced tea. She knew why, but she was seeing if the human would offer it up. “I can test him, too.”

  “Go ahead. I’m not stopping you.” Torque took her tea when she was done and drank some while Kincaid drummed his fingers on the table, clearly getting his bid in order before he put it down

  “She pulled me out of Washington. I wouldn’t have gotten down off that crazy wall, let alone walked out, without her. She also made sure we all got out after that black hole sucked a few of our men down along with your crew. I owe her.”

  “I see,” Beauty murmured, playing with ends of her long, blonde hair. “Hunter saved your life, so you want to help her. Is that it?”

  Kincaid glanced from him to his mate.

  “How are you going to do that?” Torque asked. He’d known that the man felt this way, but he’d not figured out what he was thinking he could do about it.

  “I say let me take her on a mission. When she’s up. Right off. She’s gonna be”—he grimaced and tilted his head—“screwed up for a while. Don’t let her think on it. Just get her back in the saddle, as they say.”

  “You want to take Hunter on a mission? What kind of mission?” Beauty demanded, sitting straighter. “She’s been through enough, even if she hadn’t been left terribly scarred. She’s in no condition to go on a mission! She’d get hurt all over again.”

  “Sweetheart, slow down. Listen to what he’s saying.”

  “He’s insane. Clearly.”

  “You think I’m nuts, don’t you?” Kincaid offered. “I get it, but I bet you don’t get what I’m saying. Hunter—from what I know of her—was in trouble. Big trouble, I admit, but she did her best, I think.”

  Torque agreed. Now that he’d had time to cool his jets, he couldn’t deny that she’d fallen into hell to spare Markee the same fate. More and more was coming out on her, too, and most of it pointed at her trying to do her best. She’d fucked up, big time, but she was young. The conclave wanted her ass—or some of them did—but he was more and more certain that he wasn’t allowing it. If he could figure out how to stop it.