Huntress Moon (Bones and Bounties Book 2)

by Bilinda Sheehan

  “He had taken some fae territory and murdered the fae who had claimed it first, and so I levelled the playing field.”

  “If you plan to kill us, then you should know that it takes a lot of direct sunlight to complete such a task.” She lifted one delicate hand and gestured toward a door I hadn’t noticed.

  It swung open, and a tall man stepped through it. His skin was a rich caramel colour, and his green eyes sparkled brightly, set off by bronze hair that was cut fashionably short. He had cheekbones that would make any GQ model proud. But something wasn’t quite right about him, and I didn’t realise what it was until he came level with the marble throne and turned to reveal the charred, raw burns that had completely destroyed one side of his face. He wore an open red shirt that exposed his broad, muscular chest, and beneath the expensive fabric I could see that the burns continued down the right side of his body.

  “Azrael, is this the fae you met today?” the queen asked, reaching toward him with a pale hand. Her nails raked down the side of his ruined face, but his green eyes never left mine.

  “This little one murdered my children,” he said, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. I would have known his voice anywhere.

  I’d brought the roof of the abandoned mall down on his head, so how the hell had he survived with nothing more than a few burns? He’d be completely healed after his next meal, and yet, according to him, the newborns had perished.

  “How did you survive?” I asked, raising my chin in defiance.

  “My queen is correct—it takes more than just exposure to sunlight to kill a master.”

  “But your newborns are dead?”

  “Very,” he said, and I could have sworn I heard remorse in his voice. Was it possible that vamps cared for their newborns? I’d always been led to believe that vamps were heartless, that the humans and fae were nothing more than cattle to them. The latter was definitely true, so I’d always assumed the former was too.

  “You would have killed both me and the wolf,” I said, searching Azrael’s face for any sort of denial.

  “You were trespassing.”

  “The Court sent me to warn you that to harm the fae was to declare war.” I dragged my gaze away from his face and back to the queen, who was watching with abject fascination.

  “Azrael was correct, the truce was voided in Ireland, a fact that I and others from the Council do not agree with. But our disagreement doesn’t change the truth. Whoever sent you to Azrael did so without telling you the truth.” The queen watched me from beneath her lashes.

  “And what about the fae he murdered?” I asked, flexing my grip on the machete. The conversation had definitely taken a turn for the worse, and I couldn’t help but feel as though I was being manoeuvred into a corner.

  “There was only one fae, and she was brought to the site as punishment for a crime,” Azrael said, moving slowly around the room so that I was forced to split my attention between him and the queen, not to mention her human servants.

  “We do not punish our kind by threatening them with vampires,” I said.

  “And I have no use for lies,” he shot back. “You would taste them in the air.” He raised his hands to the side in a gesture of open sincerity.

  He was right. If he lied, I would taste its bitterness on the air. But I didn’t, leaving me with only one conclusion.

  “Who brought her?” I asked.

  “The Beast Mother,” he said, and my world ground to a halt.

  “This surprises you?” The queen leaned forward on her throne, her blonde hair trailing forward to expose her small, pert breasts and the bloody bite marks that surrounded the areolas.

  “Do you mean the Mother of the Hunt?” I asked, my throat suddenly dry.

  “You call her such a pretty name, but we call her by the truth of what she is. She is the Beast Mother, the bringer of shifters, the creator of the creatures that rampage in the dark of night.”

  I didn’t answer. I’d known she was the mother of the creatures of the Wild Hunt, but I hadn’t known she was also mother to the shifters… Of course, I couldn’t guarantee the vampire was correct about that. Fae history was long and varied, and many of the stories of my kind had been lost to the ages.

  “And the fae she brought to you?”

  “A pretty little thing. Delicate, but with teeth to rival even mine.” Azrael glanced down at the burns decorating the backs of his hands.

  “What did the Mother of the Hunt do with her?” I asked.

  “Why, she let her go,” he said, and though he lifted his gaze to mine, I could see something lurking in the depths of his eyes.

  “Do not toy with me, blood sucker,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Tread carefully, little harbinger,” the human servant warned.

  Azrael waved his words away and approached me slowly. “The one you call Mother of the Hunt bit down on her, tearing into her shoulder and neck the way a wild animal might. The girl screamed, her agony painful even to one such as I, and then the Beast let her go.” He circled me slowly, each step bringing him closer.

  “And the scent of her blood on the evening air as she ran for all that she was worth was delicious, but nymphs aren’t really made for land…”

  “Let me guess, you took the bait,” I said, struggling to keep the emotion from my voice.

  “Bait? Dear one, she was a gift.”

  “So you killed her?”

  “She tasted of sunshine and happiness,” he said, his voice taking on a dreamy tone as he stared into the distance. “I gave her a death any of your kind would be proud to have. Her blood fed the newborns, but she felt no pain, I promise you that.” His gaze suddenly snapped back to my face, his green eyes filled with hunger, the monster within him lurking just beneath the surface.

  “Do you admit to entering the home of Azrael, master vampire, and slaughtering thirty-eight of his newborns and almost costing him his own life?” the queen asked, her sudden question catching me off guard.

  Surprised, I swung around to face her. “What?”

  I realised the mistake as soon as I’d made it. Giving my back to Azrael was a rookie mistake, and his iron grip filled me with fear. He jerked my arm holding the machete backwards and forced it up my back, twisting the joint hard enough that I was forced to choose to either give up the blade or lose it.

  “Answer the question, little one,” he whispered against my ear.

  “I went searching for the fae he had slaughtered and, in doing so, was forced to defend myself against him and his brood,” I said.

  “Close enough,” the queen said.

  “The Court will not stand for this,” I quipped back. Azrael twisted my arm further, causing me to bite down on my lower lip.

  The queen nodded and smiled at me. “We shall see. Take her to the holding cells.”

  I glanced down at the floor, doing my best to inch my booted foot toward the machete Azrael had forced me to drop. But, as though he could sense what I was doing, he twisted my arm at such an impossible angle that the joint strained to stay connected. I bent forward at the waist to avoid risking more damage at his hands.

  He moved to secure my other hand, and, seizing the opportunity, I twisted in his grip. The pain of my shoulder popping free of the joint was intense enough to cause my breath to catch in the back of my throat, but I had suffered far worse injuries in the past. Something as simple as a dislocated shoulder wasn’t going to stop me now, especially considering what would happen to me if they managed to get me into one of their holding cells.

  Twisting toward him, I slammed my body into his torso, driving us both backwards. The moment I felt his grip lessen on my arm, I raised my head, jerking my injured arm free and driving my elbow up into his snarling face. The satisfying crunch of his nose crumbling beneath the blow almost made up for the pain in my arm. Without another thought, I dived across the floor toward my machete, my one good hand closing around its hilt as the air nearby shifted suddenly.

  T
urning to face Azrael, I was surprised to find him still on the ground, his hand cupping his face as blood dripped from between his fingers. I glanced back in the direction of the throne, but it was empty.

  It took me just a second to locate the human servant, whose semi-automatic weapon was trained on the centre of my body. But that second was all it took for the queen to get a jump on me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, and I began to turn, machete raised. Her fingers dug into what little flesh I had near my neck and shoulder, and I suddenly found myself airborne.

  The white marble wall came to meet me far faster than expected, and I had only enough time to toss the machete away before I connected with it. My neck snapped backwards and my head slammed into the marble, causing my vision to run in streamers of light that momentarily disoriented me.

  When I came to, the light in the room was more intense than I remembered, and I felt a distinct burning around my wrists, ankles, and mouth. I blinked to clear my vision as the burning intensified and struggled against the shackles. The feeling of them against my skin brought back all sorts of memories I had thought were long buried despite occasionally resurfacing in my dreams.

  I lifted my shackled hands to my face, and pain bit into my fingers as they came into contact with the iron gag. The iron bit sitting against my tongue burned despite the leather cover the vamps had placed over it. Tears stung my eyes as I stared up at the queen’s face.

  “I won’t be so lenient the next time,” she said, and, with one flick of her wrist, I felt two pairs of strong hands wrap around my legs and shoulders. They hoisted me into the air, carrying me between them as I bucked and heaved against their hold. But the iron did its job; I could feel it leeching into my body as it rubbed my ankles and wrists raw.

  Fighting against them was utterly pointless, but I persisted even as they carried me into the depths of the vampires’ lair and dumped me onto the cold stone floor of my cell in what seemed like an underground cavern. The sound of their booted feet moving away brought a wave of nausea crashing over me, and the urge to sink in to the self-pity swelling inside my chest was almost overwhelming. But I couldn’t. Every moment here was a moment wasted, a moment I needed so I could help Byron stop the sickness from sweeping through the wolves. But as the darkness and impenetrable silence settled in around me, doubt started creeping in.

  If I couldn’t help myself, then what good was I to Byron?

  I needed a miracle, but being a harbinger had taught me that miracles never came in the form you wanted. And that, more than anything, was enough to make me fight against the bonds that held me all the more vigorously.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Darkness had fallen by the time the vampires returned to fetch me from the cell. I had managed to work the manacles from my ankles free, so when they entered the cell I pushed up onto my feet and met them head-on.

  Two human servants grabbed me beneath my elbows, practically lifting me from my feet as they carted me toward the door. They led me along the winding stone staircase that led to the upper floors of the queen’s household. I contemplated fighting them—the iron had definitely weakened me, but not so much that I couldn’t school a couple of enhanced humans in the art of pain.

  But the sight of Azrael standing in the hall was enough to make me think twice. He would pay for the pain he’d caused me—and the fae he’d murdered—but I could see the promise of violence reflected in his eyes, and I knew he longed for my death.

  When the humans escorted me past him, his eyes raked over me and a small smile played around his lips as he noted my broken ankle manacles. Staring through him, I slowed my heart rate, my own little kick to the teeth for a vamp who wished for me to fear him. It was a small, petty thing, but it had the desired effect. His smirk slid away, replaced by a snarl.

  The humans carried me out through a small door and down a long hall that was instantly recognisable as the same one the queen’s human servant brought me through when I first arrived. I glanced over my shoulder, trying to figure out where we’d come from, but Azrael’s broad shoulders blocked my view. We definitely hadn’t passed through the same door as before, that much I was certain of. The place was like a maze, leading me to believe that I wouldn’t know how to escape even if the opportunity presented itself. The iron door at the end of the hall stood open, golden light spilling over the black marble floors leading up to it.

  The decor reminded me a little of the inside of a tomb, cold and impersonal, but since those two traits suited the vamps perfectly, it made sense their taste in interior design would follow suit.

  I picked up my pace as we approached the iron door, as did the human servants. We made it to the door several paces ahead of Azrael.

  “Anyone would think you were eager to meet your maker,” he said, moving alongside me as I was directed to the centre of the room.

  Since the gag prevented me from answering, I ignored him as best I could. He drew closer to me, and I curled my fingers into my palms, balling my hands into fists. I couldn’t shake the memory of his fangs in my throat, the longing he had drawn from the core of my being. I had desired death at his hands, and I hated myself for it. The fact that it was one of the most powerful tools in the vamps’ arsenal didn’t make me feel any better, because I was supposed to be above those kinds of parlour tricks.

  Harbingers didn’t desire death.

  I had very nearly allowed him to drain me, which filled me with revulsion. Others were allowed to fail in the face of such power, but not me. And it wasn’t just because I had an ego the size of a small country, either. Who I was—the blood that ran in my veins, the power granted to me by the Between—should have protected me from such things.

  There was no pleasure in the indignity of the end. Banshees were simply the messengers. But for those few moments, I had forgotten who I was, and I couldn’t let that happen again.

  “Don’t be in too much of a hurry,” Azrael said, moving behind me as he slid his hand up the side of my face and tangled his fingers in my hair. He jerked my head forcibly to the side, extending my neck so that he punctuated each spoken word with a butterfly kiss. “I know I’m not… You and I will do things together you never even dreamed possible.” His lips pressed against the pulse thudding just beneath my ear.

  I stared straight ahead. It was a little pathetic, really. Did he honestly think he could frighten me like this? I didn’t fear death. The world held worse things, and I had encountered a few of them, even loved one of them…which definitely wasn’t my finest moment.

  “Azrael!” The queen’s voice cut through the air with laser-like precision. He stiffened, as though someone had pressed something sharp to his delicate parts. “Let her go,” she said, her voice soft and gentle, the words moving against my skin like the brush of a cat’s velvet fur.

  He released me, pushing me away so I was forced to either take a stumbling step forward or drop to my knees.

  “Mistress, I was not hurting her but merely explaining what would happen next,” Azrael said.

  Without a word, the queen breezed past him. Her long blonde hair was no longer flowing freely around her like a veil; now, it was pinned high on her head, with long strands loosely braided and twisted around so that her hair looked like it was filled with golden roses. It was clearly a painstaking process. Who the hell had that much time on their hands?

  She wore a rich forest-green dress, the neckline dipping between her breasts and exposing a strip of flawless alabaster skin. A thin, twisted black braid of leather held tightly in place beneath her breasts allowed the fabric to fall freely to the floor and gather around her feet. Each time she took a step, the dress swung open on the sides to reveal a strip of pale leg all the way up to her hipbones. On anyone else, the outfit would have looked like a badly arranged bed sheet, but she made it look sensual and sophisticated, two things I had never been in my very long life.

  She practically floated up onto the marble throne stationed at the head of the room, artfully a
rranging her dress around her body to simultaneously reveal as much flesh as possible while still keeping all the important bits under wraps. Then she looked at me and said, “You, Darcey Thorne, are guilty of breaching the fragile treaty between both fae and vampire here in Falcon City.” When I let out a mumbled protest, the iron bit in my mouth burned my tongue and caused tears to gather in my eyes. The vampires had been the ones to tell me the bloody truce had been voided in Ireland! Hell, Azrael had used that as an excuse to attack me first, not that any of that mattered here.

  “The punishment agreed upon by both Faerie Court and Vampire Council is that the offending parties, or, in your case, party, should be put to death by the ones they have wronged.”

  Dread curled in the pit of my stomach. I could practically feel Azrael salivating at the thought of sinking his fangs into me once more.

  “I have spoken to your Court, and they agree with this judgment,” she said.

  Her words slammed into me. They were a death sentence. The Mother of the Hunt had betrayed me—I’d spent enough hours in the darkened cell mulling over the matter to decide there could be no alternative. This was no mistake, and I refused to believe that someone so far up the Faerie Court food chain would have bad information. And if I believed Azrael’s story, then this was more than just a regular set-up. She had also murdered another fae in order to ensure I, too, would die.

  “I would usually ask what you think of this, and whether or not you have anything to say in your defence, but we both know what you will do if I remove the gag,” the queen added. “You have wronged Azrael’s family, and, as such, he deserves recompense—”

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he said, cutting her off.

  “I haven’t finished.” She glared down at the master vampire. “However,” she said, addressing me once more, “I feel that your death will not serve me or the vampire community.”

  Azrael hissed as though someone had spilled hot coffee on him, and I turned to see his eyes snapping with rage as he glared up at his queen.