Now, seeing the couples around me, friends and lovers, I desired to have someone by my side. To laugh, smile, love—all the things I felt were ripped from me and would never have again. I desired to be nothing more than a guest, eager to dance and join in on the festivities, drink, and have fun. Fun. A word I no longer related to.
Get it together, Riley. You are here to avenge your family, not to party.
Following the parade of beautiful gowns and tuxes, I tried not to look any Sup in the eyes. You never knew what creature would find it a challenge. I stepped up onto an expansive veranda where two twin gargoyles flanked the archway of the entrance, a blue light shimmering through the opening.
“Ticket, miss?” A handsome man stood where the stone gargoyle used to be, looking at me, his hand open. I may have barely gained my supernatural abilities, but I grew up knowing all about the Supernaturals and how they could transform. Appearing human by day, monster at night. By the age of seven, I could recite most by their original names, attributes, appearances, and what was their main energy source, which most of the time was humans.
I was one of those who protected the innocent from these creatures. But tonight, I had to blend in and be one of them. It still seemed odd my kind was included on the guest list since I hunted monsters. It only added to the mystery of the host. What were their intentions? Did the party end with a huge hunt in the back gardens or something? All the warring species pinned against each other?
Now that might be interesting.
I handed my ticket to the young gargoyle, moving past him with my head high, telling myself over and over I belonged here, I had been invited, and no one knew I came here to kill.
The blue light directed the guests down the tunnel, but the farther I walked, the darker it became, until shadows wrapped around me, stealing away my sight, my other senses heightening. Like most creatures around me, I found comfort in darkness. It was where I came alive, could feel my abilities flare through my veins. Smell, taste, hearing, and touch became excruciatingly palpable, letting me know in my mind where everyone was as if I could see them with my eyes.
The thumping of music struck my eardrums, and with each step, it thrummed more vibrant against my sternum, tapping at my nerves like a piano. The music was sultry, a sense of danger behind each lyric like it was meant for me. Following it like a beacon, light slicing through the darkness, I was suddenly in the entrance of a grand room. A ballroom. Dimly lit chandeliers dangled throughout the enormous rectangular room, setting the space in shadowy ambience as tiny pixies glided in the air, sparking the ceiling in colors. A layer of fog coated the floor, giving the illusion the couples on the dance floor were floating. It was magic, and I couldn’t help being completely in awe.
I did not spend time on frivolous things such as dancing, drinking, or parties. My life has been studying and training. This last year I barely slept or ate, my mind consumed with hate. So wearing a sexy ball gown as music swirled around me along with the dancers in the middle of the room had me fighting the need to grab a glass of champagne and forget everything I came here for.
Keep on target, Riley. You are here to kill a werewolf and avenge your family.
My gaze scanned the space, taking in every detail of the room. Hundreds and hundreds of Supernaturals mingled throughout the room; men’s and women’s outfits ranged from spectacular costumes to almost nothing. The people sparkled and moved around the ballroom like everything was bewitched. Every corner of the chamber was draped in floor-to-ceiling black silk, disappearing into the shadows. These were there to hide indiscretions just like the round beds floating near the ground and the ceiling, couples already sneaking off to enjoy the magic-spelled bubbles around them. If I used them, only one of us would be left gratified.
Along the left and right walls, guests sat in black leather sofas and chairs, divided by two archways on each side. The darkened hallways gave no hint as to where they led, which unsettled me. I did not want his escape to be easy, nor did I want to be caught in a labyrinth if things went bad.
There were two bars one on each side of the entrance. Purple light illuminated the shelves, displaying the various alcohols and liquids, including blood, being served. My mouth watered at the thought of sipping one of the cocktails I saw the bartender making, but I needed to stay sharp.
Stepping farther into the room, I felt the seductive voice of the singer pull my focus to the stage. Flanked by two arches on either side of the platform, sheer black curtains billowed from the light breeze of the open space behind. Through them I could make out the ocean glinting off the full moon. The castle sat on a high cliff you didn’t notice from the front.
The lead singer, a curvy siren with long blue hair, gripped a mic stand, her head falling back as she belted out a chorus. The lights from above twinkled the crystals on her sheer nude dress, giving the illusion she was naked, except for the rhinestones and long hair covering her. Behind her the band thrummed the foundation of her song. A man with bright red hair played the drums, Dastardly Deeds written in purple neon lights across the drum set. Next to him a dark-haired guy strummed a blood-red guitar. The sexual energy pumping off him told me he was probably an incubus, but Supernaturals were highly sexual beings, and I had met some who put off that energy without needing sex to survive. I never feared an incubus… It was another creature which plagued my dreams, spinning nightmares of death into erotic fantasies…ones I’d wake up from needing relief. Hating myself even more.
Through the slits of the hidden door I could only see golden eyes feverish with his kill, nose flaring as his gaze rolled over the bodies lying on the floor, my mother still grasping for her last breaths. His powerful deep voice slinked through the door, crawling up my thighs. His accent tugged something in me I couldn’t explain, twisting my anguish into another sensation, almost drawing me from my hiding place.
“It didn’t have to be like this. I warned you,” he rumbled, glaring down at my mother. His voice coiled around me, forcing a gasp to catch in my throat, and I bit down on my lip. His head jerked up, scanning the room, his nostrils heaving, sensing. He paused for a moment, shaking his head, then slipped out the door, never knowing a girl hid in the wall. Watching everything.
Shuddering, I drew myself from the hazy memory of that night, bile rising up my throat. I couldn’t seem to stop the emotions of seeing my family’s slaughtered bodies lay heaped around me, their blood staining the wood floor. But his voice, the memory stronger than anything else, stirred a feeling inside me. It disgusted me, and I used that, landing my punches harder, my kicks with more passion, and it drove my axe deeper into the stuffed potato bag I used. His golden eyes the target in my mind’s eye.
A deep bass guitar filled the room, sending a shiver up my spine and plunging desire into my belly. My head turned to the man standing on the stage, air hitching in my throat.
Hell’s teeth.
He was tall with dark hair long enough to run your fingers through, a thick scruff, his broad shoulders filling out the black T-shirt, and tribal tattoos running down his muscular arms. His taut thighs flexed against the fabric of his dark jeans as he bit down on his lip, feeling each chord he hit, charging the room in unfiltered desire. Bodies weaved more seductively on the dance floor, entranced by the magic he created with his guitar.
Animal. Man. Both rivaled for dominance under his skin.
My memory blurred a lot of details about him, about the whole night, but I recalled thinking he looked to be in his early thirties, which stunned me knowing he was the King of the Werewolves. I figured he would look older since he had been alive for at least a century. Nothing in my memory remembered him like this. Most of his face I had made up, centering on the vibrant eyes which burned in my mind. Eyes I had learned to hate and trained to destroy.
I had prepared for every outcome and situation.
Except this.
I was not ready for him to be up there. On stage. Playing in the band. Rugged and mysterious. He was a leader, the k
ing of all werewolves around the world. I expected a tux, his hair smoothed back, an aloof demeanor like the wealthy ruler he was, and the brutal murderer I would try to seduce with a suggestive smile and boosts to his ego. That was who I trained for, who I pictured when I chose this dress, when I latched the dagger to my thigh. Not the man wearing Diesel jeans, a T-shirt, and shitkicker boots, playing the sleek black guitar like a lover, looking sexier than any man I had ever seen.
This man disarmed me.
The singer added her vocals, her words winding with the bass for a seductive ending and his fingers plucking the final chords. The moment the last note drifted over the room, hanging like smoke, his thick dark lashes flipped up, his golden eyes moving over the crowd. Like his gaze parted the sea of people bustling around me, making me feel I was an island, his regard latched on to me, hitching my chest. Everything around me disappeared. His eyes flared brighter, and it was as if he put me under a spell. I couldn’t move or breathe, my heart tapping wildly at my ribs. He couldn’t know who I was, right? Comprehend somehow why I was here? I wasn’t the only hunter in the world, but I had a feeling I was the only one here using this night to seek revenge.
His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smirk slipping over his lips. His attention never strayed from me as he leaned over to whisper something in the lead singer’s ear. She curved to him, tilting her head seductively, but a frown etched over her mouth, her head nodding, stepping up to the mic.
“Let’s give a round of applause to the extremely talented Grayson Bloodstone for honoring us by playing a few songs with us tonight. You are always welcome on my stage.” She stared back at him, giving no question to her meaning, her voice oozing like melted butter.
The room responded to her request with enthusiastic appreciation. He gave them a nod, his eyes sliding to me before stepping off the stage, as he handed his guitar to someone on the side. A man with long brown wavy hair, a beard, and the brownish-yellowish eyes of a werewolf. He took the instrument and stepped up on stage, replacing Grayson. I had a feeling he was the actual band member.
My gaze tracked the werewolf strolling toward me, my pulse raising the temperature, misting my skin. A coil of need dropped down between my thighs. I wanted to move to him. Like a magnet, I was unable to tear my gaze away from him, smudging out everyone but him.
What the hell?
Anger rose in me, loathing my body’s reaction to him. He slaughtered my parents. He was my mortal enemy. What was wrong with me?
I slay werewolves. I was the huntress of the night-howlers. Tonight I would take down the most powerful—their sovereign. I was a hunter who had the power to kill the King of Werewolves.
Grayson, leader of the Bloodstone pack…
You are mine.
Chapter Two
Riley
A part of me wanted to run as the sense of being completely out of my element rained down on me like acid. I was only twenty, but it felt like I had aged a decade in the last year, except I felt unready for a man like him.
My village, the little coven where I grew up, had a mix of wizards and witches of all ages, but Thomas was the childhood friend everyone thought I’d end up with. This didn’t say much since my pickings could be counted on one hand. I had never felt that way about him. The whole village knew he liked me; he was not shy about his feelings. But I never could claim anything besides friendship. A few times he kissed me, but it simply solidified I didn’t feel for him the way he wanted me to.
He didn’t interest me, but I was a curious teenager and had my first experience with a boy from a gypsy caravan in a barn. It was awkward and strange and was only repeated once before his family packed up and moved on. Other than that, I had little experience until this last year when I fit in a lifetime in merely weeks…studying and learning men, both Sups and humans. I “researched” them all. Very sexy men, may I add, and not once found trouble separating my feelings and sexual needs.
The back of my hand dabbed at my forehead, heat rushing up my veins like lava. The closer he got, the more it boiled. I squeezed my legs together, not understanding what was happening to me as I watched his primal stride coming for me. It was like I was about to be his prey.
Hell’s teeth, Riley. Get it together. He is a murderer.
His magic and confidence stuffed every molecule in the air, shoving at my skin. Lifting my chin, I gritted my teeth, forcing my heels into the floor, ignoring the need to flee.
He slowed several feet from me, his form even bigger and toned up close. His head tilted, his eyes once again skating over me, brows furrowing as his tongue slid quickly over his bottom lip like he was tasting the air.
Studying martial arts made me patient, my body still. Grandma showed me I could entice others by using my toned, tall figure. Charm with my sharp tongue and seduce with confidence.
He cocked his head the opposite way, reminding me of a canine. He moved around me and stopped, his arm brushing mine as he leaned closer to my ear, a heavy English accent purring around me. “Drink?”
“Excuse me?” Oxygen stuck in my throat, a mix of sensations dive-bombing me with him being so near.
“A drink.” He nodded toward the bar. “You look like you might need one. And I certainly do.”
This was the oddest encounter I ever had with a man. Usually there was a greeting or cheesy pick-up line. Grayson blew past any of that like he didn’t need to.
Blinking, I stared up at him, his mouth so close I could feel the heat coming off it, creating the desperate need to step away. I held my spot, forcing my breathing to even out, staring at him with poise. “You walk off stage in the middle of the set to ask me if I want a drink?” I lifted an eyebrow. “Without even asking my name.”
He grinned, showing his canines. “What is your name?” he rumbled, his sexy accent like stepping into a pool of my favorite whiskey. I hated it. Hated him. “And I didn’t walk off mid-set. I only went up as a guest. A favor to the singer.”
He inched even closer, my heart flapping like a dying fish. This was exactly the situation I had planned on. Get close to him, let him think I was interested in him sexually, before digging the magic-infused dagger into his gut. But in this moment, his physique looming over mine, the fire in his stare, I felt more the victim than the predator. “Now are you going to tell me your name?”
“Riley.” I held his gaze, saying my name with purpose, leaving out my last name. He would recognize the family name, Vanator, but he probably thought them all dead. To most, Riley was merely a schoolgirl who died on the floor with her parents. It would hold no significance to him, not the huntress who stood before him now. If he knew anything about me, it would be by my moniker, Red.
As I figured, no indication of awareness flicked in his eyes at my name; he simply dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Well, Ri-ley.” His mouth wrapped around my name, and the way his inflection stressed it sent tingles down my backbone. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”
I watched him for a beat before I let a slow smile curve my mouth. Without a word I headed for the closest bar, my leg showing through the slit and my cape flowing behind me. I swung my hips slightly, knowing the act would have him tailing after me like a puppy. As had every other man I’d tested this move on.
Halfway to the bar, I realized I no longer felt his presence. The fact I had only been around him for a minute and could already tell he wasn’t there disturbed me. I detested the idea of turning around to search for him. It diminished the power I wanted over him. But the absence next to me had me peeking over my shoulder through my wavy locks.
He stood exactly where I’d left him, his arms crossed, watching me with unadulterated interest. O-kay. That was new.
My mentor had taken me to many out-of-town bars, educating me in the art of seduction. Not once had this ever failed. I didn’t know what to do. Tossing my axe at a target or my arrows into flesh was what I knew, what I was comfortable with. I could usually handle any situation thrown at me.
Dea
ling with the leader of the werewolves was clearly not in my forte. Killing him, yes. Seducing him, no.
Grayson used two fingers to rub his chin, his mouth hitching up on one side. He stood out in the carousel of tuxes and ball gowns. He didn’t need to move to catch the awareness of the other species and sexes. His animal magnetism was another thing I hadn’t prepared for. Feral. Raw. A bad-boy rock star drawing hungry gazes from all around without even trying.
I turned to him, one of my eyebrows arching. He merely grinned back, a sense of tug-of-war growing between us.
There was no way in hell I was giving in. With a slight shrug, I twisted back for the bar, letting him believe I could easily walk away.
“Hello, lovely.” A tall lean elf leaned on the bar. He had icy blond hair puffed on top, braided on the sides, and pulled back in a low long ponytail. His silver eyes twinkled as he winked at me. Elves were one of the oldest Sups but never appeared to age above their twenties. “What would you like?”
“Whiskey.” Normally I didn’t drink much when I was hunting, but my nerves rattled under my skin, needing something to calm them. It was simply because I’d been planning this moment for so long and it was here. It wasn’t him personally. “Three fingers.”
The elf lifted his eyebrow, grinning at me with understanding. His features were sharp, but he was pretty. Almost too pretty. He pushed up the sleeves of his white Henley, grabbing the top tier bottle of alcohol off the shelf.
As if an army of ants beelined up my spine, I shivered as Grayson moved in next to me, a smirk hinting on his mouth. How was I so aware of where he was without even looking?
“You decided to join me even though it was you who asked me.”
“I enjoyed your cheek more from the view I had.” He curved to face me, leaning on an elbow, his gaze feeling like I stepped into a sauna.
The Monster Ball: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 8
