by Stella Inox
Hunted by Herne
Stella Inox
Copyright © 2010 by Stella Inox
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved.
Except as provided by the Copyright Act 1994, no part of this publication may be copied, reproduced or stored in a retrieval system in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise without the prior consent of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
When Carin stumbles into the otherworld by accident, she finds herself in the firing line of one sexy horned god.
Excerpt:
“I ache” he whispered. “Release me”.
Carin fumbled clumsily with the laces, finally pulling them apart to expose a fine arrow of dark hair that led her eyes further down. She glimpsed hard, engorged male flesh, and forced her eyes not to wander further although her mouth watered to taste him. Instead she turned her sight away to the stone carvings over his shoulder in a vain attempt to focus on something else, to crush the unwanted craving.
He gave a low, delighted laugh, filled with satisfaction, his breath stirring her skin.
Herne gathered handfuls of her hair, crushing it in his hands and used it to steer her eyes back to his.
His smile was inhumanly beautiful, and filled with dark amusement.
“You think to deny me your desire?” he asked, leaning in so his breath feathered over her face and his lips hovered above hers, just… touching. “As if I can’t smell it? As if it’s very existence doesn’t stain the air around us?”
A dull flush suffused Carin’s face but she refused to be drawn on it, forcing her expression to smooth, and focusing on the horns that rose majestically above his hairline. Embarrassment did what pure will could not, and forced the worst of her unwanted lust away.
“You do!” he confirmed with delight. “Ah Carin, will you make me work for your responses? Shall I make you beg me? Eventually plead for a release from my hands or body?”
Warning: Not suitable for anyone below 18 years of age. Contains scenes of coerced consent and sexual material.
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,
Doth all the winter-time, at still midnight,
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg’d horns;
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner.
You have heard of such a spirit, and well you know
The superstitious idle-headed eld
Receiv’d, and did deliver to our age,
This tale of Herne the Hunter for a truth.
— William Shakespeare, The Merry Wives of Windsor
Chapter One
Carin examined the house thoughtfully, adjusting the focus on the binoculars.
Considering the size of the vault she knew had been installed there two years ago, the house was all but unprotected. She could see only a solitary, and quite elderly, security guard.
Carin had done her research and her sources were impeccable, so why would someone spend millions of dollars on a state of the art vault, equal in security to most bank vaults, and then not use any guards? Everyone knew that regardless of how secure a system was, it could be broken into or hacked. A combination of technology and good old footwork by well trained guards was the best option to secure your valuables. For every new technology developed to increase security, someone else created a virus or hack that would take you in, under or around whatever protocols were in place.
This just looked too easy. Days of observation confirmed what her research and sources had told her. There were usually just a few people onsite at any given moment. A house cleaner, one guard and elderly gentleman she believed to be an archivist or curator.
The sole exception was on the 31st of October when the house was flooded with people for what appeared to be an annual party. That date was three months away, and Carin had made sure that whatever happened, she’d have enough time to get in and out without being caught.
But despite all her careful planning, she still felt wary. That single guard was too good to be true. There had to be some systems in place that she’d missed somewhere. But every piece of intelligence she’d gathered to date divulged the same thing. The only security forces she needed to avoid was the single geriatric officer; the only guard they ever had in place. There were no cameras or video feed, and the security system was a simple closed loop alarm.
She’d waited for a whole god-damned year for this opportunity, carefully putting processes in place, and practising possible scenarios over and over again. When you were a professional thief, it behooved you to remain calm, cautious, thorough and above all, patient.
It amused her, watching movies that glamourized her chosen profession.
There were quite often car chases and shoot outs, with threats and promises at gun point. It was all very melodramatic. But the best thieves went unnoticed and unremarked. Carin often went the extra mile on her own jobs, replacing whatever she’d taken with an exact replica. Some of her million dollar thefts hadn’t even been noticed yet, and that was just the way she liked it.
Carin chewed her lip nervously. Her gut told her there was something wrong with this set up but her greed urged her not to waste the 14 months of work that she’d invested. Millions of dollars worth of precious metals and gems were placed in that vault at the same time every year during the annual party of the religious sect that owned the building and had installed the vault. Even her most pessimistic calculations told her that this haul would take her from extremely wealthy, all the way through to fuck off rich.
The stage was set and ready for her to make her entrance. All she waited for was the phone call, and her game would begin; the pieces moving innocently around the board until she launched her master stroke, and checkmated her opponent before they even knew the game was afoot.
Her phone rang. The call originated from the very building she was carefully observing, and had been smoothly diverted to her phone. She took a deep breath and answered confidently.
“Welcome to Darfeld Plumbing, Anna speaking.”
“Hi, we need a plumber and it’s an emergency, can you send someone around right now?”
“That would depend on where you are sir, can you give me your address?”
She grinned and didn’t bother to take notes as the panicked man gave the address she was covertly observing.
“That’s not too far from where I am now. I’m working on a job but if you need me urgently I can pack up and finish off this later. But if I do that, there will be an emergency call out fee” she continued, trying to hide her amusement, “What’s the problem?”
“The basement’s flooding, we’ve got broken pipes or something. How soon can you get here?”
The perfectly timed sabotage by the air-conditioning serviceman had triggered right on time. Carin wasn’t surprised; she only employed professionals after all. She’d arranged the visit months ago, replacing the real air conditioning technician with her own employee. She was as methodical and detail oriented as any drill sergeant, and that particular trait had made her very successful.
“That doesn’t sound good. I can be there in about 45 minutes if you’re happy to accept the urgent call out charges?”
“Yes! Just get here as soon as you can.” The man was getting impatient now. Carin looked through her binoculars again, and grinned to see the man she had learned was the archivist pacing up and down outside with a cellphone.
&
nbsp; “Great. Can you ensure that the power and water are turned off before I arrive sir?”
“Oh no!” he protested. “We have to leave the electricity on to maintain a couple of essential security systems.“
“Water and electricity don’t mix” interrupted Carin firmly. “Our health and safety policies are quite clear, and I won’t put myself or any of my staff at risk.”
“Hmmmmf” he huffed. “Alright, I’ll turn them off. “
“Great. How deep is the water in the basement?”
“It’s about a foot deep which is why you need to hurry!” The man’s voice tailed off in almost a shriek, and Carin had to suppress a giggle. Maybe this job was really as easy as it looked. She carefully maintained a professional tone.
“OK, this sounds like a major job so I’ll arrange to have our pump truck and some cleaners come to the site to get rid of the water. They aren’t that far away either. Are you happy to incur the charges for the removal of water?”
“I’m not happy about any of this but it has to be done so yes, I’ll accept the charges.”
“I understand. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
She rang off and picked up her lukewarm coffee, sipping it with a grimace. She was no more than 5 minutes away from the gates of the modest yet isolated estate but the extra time was important to ensure that she had her pieces correctly positioned on the board. It was time to move in for the checkmate.
The grumpy archivist had accepted all the charges and Carin quite seriously considered billing him, for the sheer amusement of charging someone to be robbed; her accomplices would, after all, be fixing the damage as a cover for her actions. Her common sense kicked in; sadly it would give them an avenue of investigation if her shenanigans were ever uncovered. Better just to get on with it.
Her team was standing by with the tools and equipment. She sent them a text giving them the go-ahead and reminding them of her last minute instructions. She’d worked with both of them before; Warwick and Nick were brothers, and as trustworthy as you could hope for in her circles. They knew she paid well and planned everything meticulously, and she knew they were reliable and smart enough not to disobey her orders.
It was time.
She dumped her drink and jumped into the van she’d acquired for the job. It was made over to look like a plumbing utility vehicle, complete with a battered sign and all the requisite tools.
She was also skilfully disguised, wearing make up designed not to enhance her natural attractiveness, but instead obscure it. She had latex wrinkles, a short haired, natural looking wig of dirty brownish hair, and a pouched body suit that disguised her athletic form. Contacts and artfully grubby plumber’s overalls finished off the rest of the look.
She turned the engine over and headed out. A few minutes later, she pulled into the driveway. Her accomplices were right on time, arriving in a professional looking pump truck.
The archivist, who introduced himself as Allan, rushed them directly into the house, straight past the bored looking old guard who never even bothered to look up from the tattered novel he was slowly reading. Carin was pleased; it was going like clockwork. So far, so good.
They trooped downstairs and into a huge basement urged on by Allan, who remained dry and comfortable at the top of the steps. The area was completely flooded with at least foot of water. Her boots filled up and she sighed at the uncomfortable squelching. Still, it was all going according to plan.
Carin and her two associates quickly explored the basement area, all whilst holding a conversation about the repairs required, on the off chance that any of the building’s occupants were listening in. As there were no cameras they had no need to hide their actions, as long as they kept an eye out for anyone coming down the stairs. So when Carin opened the double door at the end of the basement and came face to face with the vault entrance, they looked at one another in surprise.
Again the professional thief had the nasty feeling that something was wrong. Surely you wouldn’t install a multimillion dollar vault somewhere so easily accessible? According to her unimpeachable sources, it had precious metals and gems stored within, so Carin had at least expected it to be hidden behind false walls or something. But there it was, practically right out in the open.
She crushed her uneasiness. Looking at her partners, she indicated the vault with a tilt of her head. Warwick, who’d been examining it with a look of bewilderment on his face, cocked an eyebrow in query. She spread her hands to show her bemusement at the complete lack of security measures.
Looking at one another, they shrugged and moved to put the second step of their plan into motion.
They trooped upstairs again, the two men immediately leaving to fetch the pump and tools while she cornered Allan, giving him a greatly exaggerated picture of the problem and emphasizing the nasty nature of wading through disgusting water that was swimming with human waste. Allan, disgusted, resolved to avoid the situation, and Carin was pleased that they wouldn’t be facing any interference.
The pipe she’d instructed the bogus air-conditioning serviceman to rig so it would blow on demand was still streaming water, direct from the mains so the building’s occupants couldn’t switch it off. She gave Allan technical explanations, filled with plumbing phrases and jargon, to reassure him that they knew what they were doing. She also reassured the querulous and disturbed older man that he didn’t need to contact the City authorities to shut off the mains, and that handling it was her job. This would give Carin and her men the excuse they needed to stay on-site for hours and to remain below the stairs
Warwick and Nick were filing backwards and forwards with the pumping gear and various other hoses. The equipment was real but the amount of stuff they brought in would have raised the eyebrows of a real plumber. They needed the extra equipment on convenient trolleys to conceal the fakes they’d bought with them in order to hide the theft. Glass gems and lead bars painted to look like gold ingots were still pretty bloody heavy, and they fully intended to take and swap as much loot as possible.
The two men set up the pumps and began to noisily suction water away, while Carin immediately began working on the vault. The pumps muffled or covered the sounds she was making. She had the vault’s blueprints and specifications from her mole within the company that built the vault, making her break in so much easier.
She set to, piercing each of the layers in a methodical fashion, ensuring that she left no outwards signs. It should have taken longer but the owners had just set up and engaged the interior locks and defense mechanisms. The external protections hadn’t even been utilised. Carin didn’t know whether to be disgusted with them for such slackness, or grateful that it made her job so much simpler.
Only a few hours later, she was done. It was, as with everything Carin planned, timed to perfection. The vault was hermetically sealed, so they needed to drop the water level sufficently that anything fragile in the vault wouldn’t be damaged by liquid, while still keeping the basement flooded enough to discourage any visitors, and prevent the building’s owners from turning the power back on.
It was a fine balance, but they pulled it off. Unfortunately just then, the archivist had grown suspicious, and began to call out questions from the top of the stairs at almost the same moment of vault entry. It was the worst possible timing, and Carin knew she had to move fast.
She waved the others away to field his grouchy questions, and to shift around the pump hoses that ran through the house as the archivist demanded. She turned back to vault, not willing to waste any more time and pulled on the lever that would give her entrance. The vault unsealed with a hiss and she was in.
She’d done it.
She stepped up over the ledge and through the door, before halting abruptly. Instead of the strong room stuffed with precious goods she had been expecting, Carin found herself standing in an immense earthen chamber. She craned her neck, squinting upwards to try and gauge where the ceiling was, but it was lost in diffused light. This was impossibl
e; the house wasn’t even this high! There should also have been water seeping through from the flooded basement if the walls and floor were dirt.
She backed out of the chamber and stared at the entrance to the vault in disbelief, before entering again.
The only thing the earthen chamber contained was a tree.
It appeared to be an oak tree, so tall its canopy seemed to disappear into the glowing light that obscured the high ceiling of the cavern. The massive tree’s trunk was bisected, creating a door shaped space between the two halves. The leaves on the tree were not normal oak leaves, but appeared to be delicate, leaf-shaped emerald jewels. They tinkled fitfully in an unearthly and impossible breeze that swept through the chamber.
Great. Not only was she standing in an impossible room, there were winds coming from nowhere to stir her fake hair and set the improbable jeweled leaves to jangling.
Carin decided she didn’t give a fuck about the tree, or the paranormal room. Unless she salvaged the situation, she was going to be heavily out of pocket with two very unhappy partners.
Maybe there was something on the tree? If the leaves were jewels, than they would be worth a fortune, but all of her careful planning had just gone down the drain like the filthy muck they were currently pumping.
She approached the tree, hoping that it might contain a hidden stash and her attention was caught by a golden torc that floated in the space between the two halves of the trunk.
It was instantly captivating. Solid gold and encrusted with priceless precious stones set in an intricate pattern. It was clearly an antiquity. Carin was up on the play and knew that she was looking at a pretty fortune. She didn’t know how it was held up and prudently inspected the inside of the trunk for any other security features. This and some of the unique leaves on the tree would cover the cost of this project and should also render a reasonable return. At least it wouldn’t be a loss. She reached out and grasped the torc eagerly, but as soon as she touched it, it kicked back at her, power from the torc that felt like an electrical current coursing through her body, denying her the power of movement. The light breeze that had brushed her cheeks a moment before suddenly exploded into a tornado, whipping the emerald leaves into a frenzied chatter and nearly knocking her off her feet.
