Hunter's Quest: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book 1)

by Nicole Zoltack

  The only good thing about the week-long venture to kill the second werewolf is that I had time to get my window fixed. I get my car back from the shop and return to the hotel. I’m shot. Tomorrow, I’ll come up with a game plan for the last werewolf whose name I have and then figure out how to locate the others.

  The next morning, I wake and head to the hotel’s breakfast area. I tend to not wear my bounty hunter attire when I know I’ll be around a lot of humans, so I’m in jeans and a t-shirt. Once I start my surveillance work, I’ll change. I still bring along my gun, though, and I have the silver knuckles in my pocket. I’m not about to go anywhere unarmed.

  I help myself to some eggs, extra crispy bacon, pass on the sausage that doesn’t look like it’s been cooked enough, and opt for some wheat toast.

  Like always, I opt to sit in a corner so I can watch everyone come in and out. Force of habit. I have no reason to think that a werewolf would show up here, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let my guard down.

  A guy enters. Broad-shouldered, built like a barrel. He has some weight to his mid-section, but I have a feeling he has some serious power, the kind from chopping down trees and hauling lumber. The practical kind of strength versus those who spend hours in the gym.

  He piles a ton of food onto his plate, glances around, and makes a beeline for me.

  Even before he entered, I have my legs propped up on the seat across from me. I don’t move them as he reaches for the chair.

  “Do you mind if I sit here?” he asks.

  “Actually, I do.”

  He shrugs, picks up a piece of bacon from the top of his stack, and chomps on it. “What brings a girl like you to this small town?”

  “I could ask the same of you,” I quip. “What brings a girl like you to this small town?”

  The guy narrows his eyes, his face scrunching up, and that’s when I recognize him. His photo in the census isn’t the most flattering, but without a doubt, he’s the last werewolf I know by name. Frank Steiner.

  “Who said you could insult me?” he declares.

  “Who said that being called a girl is an insult? Girls are strong and capable and tired of being called less than. Tell me, does your boss treat you as a peer or as an underling?”

  “I am no one’s underling.”

  “Good. I don’t suffer weaklings.”

  “Do I look weak?” he protests.

  He doesn’t, but I’m not about to feed his ego.

  I kick out the seat for him to sit.

  The werewolf does and grins at me. “What are your plans for the day?”

  “I have to work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I help battered women.” I stare at him. Sometimes, the husbands don’t like that, and they’ll assault me, attack me. It’s why I carry.”

  He blinks a few times. “Is that why…”

  “I’ll go to any lengths to keep my women safe, and if that means drastic measures, I will take them.”

  He nods slowly. “If you work here, why are you—”

  “You’re asking a lot of questions that are starting to make me feel uncomfortable.”

  I’m making all of this up on the fly. I’ve had to come up with creative stories before, and it’s best when I do it off the cuff like this. Otherwise, it sounds rehearsed, and I got caught once before because of it.

  The werewolf holds up his hands. “I don’t mean to pry. I think the work you’re doing… It’s a shame you need to.”

  "I agree." With a sigh, I add, "I don't have a house. Battered women live across the country. I have to be up and ready to go to them at a moment's notice. If I think I'll be in a place away, I'll rent an Airbnb. Satisfied?"

  “No husband?” He jerks his chin toward my empty left hand.

  “After what I’ve seen from some guys’ love? No.”

  “Not all of us are like that.”

  Gross. A bloodthirsty werewolf is hitting on me.

  Unless he’s playing me like I’m playing him. I can’t tell if he’s buying what I’m selling.

  “I assume you have a woman you’re helping here. My advice? Get her as far away from here as you can,” he says, his voice suddenly gruff.

  My eyes widen, and my heart begins to race. Is he threatening me?

  “Why is that?” I ask.

  “We’ve run out of homeless people to kill,” he growls in a low enough voice that no one else should be able to overhear him.

  “Is that so, Frank Steiner?”

  His eyes flash.

  “You want to have a go? We can go,” I tell him.

  He resumes eating and doesn’t say a word.

  I so badly want to take out my gun and shoot the pompous werewolf right here and now, but there are witnesses, and I refuse to go to jail to nab just one of them.

  “There’s six of you left, isn’t there? Unless one or more of you succumbed to wounds from the battle with the ogre. Which one has my dagger? As sweet as that dagger earring looked, I want my dagger back.”

  Frank stands and rips off his shirt. A few of the women in the room look over appreciatively. The men look over too, but they're not amused. I get the appreciation. Frank's muscles are impressive, and his jeans hang so low I can see that he has the elusive and I thought impossible to obtain eight-pack. Honestly, eight abs is kind of freaky looking. I’ll take six for a thousand, Alex.

  And then I see what Frank’s showing me, a long, faded scar down his chest and stomach. The werewolf I slashed as I slid under him. I hoped he died.

  "Aw, I'm sorry. I guess the silver is why you didn't heal entirely. I'm sure the ladies love it, though, am I right?"

  “You’re dead wrong, and soon, you’ll just be dead.”

  Frank grabs his plate and walks out of there. I chase after him, but somehow, he’s gone.

  Great. Wonderful. I mean, they know I'm hunting them. I left bodies for them. But now they know which hotel I'm staying in. They might be able to track my car, and the way his eyes flashed when I said six makes me think six is right. None of the wolves we wounded died, and they've had plenty of time to recover fully.

  I check out of the hotel and sell my car for parts. I’m not about to sell it to someone else and risk the werewolves attacking an innocent.

  Was Frank lying about the homeless? I don’t know, and honestly, I don’t want to know. I don’t know what the homeless population is like here, but I hate to think that so many deaths are the result of my not being able to track down the werewolves fast enough.

  I just might be in over my head.

  First things first, I head over to the apartment complex where Frank lives and knocks on the door. When he doesn’t answer, I begin to pound. I’m ready to start yelling for him when his neighbor pops out her head.

  “He moved out a day or two ago,” she says. “No one lives there right now.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “No idea.” She shrugs. “He’s hot, but he kind of gave me the creeps.”

  I force a smile. “Trust your instincts and stay away from all creeps.”

  Without another word, I turn and leave. Frustrated, I book myself a different hotel and immediately get to work. I'm not super tech-savvy, but maybe I should learn how to become a hacker. I would so love to have access to traffic cams right now to try to hunt down Frank.

  He’s the key. Find Frank, find the pack.

  Try as I might, hours pass, and I'm not having any luck learning anything about the other werewolves. I can't even figure out who their new alpha is, if it's Frank or someone else. Frustrated, I rub my weary, watery eyes and opt to turn on the TV.

  “—just in. Police have arrived at the scene of a brutal murder. An entire family—parents and three young children—were all murdered in what officers are calling the grisliest scene they have ever seen. Our report, Pamela Huse, as more. Pamela?”

  I watch in horror as Pamela gives a few more details about the case. The werewolves did this. I’m sure of it.


  “As for when the bodies were killed, the police estimate that they died just before the police arrived. It’s possible one of the victims died seconds after the police arrived.”

  That means it happened after Frank and I spoke.

  They’re upping the killings.

  And it’s because I taunted them.

  There really is blood on my hands.

  Fine. Frank wants me? He can come and find me.

  I change into my attire, arm myself with everything I brought, and head out onto the streets. People give me a wide berth. You want crowds to part? Walk with purpose. Oh, and the crossbow on my back might help too.

  If someone sees my weapons and call the police, I don't care. The victims weren't shot with stakes. I'm sure they had been bitten and slashed.

  Up ahead is one of the women who had been in the hotel. She pats her husband’s arm, and they approach me.

  “The man at breakfast,” she says, “I told my sister about him. We’re here visiting her. Anyhow, that guy—”

  “Frank. Frank Steiner.”

  “Yes. He’s bad news,” she says. “He has a bunch of friends, and my sister thinks they’re behind the homeless people disappearing. She thinks they’ve been killed. The police might think it too, but they haven’t been able to find any bodies.”

  “Where can I find Frank?”

  The husband clears his throat. “Those people are dangerous.”

  My eyes have to flash. “I’m dangerous.”

  His gaze flickers to my crossbow. “You can’t—”

  “No one tells me what I can and can’t do.” I ignore him and focus on his wife. “Where can I find him?”

  “According to my sister, they’re constantly on the move.”

  You mean on the prowl.

  “She’s a police officer, so she can’t tell me much.”

  “Are they under suspicion?”

  "No, but only because there's no proof and also…" She bites her lower lip. "My sister has been pushing for them to at least question the gang, for lack of a better word."

  Pack. You’re looking for the word pack.

  "But everyone is blocking her. She's promised me she won't do anything rash, and she's too by the book to, but I'm worried. She wants us to go back home, but I don't want to leave her."

  “So you’ll tell a random stranger whose dressed up in cosplay?” Her husband shakes his head. “If she dies—”

  “Not on the to-do list,” I assure him. “She’s never mentioned where they frequent? Areas of town to avoid?”

  The woman hesitates. "They tend to avoid museums. Historical Society Museum, Agricultural and Industrial Museum, the Bonham House… I don't think they go near the Colonial Complex either."

  Her husband sighs. “Penn Park. It’s open twenty-four hours a day, but it’s quieter at night.”

  “It’s such an amazing park,” the woman gushes. “Basketball court, volleyball, playground, splash park during the summer… They host a lot of events there, but people have been avoiding it lately. Did Karen say—”

  “Yes, Cathy.” He glances at his watch.

  “We do have a reservation,” Cathy says. “Please, be careful. I don’t know what you’re planning, but… be careful.”

  “You too.”

  Hmm. Penn Park it is.

  Chapter 24

  That night, I scope out the park. There aren’t any wolves here, but there are a few people, and I snap pictures. Later, I examine them on my computer. Frank wasn’t among them, but they might be wolves. If they are… there are six in the pics. That would mean their pack has grown. Who knows how many more I’ll have to kill? I can’t tell if any of them have scars on their ears from the dagger earring, but one is wearing sunglasses and at night. Because one of the eyes had a stake in it? I wonder…

  I mutter a curse. How many more wolves do I have to kill?

  My sleep that night? Not good. The news flashed pictures of the happy family that had been murdered, and I see their smiles whenever I close my eyes.

  In the morning, I listen to the radio as I drive around. Reports of another family being killed make me more furious than distraught. The Blood Moon pack has to be ended and sooner rather than later.

  At a stoplight, I spy a gym. On a hunch, I pull over and park. The girl working the front desk doesn't look old enough to be employed. Good.

  “Hi. I just moved here a few days ago, and I’m looking for a gym.”

  “Great! We have brochures you can look at, here’s a class list, and you can take a tour—”

  “I hate to ask, but what I need is to look at your members.”

  “Oh, we don’t—”

  “I know it’s not normally done, but I just learned one of my exes moved here a few months ago, and…” I swallow hard. “He… I should’ve gotten a restraining order on him.” I bite my lower lip. “If he goes here… He’s a bit of a meathead, and… It won’t be safe for me to be around him. I mean, you don’t want any issues here, right? Can I just take a quick peek?”

  “I don’t know,” she says doubtfully.

  “Or maybe you could just look up his name?” I suggest.

  She nods slowly. “That can’t hurt, right?” she mumbles to herself. “What’s his name?”

  “Frank Steiner.”

  The girl doesn't even have to look on her computer. "Yeah, he goes here. Comes almost every day around five and doesn't leave until eight, but there are times when he'll come in the morning or later on."

  I glance at my watch. “Oh, man. It’s seven now. Is he here?”

  The girl’s eyes widen. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is. You better go.” She stands and looks behind us at the glass windows that reveal a portion of the gym. “He’s not working out, so he could be showering. He’ll be leaving any minute. Go!”

  “Thank you. Thanks so much.” I rush away, hop into my car, and peel out of there only to park within sight of the place. It’s getting dark already, and I want immediately for him to leave.

  He doesn’t. Not until eight-oh-five. He must’ve been in the bathroom earlier.

  Instead of hopping into a car, Frank walks, and I start to tail him. He’s not heading toward Penn Park, but another one, a closed one. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, but that could change. I have a feeling he’s the first to arrive.

  Which means now is the time to strike. Strike and not fight.

  I roll down my window and aim with my crossbow. Frank doesn’t stand still. He’s pacing fairly quickly, but I trail him with my crossbow for thirty seconds. His pace is even enough that I feel confident enough that I let the stake loose. It whistles through the air, and he knocks it aside.

  Awesome.

  I better hightail it out of here. There’s no way I’m going to fight him.

  But I can’t back up. Three cars have pulled up, one in front, one behind, and one to my side. I’m pinned.

  People climb out. Those people shift.

  Ten. Including Frank, there are ten werewolves.

  I’m a goner.

  The werewolf with the missing eye jumps onto my hood. This car only cost me a thousand. It’s disposable as far as I’m concerned, and I thought it might come down to this. I can always buy another one.

  I aim with my crossbow, aim, and fire.

  The stake goes through the other eye.

  The werewolf releases a howl. Somehow, the windshield doesn’t completely shatter. It just has a stake-sized hole in it and a ton of spider cracks. Only a blow or two would shatter it. The windshield’s been weakened.

  I manage to grab my gun free when a werewolf opens my door. I’m not even sure how a paw could open it, but I’m already firing. The door-opener collapses, and I shoot the head again just to make sure he’ll stay down.

  The staked werewolf thuds against the windshield. Somehow, he’s still not dead. How? The shot had been from close range! There’s no way the stake didn’t go through his eye to his brain!

  But he’s banging and banging against th
e glass.

  It’s going to shatter at any second. Glass is already falling here and there, so I just help it along by shooting him. The werewolf falls.

  Several slam into the sides of the car on both sides. Idiots. They should be doing one side to try to teeter me over, but I’m not going to complain.

  Another comes racing over. Frank. He jumps onto the hood of my car. I throw my car into reverse. Crunch! It slams into the other car, and Frank falls into the passenger seat.

  I shoot him with the gun as I shift the car into drive and floor it forward. At the last second, I yank hard on the wheel so the corner of the car hits the one in front of me instead of the impact being head-on. I do not need the airbags to deploy.

  Frank slashes at my arm, but I keep on firing. I can’t look to see if I’m hitting him at all. I mean, he’s a massive wolf. You would think I have to be connecting, but he’s not howling. He doesn’t sound like he’s in pain.

  The other werewolves are chasing after me, trying to bite my tires. Wow. Now that’s smart! But I leave them in the dust.

  Trapped in a car.

  With a bloodthirsty werewolf.

  Is that why he seems to be bullet resistant? Is the blood making him stronger somehow?

  “What is wrong with you?” I ask. “Did Amarok change you? But why the sudden change? Why are you so thirsty for blood all of a sudden?”

  I risk a glance over. My foot is lead on the gas. I have to be going close to eighty, and it's twenty-five here.

  He grins at me. His fur is wet, slick with blood, but he lunges at me, aiming for my neck.

  I drop the gun and give him a hook right in the side of his face, the silver knuckles striking against his teeth and gums.

  At the moment I struck him, I slam on the brakes. My seatbelt burns against my chest from the force of the sudden impact, but it keeps me in the car.

  Frank? He flies through the windshield.

  I don’t bother to try to run him over. I just keep on driving and head out of the city and pull over once there’s grassland all around me.

  Wonderful. This is just fantastic. What in the world am I supposed to do now?

  There’s only one thing I can do.

  I can't do all of this alone. That much is clear. Somehow, there are eight werewolves left. Yes, even after being thrown from the car and landing hard on the pavement, Frank still got up on his feet and tried to run after me as I drove away.