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

by Nicole Zoltack

  Eight versus one? Because I’ll never be able to get them separated again.

  I really don’t like those odds. Not at all.

  I grab my phone when there’s a howl. It’s not close but close enough.

  Muttering a curse, I keep on driving, getting to the highway as quickly as I can. Five exits down the road, I get off and pull over into a gas station, one that’s open yet.

  I’m debating whether to park and go inside or to stay in the car when I see a pickup truck. The driver’s earlobe hangs down, all scarred and deformed. In the bed of the truck are six people, and beside the driver is another.

  All eight of the werewolves. How the hell are they following me?

  I race out of there, slamming the undercarriage as I peel out of the gas station. They’re hot on my heels, and I go faster and faster until I actually have some space between us. My body jerks against the seatbelt as I slam to a stop and reverse it. The poor engine whines as I fly backward, and I crash into the pickup hard.

  I have to be careful. I need this car to stay drivable. It is for now, thankfully, and I drive away, weaving between the lanes, zigzagging through cars. I don’t know if it’s good or bad that there’s traffic now. It’s not overwhelming, but still, I do not want people to get caught in the crosshairs.

  For hours I drive, no destination in mind, just wanting to keep going for as long as possible. The sun's up by the time I limp my car into a gas station. I'm so glad Pennsylvania isn't like Jersey. No full pump here. Well, there might be a few stations that offer it but not here, and that's all that matters. I don't need anyone to see my car like this.

  As the gas flows into my tank, I circle the car. Man, the damage is severe, but nothing is impeding the wheels at all, and from what I can tell, nothing is leaking. It's mostly just the body. The werewolves threw themselves hard at the car, and the back doors on either side won't open. Neither will the side passenger door. I'm so glad the driver's side door does.

  Only the driver's side door won't shut when I'm ready to leave. I try to pull it gently and to slam it hard. Nothing. It won't latch. Finally, I climb out and have to shimmy and lift the door for it to close. The only way I can get back in is to climb through the broken windshield. I so hope I'm not sitting on tiny glass shards. I don't feel anything right now, but if the shards work their way through my clothes…

  I’m not even sure where I am, but that doesn’t matter. I haven’t slept or eaten in a while, but that doesn’t matter either.

  Quickly, I call Mirella. It rings and rings and rings and goes to voicemail.

  “Mirella. Hey, it’s Rebel. Yeah, I might be in a little trouble. I… Why am I even calling you? You’re in California. Forget it. Not in trouble. Everything is just fine. Totally fine. I’m good.”

  Man, she is not going to want to be friends with me anymore. I’m too flighty, and I’m going to sound like a bumbling idiot when she listens to the message.

  Next, I call Vinca.

  “Hi!” she says, and my heart leaps. “You’ve reached the voicemail box of the future Aeden Elms. Leave a message as long or short as you like, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Never stop flapping your wings!”

  Her voicemail message is cute, but so not what I want to hear right now. She’s probably busy with Aeden.

  Um… Let’s see. Next, I call Azir. Yes, I’m pulling at strings a little, but I really am that desperate.

  “Azir, hi. Listen, I need—”

  “Rebel, I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have even answered, but I felt like I need to because of what you did for Ruka and I. We’re working a case right now, and—”

  A loud bang goes off in the background.

  “I gotta go. Sorry. Bye.”

  He hangs up.

  I scroll up and down through my contacts. The number of people I’m willing to call isn’t high. I need to trust him or her to have my back, and most of these are all clients. Not going to happen.

  And then I see a number that I have absolutely no idea how it got into my cell.

  Am I really that desperate?

  I am.

  It rings twice.

  “Hello?”

  “Darius.”

  “Rebel.” He sounds pleased. Why does he sound pleased?

  "A pack of werewolves is on my tail. Eight of them. I wounded one at least, but they seem to be tracking me somehow, and I don't know if I lost them or not."

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m not even sure. Well, I’m at a gas station, but I don’t know the city.”

  “Come back to Pittsburgh.”

  “Why haven’t you gone back to Harrisburg?” I mumble.

  “Why don’t you come back?” he asks.

  “I don’t want to lure them back there. These werewolves…”

  “You have to kill them.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re asking for my help.”

  “Yes.” I hesitate. “I’m not being paid in cash this time around, but I can pay you—”

  “Stop. I’ll come.”

  “I can get back on the road and tell you where I am.”

  We stay on the phone, and I soon realize I’m in Erie. I definitely didn’t drive the most direct route here, but I’m hours and hours away from York.

  “I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” Darius says. “Do you want to stay on the line with me as I drive over? It should only take about two hours, a straight enough shot up I-79.”

  “Yeah, no. I’ll pass.”

  “What if they show up again?”

  “I’ll hit the road.”

  “You won’t fight them?”

  “Not again, not alone.”

  “Rebel…”

  “I don’t need a lecture, and I don’t need a two-hour conversation with you. I’m running on adrenaline right now, and I’m not necessarily in the best of moods.”

  "Are you hurt at all?" I hear his ignition start.

  “I’m fine.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  I rub my chest. It aches from where the seat belt rubbed me raw a few times. “Just get here ASAP, okay?”

  I hang up and bite my lower lip. I really hope that I didn’t just sign Darius’s death certificate. It’s quite possible neither of us will get out of this alive. The werewolves… they aren’t normal. There’s something wrong with them, and I don’t know for certain that we’ll get out on top.

  But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.

  Chapter 25

  I’ve been sitting at this gas station for so long that my legs are starting to get cramps. I climb out of my car through the windshield and stretch my legs.

  The door to the gas station opens, and a young man comes out. His face is covered in pimples, braces his teeth, and grease his hair.

  “Do you need help?” he asks in a voice that cracks.

  “Are you old enough to be working?” I ask.

  “What happened to your—”

  “What happened to people minding their own business?”

  “Do you need me to call—”

  “I need nothing from you.”

  He nods and walks backward a few steps as if he doesn’t really want to go.

  A few cars have come here to gas up, and a bike rolls up and turns into the lot. Instead of pulling up at one of the pumps, the bike comes to a stop beside me.

  The rider removes his helmet.

  Darius.

  “You ride a motorcycle?” I ask, gaping at him.

  “Why is that so hard for you to believe?” He grins.

  “I guess you’re not as straight-laced as I thought.”

  “You two know each other?” the gas station worker asks.

  “Clearly,” Darius says, his tone dry.

  The worker shakes his head and enters the building.

  Darius glances behind me and lets out a low whistle. “Your car is wrecked.”

  “It’s drivable.”

  “No way. Hop on. I have an extr
a—”

  "Not happening. Are we going to game plan here?"

  “When have you eaten last?”

  “Not sure.”

  “I don’t think you should get in that death trap, but follow me. I saw a place on the way here that looks good.”

  I hate that I have to climb in through the broken windshield, especially since I know Darius is watching. We head to the restaurant. It's a rustic Irish pub, and the bangers and mash are amazing. I eat like I'm starving, and thankfully, Darius says nothing about my appetite.

  We talk about weapons and how many there are, and then I have to tell him about the werewolves themselves.

  “They’re not normal werewolves.”

  “I gathered that. How are they different?”

  “They don’t die easily.”

  He lifts his eyebrows.

  “They’re harder to kill than normal werewolves. They’re bloodthirsty and—”

  “You don’t have to tell me why we need to kill them.”

  “No, I think the bloodthirstiness—is that even a word?—it’s why they’re so strong and nearly unstoppable. They had ties to Amarok.”

  “I learned about Amarok,” he murmurs. “But he was killed years ago.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know why they’re all of a sudden so vicious.”

  “Don’t worry. They won’t have a chance to kill again,” he says.

  “Eight of them. How are we going to take them out?”

  “By working together.” Darius reaches inside his coat and removes a map and a vial. He pours the contents onto the map. The black liquid pools into a small ball that shifts around on the map until it settles into a certain spot.

  “What is that?” I ask, amazed.

  "Magic," he says. "A friend gave this to me and said it would point out what I most what to know."

  "And right now, that is…"

  “The location of the werewolves, of course. They’re here.”

  “Here?”

  “In Erie.”

  “They followed me all the way here?” I gape at him. “How is that possible?”

  "Your scent, maybe. A bug? It doesn't matter how."

  “I guess not. Do you know their exact location?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Darius brings me to Thomas Road. There's a wooded area behind it, and I hate all of the shadows.

  “Are you ready?” he murmurs.

  “I’ve done this before,” I remind him.

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts.”

  I have my gun and the angel blade out. I have far more bullets than stakes, courtesy of the genie.

  “Look alive,” Darius says.

  “I don’t think I can look more alive.”

  “You do know the meaning of the phrase, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Why you want me to hurry up, I don’t know especially considering we don’t know where to—”

  A twig snaps.

  I whirl around. A werewolf is heading straight for us.

  With a grin, I shoot the werewolf and don’t stop until it falls down.

  Purple flashes in my peripheral vision, and a whine follows.

  More werewolves approach out of the trees. It's actually a good thing we're in a wooded area instead of a grassy field. The werewolves don't have direct access to us. The trees are slowing them down.

  One leaps at me, and I hold my ground, bringing up both my gun and the blade. I fire off three shots and slice his throat. An arc of crimson blood flies as I run forward, causing him to leap over my head. He lands hard on the ground, but he struggles to climb to his feet. Swiftly, I climb up his back and stab him in the back of the neck. He slumps.

  Two down on my side. Two down on Darius’s. Only four to go. Hmm. Maybe I didn’t need Darius after all. I just needed to face them out of my car.

  Darius tackles two at the same time, but I can’t offer any help. One is advancing on me. It’s the werewolf with the scar from my dagger in his ear.

  “Where’s my dagger?” I ask.

  The werewolf howls.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t speak bloodthirsty werewolf. Are you thirsty? How about some of your blood?”

  I swing the blade, intending on cutting his throat, but he swipes at me with his massive paw. He’s too fast. Even though I jerk back and try to jump to the side, he still connects, and I land hard. Before I can scramble to my feet, he’s already on top of me.

  “I still want that blade,” I murmur. “Maybe we can cut a deal. You give me back the dagger, and maybe I’ll—”

  He winds up his paw.

  I hold the dagger against his throat and shove the barrel of my gun into his mouth. “My dagger.”

  He slams his paw against the side of my head. Wow. I'm seeing stars, tiny bursts of color dancing on my eyelids.

  Quickly, before I can even recover, I pull the trigger, and the gun goes off. I open my eyes to see the werewolf’s eyes go listless.

  The werewolf tumbles forward, but I manage to get out from under him and stand. Another werewolf is at Darius’s feet. He’s facing the second one now.

  Wait. There should be one more. Frank’s missing.

  I glance every which way, desperate to find him when suddenly, a hand snakes around my throat, and there’s a blade pressing into my tender flesh there.

  “I heard you were looking for this,” Frank says.

  “Maybe.” I want to swallow, but I don’t dare. I can’t take my eyes off him for one second, and if he gives any more pressure on the blade—my blade—he’ll cut my skin.

  “You’ll die by the very weapon you adore,” he says calmly.

  I slam my fist into his wrist. He doesn’t drop the blade, but his grip and hold on me disappear. He goes to put the dagger back against my skin, but I block with the angel blade and force the dagger away. He’s still holding it but not where it can immediately hurt me.

  “What did Amarok do to you?” I demand. “How did you become like this?”

  “You don’t need to know,” he hisses.

  Darius and his werewolf are really going at it. There’s no clear victor over there, but I can’t help him.

  “No? Curiosity killed the cat.”

  His grin grows.

  “But satisfaction brought him back. I release my angel blade from blocking his and stab Frank in the stomach and in the chest. He staggers back, finally showing some weakness, and I duck and slide to stand facing him at his hip, grip the back of his head, and press the angel blade to his throat.

  “I would like some answers before I kill you, but if I have to, I’ll drop you first.”

  Frank hisses more like a cat than any sound a wolf would make. He backhands me right in the face. I fall back, the angel blade slicing his throat so superficially that it barely makes him bleed.

  He comes at me then as if possessed, as if a berserker, a flurry of kicks and punches. The dagger is still in his hand, and I’m forced back more and more and more.

  Frank slashes with his dagger. I block and counter, but he grabs my wrist and squeezes so tightly I have no choice but to open my hand. The angel blade falls, and he plucks it out of the air with the hand holding his dagger.

  Using his grip on my wrist for balance, I do a high crescent kick and kick him right in the face. At the same time, I bring up my gun and hold it point-blank at his chest.

  “Kill me, and I’ll kill you,” I say even though it doesn’t make any sense. My head is swimming, my body aching and bleeding. At least I think some of the wetness is from my blood and not just my enemy’s.

  A blast of purple magic comes dangerously close to hitting Frank and me.

  “Or I’ll just kill you,” Darius says.

  Frank brings down the dagger and the angel blade. They cut into my shoulder deep, and I bite my lower lip to keep from screaming out.

  A well-placed blast of magic hits Frank, and he releases his hold on the weapons, but the blades remain in my wound.

&nb
sp; He’s struck again by magic, and I yank out one of the blades. My old dagger. I slash Frank. My wounded arm doesn’t move at all, but I can’t worry about that now.

  Darius and I press the attack. The witch approaches and steps beside me. We advance as Frank retreats, wounding him more and more until he drops to his knees.

  I grab his hair and force him to look up. His face is covered in blood, one eye black from when I slammed the hilt against it. Finally, he’s healing slowly.

  “Start talking,” I say.

  Darius holds a larger blast of arcane magic but doesn’t release it. A blast like that should finish Frank off.

  “Amarok changed us, but we weren’t the only pack to be changed,” Frank says, his tone sullen. He won’t look at me.

  “Go on,” I urge.

  Darius makes his magic even bigger. It’s impressive that he can show so much restraint and not let it loose.

  “Where’s Risha?” Frank glances around frantically.

  “She ate arcane magic,” Darius says calmly.

  Frank grits his teeth.

  “Keep talking,” I urge.

  He shoves a hand into his pocket and removes a vial. He tries to uncork it, but I yank out the angel blade and bring it down so swiftly that I chop off some of his fingers. The vial, fingers attached yet, falls to the ground. Darius kicks it away.

  “What is that?” I demand.

  “Looks like blood,” Darius muses.

  Frank bares his teeth. With the blood streaming down his face, he looks more demonic than animalistic. "We fled after I killed our weak alpha."

  “Wyatt,” I supply.

  He nods. “Risha had already reached out to us, but Wyatt didn’t want to go to her. I suppose I should thank you for weakening him. It made killing him so much easier.” He grins, his bloodstained teeth dull and dark.

  “Risha was the alpha of the other pack that joined yours,” I assume.

  “A smaller pack but only because not all were worthy.”

  “Worthy of what?” Darius asks. Sweat beads dot his forehead. From the strain from controlling all of that loose magic maybe? I don’t see any wounds on him.