Crimson Hunter

by N. D. Jones

  “Nahara, finish his ass. I’m going to check the other room.”

  “What about Marrok?”

  “Stay the hell away from him.”

  “But … but, he has the baby.”

  “Unless you want to end up like the two dead muracos I’m looking at, stay away from him. Damn, he did a number on these two in here. I didn’t know Marrok had it in him to do this kind of damage.”

  Beneath him, Keira began to cry again. Worse, she pushed against him, her breaths coming fast.

  “No, Daddy, no.”

  “Umm, Solange, we have an issue in here.”

  “I said kill the asshole.”

  “Not that. Wait.”

  Nahara’s pistols rang out, four explosive sounds that had Keira screaming and Marrok scooting backward, taking his daughter with him. Holding Keira around her waist, Marrok stood, wedging himself between his daughter’s bed and bookcase.

  Solange returned to Keira’s bedroom. “Marrok, it’s over.”

  It wasn’t. His body felt odd, different. His head ached, and why did Solange, Nahara, and Keira smell so good?

  He clutched his daughter tighter, her whimpers of, “Daddy, let down,” toxic vapors to his senses. Didn’t she understand? He was trying to protect her. The black-haired witch could return with more muracos.

  Solange should be on alert. They had only killed three of them but over thirteen hundred were still on the loose. What would they do if more arrived? No, he wouldn’t let Keira down. She would stay right where she was, her delicious scent meant only for him.

  He sniffed her neck, her red-and-black hair a delicious-smelling curtain of silky softness.

  Solange backed away. “Watch him. I’m going to get Oriana. She’s the only one who has any chance of talking him down. He hasn’t changed yet.”

  “What if he does, while you’re gone?”

  Marrok growled at the witches, disliking that they talked about instead of to him.

  “Do you want me to shoot him?”

  He would kill her, if she tried.

  “Daddy, let down. Let down.”

  “Don’t shoot him. Shit, I don’t have time for this. I need to get Oriana. Now.”

  Magic swirled around Solange and she was gone, leaving him with Nahara.

  “Please, don’t make me kill you. Do you hear me, Marrok? Stay calm and, for the love of your mate and daughter, fight the muraco clawing to take you over. You’re a proud black werewolf. Stay that way. Black and proud. Don’t you dare change.”

  Nahara’s words echoed in his head. He heard her, understood her, knew she spoke the truth. But what good was the truth when every cell in his body betrayed him? He had never been so hot, a volcano ready to rupture from the crust of his black werewolf’s body, spewing lava, volcanic ash, and gases in a flurry of violent rages that would consume them all.

  “Daddy, let down.”

  No. No.

  “Big teeth,” Keira cried. “I want Mommy. I want Mommy.”

  Marrok sniffed Keira again.

  Big teeth. Better to rip your throat out with.

  At the sight of Marrok, Oriana nearly rushed to him in a panic. For a second, all she could see was her consort covered in blood, bites, and claw marks. Not the destroyed suite behind her or the three dead muracos, not even her sweet girl, afraid and crying, reaching for Oriana as Marrok clutched her too tightly.

  For precious, agonizing seconds, Oriana only had eyes for her consort, her Marrok. “Leave us,” she said, her voice so low and full of pain she wasn’t sure Solange and Nahara had heard her. But Solange’s equally soft curse, followed by retreating feet, had Oriana alone in her suite with her consort and daughter.

  Her black werewolf.

  Tears fell, blurring a vision she wished was an illusion. She had never seen the process firsthand. Oriana didn’t know anyone who had. Maybe because a person unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity of the awful transformation didn’t live long enough to tell the tale.

  But Oriana watched, in horror, as Marrok’s gorgeous black fur faded from a vibrant onyx to a dull, defeated gray. Not white. Not yet.

  She stepped forward—but only once. His arm around Keira was too tight for Oriana’s comfort. Neither did she trust the nose that kept sniffing her daughter’s hair.

  “Marrok, love. Thank you for protecting our daughter. Thanks to you, she’s safe. Keira is safe. You can let her go now.”

  A rumble of a growl filled the space between them.

  Oriana moved closer, arms in front of her, palms up. No danger. No Ravagers of the Lost cannons.

  Keira had fallen into an endless cycle of soft sobs and hiccups, eyes red, face a snotty wet mess. Tiny arms reached for Oriana, fear of Marrok in every line of her body.

  The sight tore at Oriana’s insides. Keira had never been afraid of Marrok, in human or in werewolf form. Her daughter’s body all but vibrated with tension and terror.

  Not good. Werewolves, especially white ones, relished the fear they evoked in their prey. They enjoyed the hunt even more. Not that Marrok would have to run Keira to ground to claim her. All he would have to do was open his mouth and …

  “I’m here now, my love. I can take care of you both. You’re hurt, and Keira is afraid. Let me have her … then I can take care of you.”

  More black fur faded to gray, and some of the gray had turned white.

  Oriana shut her eyes, revolting against the sight of her Marrok turning into a white, bloodthirsty muraco. She was losing him, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  Marrok wasn’t yet lost to her, though. He was still inside the fading black werewolf. A part of him was fighting back, even as he plastered himself against the wall, refusing to relinquish their daughter to her.

  Red eyes tracked Oriana, as she continued to close the distance between them.

  “Please, Marrok. Give me our daughter. She’s crying and is afraid. Let me have her. I know you don’t want to hurt Keira.”

  The red of his eyes deepened, as more gray gave way to white. Only a few patches of black remained, on his clawed feet and left hindleg. Then at horrific metabolic speed, Marrok shifted from steel gray to pearl white.

  Oriana stared at her outstretched hands. For all the magic she wielded, in the end she was nothing more than a weapon of mass destruction, incapable of curing or saving her consort.

  “Mom-my. Mom-my.”

  “I know, baby. Mommy’s here. Don’t be afraid. Daddy won’t hurt you. Daddy won’t—”

  Marrok growled, baring his teeth.

  Oriana’s gaze slid over his body. The transformation was done. A muraco stood before her, eyes crimson and all traces of the black werewolf of her heart gone.

  The little witch inside Keira must’ve sensed the complete change in Marrok because she fought like a wildcat, screaming, twisting, and doing everything she could to get away from the muraco who held her in a grip gone deadly.

  Oriana lowered her hands, face awash with tears—hers silent to Keira’s uncontrollable deluge. She couldn’t lose them both but had no idea how to save one without killing the other. Pleading and rational talk would prove futile, as would a full-on attack. Marrok held their daughter in front of him, a flesh-and-blood shield.

  She backed away, eyes on Marrok and Keira. Stepping carefully to avoid falling over broken furniture, Oriana retreated. As she hoped they would, Marrok’s eyes followed her every movement. She needed him to view her as a bigger payday worth pursuing rather than settling for the easier prey he already claimed.

  What would it take to have a muraco turn away from a sure meal?

  Oriana released her magic, creating a vortex similar to the one she had conjured in Elio Desert. Flooding the vortex with her magic, she used the crimson fog to shield her shift.

  Marrok sniffed the air. Interested.

  Oriana moved farther from Keira’s bedroom and deeper into their destroyed suite. The love and peace she and Marrok had found together in the suite no longer existe
d, marred by the ugliness that had tainted their sanctuary.

  Long, sharp fangs sparkled white. Saliva dripped.

  Oriana’s heart thudded an erratic beat. Had she miscalculated? Would he eat Keira first before coming after her? She couldn’t permit that to happen, couldn’t watch her daughter die at the hands of her father.

  Marrok charged Oriana, tossing Keira to the side as he dropped to all fours and rushed her. She’d fought muracos before, some larger than her consort, but none of them had meant to her what Marrok did.

  Muscles rippled under white fur and thick hide. Claws scratched the wood finish of the floor. Teeth bared, ready to rip Oriana to shreds.

  She stood her ground. Not a cell in her body recoiled in fear, but every part of her quaked from grief.

  Marrok ran into the vortex, mouth open, rows of deadly teeth aimed at Oriana.

  Shutting her eyes, she lifted her arms and … fired.

  Chapter 14: Death Becomes Her

  April 25, 2243

  Irongarde Realm

  Iron Spire

  “I need to go.” Oriana paced in the suite she’d had since she was a baby. Over the years, Kalinda had allowed Oriana to redecorate her own room instead of hiring a professional designer to do it for her. The results were never what Kalinda expected or what she would’ve chosen for herself, but the suite always exuded Oriana’s tastes and personality—outgoing, fun, kind, and sensitive. Oriana may have moved to Steel Rise, but this would always be her suite.

  Kalinda loved when Oriana visited, especially when she brought Keira with her. But this visit—Oriana holding an out-of-control Keira, an ashen-faced Solange and Nahara beside her—Kalinda would never wish to see her daughter and granddaughter under such horrific circumstances.

  Kalinda placed her hand on Oriana’s shoulder, a gentle persuasion her stubborn daughter looked ready to fight. To stave off a headache-inducing argument, she used her only leverage. “It took you an hour to calm Keira enough for her to fall asleep. If you leave and she awakens, she’ll break down again.”

  “You’ll be here.”

  “I will, but you’re her mother. She’ll want you, not me. Please, Oriana. Stay. Sleep.”

  As if someone had reached into her chest and removed her will, Oriana slumped to the bed, caving in on herself. She hadn’t cried, not a single tear but, just this once, Kalinda wished her daughter would give in to her sadness. The sight of her only child, eyes depleted of their normal sunshine and replaced with gray clouds, had Kalinda sitting beside her daughter and stroking her hair.

  “It’ll be all right. I’ll make it all right.”

  “It won’t. You can’t. I shot him. My Marrok. The father of my child.”

  Kalinda had forced Solange and Nahara to stay until they had given her a full report. When Oriana had stormed from her office, Kalinda had remained on the balcony, upset about her argument with her daughter but unaware of what was happening a half planet away. Despite what Oriana believed, Kalinda did not dislike Marrok. How could she when Marrok made her daughter so happy? Although she had never believed their marriage would last—none did between witches and werewolves—Kalinda had wished them many children and years of joy before the inevitable befell them.

  This was not how their marriage should’ve ended—Oriana forced to raise a weapon against her consort, Keira witness to the violence.

  “They made so much noise, we heard the fight two floors down,” Solange had told her. “We rushed up there only to discover the door to their suite was blocked.”

  At Kalinda’s raised eyebrow—a silent question—Solange had added, “There was a forcefield around the suite. We couldn’t enter through the door or by jumping in. If we could’ve reached Marrok sooner, Matriarch, he wouldn’t have had to fight three muracos on his own. He did one hell of a job defending himself and protecting Keira. But by the time we were able to counteract the forcefield it was too late.”

  Too late. Yes, the craven beasts had turned Marrok into a disgusting muraco, leaving Oriana no choice but to hurt him to save herself and her daughter.

  “When the field finally broke, we rushed in through the nursery. Thank the sun for that choice because any other route into the suite would’ve ended with Keira’s death. I took two shots. One to the shoulder, the other to his forearm. Nahara finished him off. When I return home, I’ll arrange for clean-up. Not every Crimson Guard is a traitor. They’re loyal, Matriarch Kalinda. Once we’re done here, we’ll begin hunting Dr. Bhavari.”

  Nahara had nodded, her jaw tight, her fists balled. “We’ll catch her. No one else we can think of would’ve had the motive and means to pull something like this off. She wanted to assassinate our matriarch. She’ll regret her betrayal. The baby—” Nahara had whispered the four-letter word, anger in the two syllables she pushed through thinned lips. “Did she forget they had a baby, or was she so distraught over her wife’s death she would sacrifice a child for her revenge?”

  Kalinda’s thoughts had run along the same lines. But that could wait. At least for a little while. First, she needed to take care of her daughter.

  “You were forced to make an impossible decision. No one will blame you.”

  “His parents and brothers will. Dr. Bhavari came looking for me. Poor Marrok got caught in the crosshairs.”

  Kalinda wondered how long it would take for Oriana to blame her for Bhavari’s actions. Once she rested, had time to grieve Marrok and the loss of her marriage, she would recall their talk on the balcony. In light of what had happened in Steel Rise and the role Oriana believed Kalinda had played in helping the Steelburgh Crimson Guards to hide the muracos, it wasn’t a leap in logic to assume her daughter would come to view her as the root cause of her pain.

  She couldn’t allow that to happen. Kalinda refused to lose her daughter in any way.

  “You were right earlier.”

  “About what?” Oriana kicked off her shoes then curled her tall, fit frame around a sleeping Keira, her back to Kalinda.

  She stroked Oriana’s hair, toying with the silky strands. “There was an employee in Steelburgh who reported directly to me.”

  “A spy, you mean. Who?”

  “Bhavari’s assistant.”

  Turning onto her back, Oriana leveled two accusing eyes up at her. “Did you know what they were planning?”

  “I did not. I didn’t find out about the plot until the night you came to me. Once you left, I called Misae. Fear kept her mouth shut longer than it should’ve. Misae should’ve come to me as soon as she suspected.”

  “I see. Misae was your spy.”

  “Do stop calling her that.”

  “Why? That’s what she was. I tried to locate her, but she disappeared. I suppose that was your doing?”

  “I sent her and her family on extended leave … off-planet.”

  “Convenient.” Oriana shifted away from Kalinda again, shoulders hunched to her ears. “Go on. Tell me the rest.”

  The part of Kalinda that craved physical closeness considered joining her daughter and granddaughter in the bed. As out of sorts as Oriana felt, she was a loving girl who wouldn’t turn away from Kalinda in her time of need, even though she was the one more in need of comforting.

  “I should let you sleep. I’ll go.”

  “No. Don’t.” Back still to Kalinda, Oriana reached behind her and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly. “Stay. Tell me the truth. Please.”

  The truth? As a child, Oriana used to grab Kalinda’s hand whenever they walked the streets of Irongarde City. Not because she was small and afraid and the city vast and intimidating but because she had once told Kalinda that, “If you hold my hand and get lost, at least we’ll be together. That way, you’ll never be lonely.” Oriana’s insight at seven had frightened Kalinda. The truth of what she stood to lose now scared her even more.

  “I don’t want you and your Crimson Guards going after the muracos until we’ve confirmed their presence in Janus Nether.”

  The finger that had been
rubbing the back of Kalinda’s hand stilled. Oriana pushed herself up in bed. Kalinda was reluctant to free her hand, the separation producing a sudden beat of anxiety.

  “I can capture them.”

  “I know you can. In Janus Nether. Not wherever in the hell they’re hiding now.”

  “You know where they are. Just tell me, and I’ll organize a team to retrieve them and Dr. Bhavari.”

  “Do you really think, if I knew where the escaped prisoners and Dr. Bhavari were, I would let them stay on the loose? Do you believe me as coldhearted as everyone else does?”

  “I didn’t say that but … but …” Questioning, confused eyes bore into Kalinda. “If you’re not the one helping Dr. Bhavari hide the muracos then I don’t know who else it could be. Solange and I must’ve missed something during our investigation.”

  Oriana sounded doubtful but also relieved. Kalinda would take both emotions.

  “You’ve been through two harrowing ordeals in a short period.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Let Bhavari bring her muracos to us. After what she attempted in your home, it’s clear she’ll go to any lengths, including finishing what she and the others started. Janus Nether is likely her target. Now that Abelone is dead, she has nothing but her grief and revenge to keep her going. She’ll have the muracos attack the black werewolves of Janus Nether because she wants to bring you down to her level. She may have missed her chance to kill you but Bhavari is still a threat.”

  “I know all of that. But I won’t stand by and wait for her to jump all those muracos to Janus Nether. Mother, I … I saw what their bite does to a black werewolf.” Tears formed in eyes already red. “I saw the self-control leech from Marrok, as his color bled away. I can’t permit that to happen to other black werewolves. It’s a brutal and sickening fate they don’t deserve.”

  Tears fell, and Oriana let them, holding Kalinda’s gaze the same way she had held her hand—tenderness overladen with determination.

  “What do you suggest then?”

  “I agree that Janus Nether is the target. Their silver snare-free status is the most visible and far-reaching of my matriarchal decrees. Few cared about or know of the white werewolves in Steelburgh, but a silver snare-free Janus Nether was worldwide news, creating pundits in every nook of the planet. If it’s overrun by muracos, turning innocent black werewolves into faded threats to us all, we’ll have more to concern ourselves with than a heartbroken healer on a murderous warpath.”