Hunter’s Quest
Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book One
Nicole Zoltack
Copyright 2020 by Nicole Zoltack
Cover Artist: Rowserein
ISBN-13: 9798606445356
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To April, a reader turned proofreader turned friend.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Other Books By Nicole Zoltack
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
The moon is my best friend, and no, that doesn't make me a werewolf. I'm not a vampire either, but a vampire is why I'm out and about this late at night. No, I don't want to date one. I'm not Sookie or Bella. I'm Rebel, and this is what I do. I hunt vampires or werewolves or whatever I'm paid to. I hunt them, and I bring them in, or I kill them. It's all a matter of preference—the client's preference.
That’s right. I’m Rebel, and I’m a supernatural bounty hunter.
The warm breeze causes my long, wavy brown hair to cover the bottom half of my face. I don’t bother to brush my hair back. It always does what it wants anyhow.
My knees ache from my crouched position. I'm perched on a rooftop, waiting for the vampire in question to make an appearance. For a few days now, I've been tailing him. Marco Russo. Italian, possibly from the Renaissance period. At least that's what the client believes.
High above me, the moon is beautiful, swollen, and majestic. Her silvery rays illuminate even the darkest corners of the alley below me. Marco is a rather boring, cliché vampire. He likes to drink from his victims in alleys. I suppose that's better than luring them back to his house, but I haven't been able to find his house, so it's just as well he drinks in public. Presumably, he rushes off to his house after he feeds, but some of the myths about vampires are true. They do have super speed, and while I've taken down vampires and other supernatural baddies before, I don't have super speed. Or super strength. Or enhanced endurance or heightened sense. I'm just me, just Rebel, and I'm not paranormal at all.
I’m only human, and that makes it so much more fun. Yes, it’s dangerous, but I live for the thrill of the hunt, the glory of the chase, and the coin from a job well done.
Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I can’t bring these supernatural baddies down one by one.
It’s not an easy job, but someone has to do it. Er, actually, I created the job myself, but word of mouth has spread. Now, I have a ton of clients and sometimes even have to turn jobs down. Unfortunately, word has spread throughout the supernatural community too. Once, a goblin decided to come after me to take me out so that all of the creatures would be safe from me. I cut off one of his ears, but I let him live. Honestly, his anger is misplaced. He should be upset with my clients. They’re the ones who want the creatures either killed or brought to them for whatever reason. If the paranormal creatures ever stopped fighting each other, I would be out of a job.
But this isn’t just a job for me. It’s training.
From my crouch, I shift onto my knees so that my leg muscles can relax slightly. I’m getting annoyed. I could’ve gone after the vampire last night, except he decided to go and run off without finding someone to feed on, at least not anywhere in my vicinity. The two nights before that, he hunted these streets. Maybe he’s moved onto another area in town. Bloody bloodsucker. I can’t stand vampires. All of the ones I’ve dealt with have been rude and haughty. They think they’re better than humans. I’m sure my fellow humans would agree with me that vampires aren’t that special. There’s just one issue with that. I’m the only human who knows about the supernatural world that exists side by side with ours but operates right under our noses.
This client, a genie, never told me why he wants the vampire, and I don't care to know. As for why the genie can't go and fetch the vampire himself? I didn't ask. It's not my business to know the reasonings for each job, only how to complete it without everyone learning about my targets or clients. It's a delicate balance I walk, a dangerous tightrope. I'm a thrill-seeker to the extreme. Every day and night is filled with peril, and I could die at any time.
I’m not afraid of death. I’ve meat grim reapers before. Not all of them are evil. Some of them don’t even look like death. Most paranormal creatures have adapted to be able to blend in at least somewhat well among the public. Some, like goblins, trolls, and orcs, can’t. Cyclopes and zombies? Forget about it. And then there are the monster types like manticores with their lion bodies, griffins, hydras, and so many more.
There are schools for these creatures, one for vampires, for werewolves, perhaps for fairies, and there’s one in particular that sets my teeth on edge—Magical Hunters Academy. From what I’ve been told, the students there are trained to hunt, slay, and execute evil paranormal beings, but just who decides which are evil and which should be hunted versus executed? Although who am I to judge? I’ve killed for a client before, and I’ll kill again if the price is right.
Maybe, one day, I’ll kill the one I wish to most of all, and it won’t be for a cent.
With a sigh, I straighten. I rub my thighs to ease my tightened muscles. As silent as a ghost, I make my way down the fire escape and jump onto the ground. It’s not often I try the route to lure out a vampire, but I want this job done. The client is growing antsy, and so am I.
I tuck my pistols away and quickly twist my long locks into a loose, messy bun. My neck is exposed, and I'm certain that any vampire would be drawn to it. Unfortunately, the collar of my bounty hunter attire goes a little high up on my neck. The brown leather helps me to blend into shadows. I flex my fingers within my gloves. Keeping my hands on the grips of my pistols, I march down the alley toward the street, my boots not making a sound.
Up a block, down the street, and on, away from the lights and the parts of the city that are still awake due to open restaurants and bars, I stay ever vigilant. I may be twenty-one and considered by some too young to know much about anything, but experiences are what age a person, and I’m an old, old woman. I’m as sharp-eyed as they come, unflappable, incapable of being distracted like so many my age might be.
The sounds of life, happiness, and rowdiness all fade away the farther I walk away from the busy section of the city and head deeper into the poorer portion. The dress of the few people I pass is dirtier, ill-fitting, and unsuitable for the weather, too many layers for the summer. They glare at me as I pass, but I only scan their faces to check on their eyes and
teeth. Some vampires appear almost too human in appearance until it’s too late.
The buildings are falling apart, and graffiti covers the walls. I have to avoid stepping on glass from broken windows, the rocks nearby a clue as to how said windows were broken in the first place.
Up ahead, one of the streetlights is burned out. Most of the ones in this area are dimmed, but that’s the first one to shed no light whatsoever. I halt beneath it and wait.
It’s not a long wait.
The vampire doesn’t come for me. No. It’s the whisper of clothing on clothing that catches my attention. Not the normal sound of clothing when someone’s walking but from an arm being grabbed. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s one I’ve had to learn to distinguish.
I glance into the nearby alley. Two forms are there, one taller and leaning over the other. Even if it’s not the vampire, I want to check this out. I don’t normally interfere with matters between people, but if I need to, I will.
“You will hold still,” the man says, his words hardly audible, the strength and power of conviction in them enough to make me pause mid-step.
He's a vampire all right, and he's using his power of forced will on the woman.
But is he the right vampire or not?
Doesn’t matter. I don’t want her to be bitten.
I take a step closer and eye his ears. They’re pointed. Yes, this vampire has a fairy ancestor somewhere along the way.
This is the one I’m to take out.
Without delay, I whip out my pistols. “Leave her alone!” I call out as I shoot both of my weapons.
One of the shots goes wide, but the other buries itself into his shoulder. The vampire draws back and hisses at me. At the sight of his bloodstained teeth, I curse myself. I had been too late. The human has been bitten.
But that’s only one strike—one stake?—against me. Strike or stake two is from the vampire not falling to the ground. He’s not dying.
The vampire releases his hold on the human, and she slinks to the ground. He brings his hand up and wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his hand.
I fire again and again, but the vampire stalks toward me at an exaggeratedly slow pace. Even though I’m hitting him, he’s not reacting from pain.
The stupid genie. He got the age of the vampire wrong. Fanged here is far older than my client thought, so I didn’t use a strong enough dose.
I toss my worthless pistols aside. They’re too hot from being shot so many times for me to put them away immediately. My right hand opens the pouch attached to my upper thigh, and my fingers curl around small iron balls as my left retrieves a dagger from inside my boot.
The vampire’s foot slams against my chest, and I go down hard. In seconds, he’s on top of me.
“Stupid collar,” he gripes. “Stupid buttons.”
I wiggle beneath him, more to distract him than to try to dislodge him, and I bring the hilt of the dagger against his throat.
“Don’t move,” I warn him.
He goes to knock the dagger from my hand. “You do not tell me—”
I shove an iron ball into his mouth.
The vampire gags and tries to spit it out, but I use the hilt of the dagger to keep the ball in place. Not all paranormal creatures can be injured by iron, but a good majority can.
The vampire foams at the mouth, and his body twists and convulses. His body is like a dead weight on me, and by the time I can shove him away, I realize he's actually dead.
That was fast. The bullets must’ve hurt him some even if he didn’t outwardly show it.
Abandoning him for now, I rush over to the woman. Her glassy, lifeless eyes don’t see me, and I mutter a curse. Stake three. I didn’t prevent her from being bitten or from dying.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur as I close her eyes.
From my pouch, I remove a small vial and sprinkle some fairy dust onto her wound. Although she’s dead, the skin still heals. I can’t have anyone realizing she died from puncture marks from fangs.
Furious, I march back over to the vampire. He won’t turn to ash until the sun rises. With my dagger, I cut out his fangs.
Will the genie be happy with me? He had better be because I am not happy with myself.
Once it’s dawn, I call the police and leave an anonymous tip for them to check the alley. I don’t want the woman to be left in the alley longer than is necessary. She deserves to be claimed by her loved ones.
I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.
I’m Rebel, supernatural bounty hunter, but sometimes, I still make mistakes.
Chapter 2
The weight of my pouch is a little heavier as I march along the streets. The iron ball—washed and sterilized—is back in there, and so are both of the fangs—also washed but not sterilized.
My gait tends to get people to look at me twice, more so than my clothing, but I pay no one any attention, and I doubt most remember me for more than a few seconds once I’ve walked by. If you walk with purpose, people leave you alone, but they also get out of your way. That’s all I want—for people to get out of my way and leave me be.
It’s a lonely job, being a supernatural bounty hunter, even if you have to talk to clients.
And that’s where I’m off to. It’s time for the genie to pay up.
Amad lives in a small apartment. Most genies nowadays are free. I think they were only ever really captured and forced to grant wishes back in the middle ages and even earlier. There might still be a few trapped in urns or lamps throughout the world, and I would not want to be the ones to unleash them. I shudder to think what they might do.
“You want to be the richest man in the world?” Proceeds to dump enough gold coins onto the man until he suffocates from their weight.
“You want to be loved?” Gives them a stalker who ends up killing them because the wish-maker dared to breathe air the stalker didn’t provide him.
“You want someone raised from the dead?” Raise the person, but the zombie kills the wish-maker.
And so on and so forth. Yeah, no thanks. The only one who is going to grant my wishes is me. I don’t rely on anyone else, not even clients.
I climb the stairs two at a time and knock on the door marked “3C.” The “C” hangs crooked, and my fingers itch to straighten it. In the end, I do.
The door opens. Amad waves me inside without a word.
As soon as the door shuts, a puff of smoke appears. Before, a man with dark skin, black eyes, and a goatee stood before me. Now, in his place, stands a teal-colored genie with the same goatee but dark green eyes, no white at all. Genies' eyes are a bit unnerving if you ask me.
Still without speaking, the genie holds out his hand. I reach my hand inside my pouch and curl my fingers around one of the fangs.
“My payment?” I ask.
Amad bares his terrible teeth, and I shudder and glance away. I've never met a genie with nice teeth. They're either rotting or filed to points and razor-sharp. I'm not sure what they have against dentists.
“My payment,” I repeat, but it’s not a question this time.
The genie’s bottom half is a swirling mess of teal cloud that solidifies into pants wrapped in bulky blue pants. He grabs a small bag from his pockets and holds it out.
Swiftly, I hold out the fang, and we quickly make the exchange. He’s being far too distrusting. I don’t get it. I killed the vampire, and this isn’t the first time he’s used my services either. Amad hadn’t been like this before. What’s gotten his smoke cloud all stormy?
He’s paid me in coins I’ve never seen before.
“What is this?” I demand.
“Qirsh coins,” he says, his words heavily accented.
“Are they even used nowadays?” I ask suspiciously.
“You asked for payment. You have received payment.”
“I don’t want this. You paid me in dollars last time. I want greenbacks.” I glower at him.
The genie grins, flashing his teeth again. “You can wan
t what you want, but I don’t have to do as you wish.”
I’ve never turned on a client, but I’m tempted. No other clients have ever treated me like this before, not even when I had been sixteen and first started this business.
“I killed the vampire.”
“Yes, but only after the vampire killed yet again.”
I throw up my hands. “I tried to save her—”
“But you were too late, and she hadn’t been the only one to die.”
Are you kidding me? He’s displeased because the vampire killed people while I hunted him?
“If you wanted no one killed, you should have mentioned that to me,” I say airily, trying to fool him into thinking I’m not furious with him.
Spoiler alert. I am.
The genie’s look is terrifying. I haven’t had much personal experience with demons, but to say Amad looks demonic is not an exaggeration.
“Look. You wanted the vampire dead. He’s dead. Could’ve brought him in alive, but…”
“Vampires are evil, vile creatures,” Amad bursts out. “They hunt your kind, and yet all you care about is money. You should have been willing to kill him for free!”
“You could have killed him yourself, but no. You hired me to do it. I don’t know why you’re playing the murders of those people on me, but their blood is on the vampire’s fangs. I don’t even have fangs.”
“This is not a joking matter.”
"I'm not joking. I didn't kill those people. The vampire did, and you have the fang. The vampire can't return. He can't kill anymore, so you got what you want. Now, do your part and pay me properly."
Hunter's Quest: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book 1) Page 1
