Shadow Hunt

by L. L. Raand

  “Death by your hand would be nothing compared to what my Queen would do if I brought you through the Gate.”

  “If you prevent a war, your Queen might well reward you. I will see that she knows that.”

  His face transformed into the most beautiful image Sylvan had ever seen. Delicate, ethereal, rare—

  “Do not seek to persuade me,” Sylvan whispered, her canines grazing his throat. She pressed close until her body covered his and let her power rise. He shuddered and she smiled. “You cannot influence me, and I want nothing more than to rend your flesh from your bones. Now, what is your decision?”

  *

  “Come,” Francesca called when she sensed Simon approaching in the hall outside her boudoir. The door opened and he slipped inside. He was paler than usual—all the human servants were being overused. She must rebuild her seethe, and quickly. “What is it?”

  She was about to feed and impatient to taste the rush of vitality that followed. The sun was up, and while she did not need sleep, the changing cycles of the day triggered her hunger. The blood slave beside her was ready for her, her eyes glazed and belly heaving with anticipation. Her arousal was sweet on Francesca’s tongue. She trailed her nails over the smooth skin of the slave’s breasts and circled the tight pink peaks of her nipples. The slave whimpered and parted her thighs, moist and full and eager. “Be quick.”

  “I’m sorry, Mistress,” Simon said. “There is a visitor. He insists on seeing you.”

  Francesca sighed but her curiosity swelled. “Who is it?”

  “Nicholas Gregory.”

  Slowly, Francesca smiled. Nicholas obviously thought to take her at a disadvantage, arriving after sunup. His human arrogance prevented him from having learned anything of Praetern power. That misplaced superiority would one day bring about his death. “I see. Then show him in.”

  Simon glanced at the slave writhing next to Francesca. “Should I wait until you’ve finished feeding, Mistress?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, Mistress.” He dipped his head and backed out.

  Francesca opened her dressing gown and sat up, draping the naked female across her lap and cradling the slave’s head in the curve of her arm. The door opened and Nicholas, imperious with his silver hair and his customary three-piece suit, marched in. He stopped abruptly and stared. “What—”

  “Nicholas, darling,” Francesca purred, indolently caressing the slave’s breasts. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “I received word from a mutual friend that you were here. I was quite happy to hear the rumors of your…demise…were unfounded.”

  “Completely.” She stroked down the center of the slave’s abdomen and cupped her sex. The slave whimpered and rolled her hips. Nicholas followed the motion of her hand, a respectable bulge appearing along the inside of his left thigh. “As you can see.”

  “My understanding was that Zachary Gates has replaced you.”

  Francesca slipped one finger between the swollen lips of the slave’s sex and massaged her. “And has he replaced me in your service, Nicholas? Have you taken him into your confidence as to your long-term plans?”

  Nicholas’s hands tightened at his sides and color suffused his neck. “No.”

  “I thought not. Then we still have the same goal, don’t we?”

  “My plans have always been the same,” he said roughly.

  Francesca lifted the female until her throat was within striking distance. “Then I’m so happy to know we’re still on the same side.” She struck, and the female convulsed in her grasp. She watched Nicholas as she fed, her orgasm a pleasant undercurrent to the flush of power. She wondered how soon after leaving her he would relieve himself of the erection straining his trousers. Enjoying the trickle of sweat that rolled down his cheek, she sent an image of him fucking the slave, his hands around her throat, her screaming as he battered inside her.

  He twitched and whispered, “God.”

  Pleased that she had guessed his secret, she raised her head and licked closed the punctures on the slave’s throat. “Dr. Standish is ready to go back to work. She will likely need further specimens. We must see that she receives them.”

  Nicholas blinked, his face slack. “What do you mean?”

  “Sylvan has just destroyed Bernardo’s Pack, and not all the Blackpaws are happy about the new leadership. We can use them to strike where we cannot, and with your resources, we can see that their attacks serve our ends. Sylvan will not be expecting any kind of organized retaliation so soon.”

  Nicholas’s chest heaved and he tugged his suit coat closed in an attempt to cover the evidence of his excitement. “Are you ready to go to war with the Weres?”

  “We are ready.” Francesca pushed the spent slave aside, stepped from the bed, and glided to Nicholas’s side. “Aren’t you?”

  “I have been ready for thirty years.” He swallowed, his eyes on the naked female splayed out on the bed.

  “With Sylvan gone, the Weres will scatter.” Francesca drifted her hand along his thigh, giving his erection a teasing stroke as she captured him in thrall. “I have business to see to, but you are welcome to stay here while you consider my plan.”

  “She is not easy to kill, we’ve tried,” Nicholas murmured, taking a step toward the bed.

  “Sylvan’s weakness lies in those she loves. That is where we must strike.” Smiling, Francesca slipped into the adjoining room, turned on the cameras, and stretched out on the divan to watch.

  Chapter Ten

  “Squad leaders, report in,” a recruit yelled down the hall in the barracks.

  Gray jerked upright on her bunk and reached for her boots.

  “What’s going on?” Tamara said from the opposite cot.

  “I don’t know. I’m going to find out.”

  Tamara stood. “I’m coming with you.”

  “They’re only calling for squad leaders.”

  “You’re not a squad leader.”

  Gray grinned. “I am now that you’re assigned to me. It’s just a small squad.”

  Tamara huffed. “I wonder if your captain will buy that argument.”

  “Worth a try.”

  Tamara kicked into her boots and followed Gray to the door. “Is there any law against me standing out on the porch?”

  “No, but be prepared to get shouldered around. Remember—”

  “Oh, I won’t forget. I’m just a whelp to everyone.”

  “Everyone else maybe, but not to me,” Gray said, surprising herself.

  “Why not?”

  Tamara sounded genuinely confused and her uncertainty hinted at a vulnerability Gray understood. She’d been raised to be strong, to show no fear, to fight for her place in the Pack—to be proud. Weeks of captivity had tarnished her pride and shaken her faith in her strength and made her unsure of where she belonged. Tamara must be feeling much the same. “Because you won’t submit, even when you want to.”

  “What makes you think I want to,” Tamara said on a growl.

  Gray stopped, crowded her against the wall as a bevy of sentries hurried past. She pressed full length against her until Tamara dropped her head back and moaned.

  “That’s why,” Gray whispered. Since they’d gotten back from their run they hadn’t talked much, just caught some sleep in their shared room or pretended to. But she’d been aware of Tamara’s breathing, as fast and uneven as her own in the warm stillness. She’d scented the lingering arousal too, the same simmering need she was broadcasting. Her body still pulsed with the excitement of the run and the tension of the tangle. The release had been short and hard and not nearly enough, and every time she thought of Tamara just a few feet away, as ready as she was for more, her clitoris tensed and ached. But now wasn’t the time for thinking about tangling. If Callan was calling the squad leaders, it could only mean action was near. She bolted for the porch. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Gray joined the others hurrying toward the Compound parade ground, aware of doors opening and
closing along the hall as others trailed behind, curious and excited. Callan stood at the foot of the barracks stairs, and the squad leaders formed a ring at the top facing him. Gray edged onto the end of the line and caught Mira giving her a look with a raised eyebrow. She looked away—not to avoid a challenge, but to prevent drawing attention to herself.

  “A platoon of Blackpaws have disappeared from the Blackpaw camp. They took weapons and equipment. They may be sending raiding parties across our borders. Ready your squads and assemble in fifteen minutes for your assignments.”

  “Are we going after the renegades?” Mira called.

  Callan shot her a look. “Assemble your squad, Corporal. You’ll know your mission when I give you your orders.”

  Mira grinned cockily and saluted. “Yes, Captain.”

  As the squad leaders headed back inside to organize their soldiers, Mira bumped Gray hard enough to throw her off stride. “What are you doing here?”

  “The same thing as you.” She’d been expecting Mira’s challenge and shoved back.

  “You’re not a squad leader. You’re just a—”

  “She is now,” Callan said, landing on the porch next to them. “Gray, take Tamara, Bryce, Loren, and Fen. Report with the others.”

  Gray shot Mira a grin. “Yes, Captain.”

  When Callan was out of earshot, Mira muttered, “The perfect squadron—three whelps, a renegade Blackpaw, and a leader who can’t control her wolf.”

  Gray drove her shoulder into Mira’s midsection and sent her sprawling through the open barracks door into the hallway. She landed on top and they rolled in a snarling knot of arms and legs and canines and claws.

  Mira was heavier, more muscled, but Gray was fast and she’d survived far more abuse than the bites and bruises Mira was giving her. She dug her claws into Mira’s ribs and raked upward, drawing first blood. Mira’s eyes flashed gold and she verged on shifting. Gray’s wolf smelled blood and suddenly she was back in her cell, chained and tormented, the electric prod driving her to frenzy. She gripped Mira’s throat and, when Mira tried to roll free, mounted her. Mira caught her arm and twisted, and Gray’s vision dimmed. Her wolf would not be beaten again.

  “Stop, both of you!” Tamara dropped to the floor beside them and pushed in between them, heedless of the blows and slashing canines. “You have an enemy to fight, and this is not the time to waste blood on each other.” Tamara grasped the back of Gray’s neck. Her hand was firm and cool, ice to her flame. Her voice was steady and calm—defusing the storm clouding Gray’s senses. Tamara’s dark eyes held Gray’s, strangely warm and accepting, before moving to Mira. “Or are you more interested in petty quarrels than your duty?”

  Gray straddled Mira’s midsection and sat up, her chest heaving, her skin dripping battle fury. Mira’s shirt was torn and bloodied, her wolf-shot eyes half-mad. Tamara gripped Mira’s shoulder.

  “You have soldiers to command. An example to set. Is this what you want them to see from their leader?”

  Mira’s face slowly lost its wolf edges and the gold sheen faded from her irises. Her belly slowly softened beneath Gray’s hips as she stared at Tamara. “What do you know of leading soldiers?”

  Tamara’s smile was rueful. “I have fought with warriors, and I’ve seen bad leaders more often than not. What you do, how you lead, will decide what kind of soldiers your squadron will become.”

  “This time, I’ll heed your request.” Mira bucked her hips and Gray gave way, sliding off and getting to her feet. Neither had submitted, neither had lost face. Mira slowly got to her knees and slid her hand into Tamara’s hair. She nuzzled her neck and licked her in a long searing stroke. “I told you to come find me when you were ready. Don’t wait too long.”

  Tamara’s skin misted and she shivered, but she just shook her head and moved away.

  Mira glared at Gray. “You should remember your place, and it’s under me. She is not for you.”

  “That’s not for you to decide.” Gray bounded up. “You have no claim—”

  Tamara snarled. “Neither of you has a claim.”

  “We’ll see.” Mira shoved past Gray and stalked out the door. The recruits who’d stood around to watch the fight slowly drifted away until Gray and Tamara were alone.

  “Are you hurt?” Tamara asked.

  Gray swiped with the tail of her T-shirt at blood on her forearm. The gouge stung but all she felt was the odd peacefulness warming her insides. “No. I would have beaten her.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “You know it does.”

  Tamara shook her head. “She’s just looking for a fight because everyone else is afraid of her. You have nothing to prove.”

  “I have everything to prove.”

  Tamara brushed her thumb over a scrape on Gray’s face she hadn’t known was there until the pain disappeared. “Not to me.”

  Gray caught her hand, rubbed her cheek against Tamara’s palm. The scent of fallen leaves and crushed mint settled deep in her belly, soothing and exciting. She shuddered. “I know what you did.”

  “You don’t know anything.” Tamara pulled her hand away.

  Gray caught her arm. “Why are you ashamed?”

  “I’m not ashamed. And you don’t know anything.”

  “Did you hear Callan?” Gray understood secrets. She could be patient. “Outside in fifteen minutes. We’re going out on patrol.”

  “You really think the others will stand for me in the squad?”

  “The others will do as I say.”

  Tamara sighed. “Do you expect me to fight my Pack?”

  “No. I expect you to fight for your Pack. You are Timberwolf now.”

  *

  Dru readied to spring as the door opened, casting light across the bed where she lay entwined with the human and the Queen’s second. A servant stood in the doorway.

  “Forgive the intrusion, but the mistress requests the presence—”

  “One moment.” Luce sat up and lifted Veronica’s arm from around her waist. Veronica moaned softly but did not stir, her body lax and coated with streaks of Dru’s essence and her own blood. The whites of her eyes showed through her slitted lids. “I’ll be—”

  “I’m sorry, Liege,” the servant said. “The mistress requests Dru.”

  “I’m not your liege.” Luce turned to Dru with a slow smile. “You are favored, it seems.”

  “Only rewarded.”

  “As are we all,” Luce said smoothly as she slipped into her trousers.

  Dru smiled to herself and pulled on her pants, purposefully leaving them open at the waist. She knew why the Vampire Queen favored her—at the moment at least. She offered two things the Queen valued—a ready source of blood and no objections to who she had to kill. When her skills and her body were no longer needed, she would be just another servant. But that time had not come, and before it did, she would be gone. And she’d have even more information to sell to the next employer.

  She followed the servant through the halls to a room she had not yet visited. At the servant’s knock, Francesca bade them enter. The sitting room was far smaller than the one in Francesca’s previous lair, but still opulent compared to some of the places Dru had spent the night. Francesca, draped in a long pale blue silk robe, lounged on a divan the color of blood, the gown loosely tied at her waist and revealing more than it covered. Her complexion was high, so she’d been feeding. And feeding always made Vampires sexually ravenous. Dru bowed her head. “You sent for me, my Queen.”

  Francesca’s heated gaze roamed over Dru’s face and chest. “I see you’ve been busy.”

  Dru brushed her fingers through the sex-sweat still drying on her chest and belly. “Merely entertaining your guest, as you commanded.”

  “And how is the good Dr. Standish?”

  “She seems well-satisfied at the moment.”

  “I wouldn’t imagine otherwise. And what about you? Are you well-satisfied?”

  “That would be for you to say, my Queen.” Dru w
idened her stance and let the muscles in her belly flicker. “I am here to serve.”

  “And you do so very well.” Francesca gestured to the sofa beside her. “Come, sit with me.”

  When Dru settled beside Francesca, she had a full view of the monitor where a male she recognized from television, his trousers pushed partway down his thighs, knelt between the splayed legs of a naked female. She hissed softly as he forced her knees apart and plunged into her. “I see another human has joined us.”

  “More like revealed himself,” Francesca said with a soft purr of pleasure. “I believe Nicholas will be useful for a while longer. For now”—she ran her hand lightly up and down the inside of Dru’s thigh—“I have another job for you.”

  “Of course, my Queen.” Dru leaned back and Francesca lightly scratched her nails over the mound at the apex of Dru’s thighs. Dru growled softly.

  “Luce’s sources report there is unrest in the Blackpaw Pack and talk of rebellion. While Luce is busy replenishing the ranks of my Vampires, I need you to raise an army of Weres. You can start by recruiting the Blackpaws to our side.”

  “The wolves and the cats are not natural allies, my Queen,” Dru said cautiously.

  “Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree, but necessity sometimes makes friends out of enemies.” Francesca squeezed lightly and massaged Dru’s clitoris with her thumb.

  Dru lifted her hips and hissed. She had spent herself more than once with the human, but Francesca’s thrall was a knife in her belly, a twisting pleasure that forced her to fill and ready again. “I will do what I can, but they will be bent on retribution for Bernardo’s death before anything else.”

  “That could work to our advantage.” Francesca continued the rhythmic strokes, fondling the deep nodes on either side of Dru’s clitoris. “If they attack the Timberwolves, they may very well be able to do what others have so far failed in doing, and we will not be responsible.”

  “The chance of their succeeding is slight.” Dru stroked the thickening pelt down the center of her abdomen.