The Hunt

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “I understand,” the king said, nodding once. His vivid eyes glittered unnaturally; a wealth of knowledge was stored in their depths. “She’s worth it, the Akyri queen. Olivia has a different way about her.” Again the king smiled, and this time the smile touched those arresting eyes. “A way that quite a few noteworthy men have taken a fancy to.”

  He paused and Seth waited.

  “So watch your back, Seth. Despite how it might seem at the moment, mark my words. An infusion of werewolf blood does not an invincible vampire make.”

  With that, the vampire king left the room, and with his departure went most of the inherent magic that had been swirling around in the office. Seth stayed where he was for a few moments, absorbing what the king had said. Then he left as well.

  It took him a good fifteen minutes to make his way through the vampire king’s massive underground estate. When he finally got past the wards and guards and found himself up top once more, he magically transported himself to the location he’d been wanting to transport to for the last twelve hours – ever since he’d received the news about the Akyri queen’s attempted escape.

  The forest surrounding the purported secret entrance to the warlock king’s estate grounds and mansion was quiet. No birds sang, no lizards slithered through the underbrush. Granted, he was a stranger here and the animals of the world generally knew better than to bring attention to themselves in the midst of uncertainty. But this was a nearly unnatural kind of silence. It felt hollow.

  “What is she worth to you?”

  Seth had caught the stranger’s scent a half a second before he’d spoken, so he wasn’t exactly taken by surprise. But his body, transformed as it was by werewolf blood, responded to the potential danger as if it were a code red situation. His muscles tensed, his lungs expanded, his gut clenched, and he turned slowly in place to peer at the stranger through vision that had gone into stark relief, all reds and blacks and grays. He was going to have to get used to this.

  The man before him seemed familiar somehow, though Seth could have sworn he’d never laid eyes on him before in his life. There was a tilt to his chin and his nose – and a depth to his star-studded gaze that made Seth’s fists unclench and sent a wave of calm washing over him. It wasn’t magic. It was recognition. And Seth had no idea why.

  “Excuse me?” Seth asked slowly, speaking in a tone that had gone slightly gravelly. He marveled at the change he’d made. Those fucking werewolves were intense.

  “She’s a very special woman,” the stranger said. He looked to be in his late sixties, though the lines on his face were few. It was something about the frailty in his body, or maybe the apparent wisdom in his eyes. Seth frowned, suddenly realizing that the man was an Akyri. How had he not noticed that right away?

  Because he feels different, he told himself, cocking his head to one side and eyeing the stranger warily. Unlike any Akyri I’ve ever met.

  But one.

  “You’re her father,” Seth said then, speaking the words aloud even as he realized the truth of them.

  The man across from him gazed steadily at Seth, his expression unreadable. And then something sad touched the stars in his eyes and he nodded once.

  “Have you come to try and stop me?” Seth asked, his hands relaxing and his body straightening. The resolve that settled into his tall, strong form was a cold and hard resolve, but it was comforting. The tranquility that came with knowing that you would do anything and suffer any consequence for someone you loved was at once shocking and mitigating. It might get you killed, but at least you could be sure of yourself in this one simple thing.

  If Olivia’s father planned to hinder Seth’s attempts to rescue her, then the old man was going to die. Seth might die with him, but so be it.

  “No,” the Akyri said softly. “I haven’t come to stop you. I’ve come to help you.”

  Chapter Five

  “The Flush”

  Kat left the San Francisco airport on the BART system and rode it all the way to Powell Street, where she hopped off, went above ground, and caught the cable car to her hotel directly across from Fisherman’s Wharf. It wasn’t cheap, but she didn’t have to worry. The Hunters paid for everything; they always had. There were two reasons for this. For one thing, Katherine was a rare bird as far as Hunters were concerned. Most were men – the vast majority of them, in fact. Of the few women in the organization, Kat was hands-down the most attractive. She knew this; it wasn’t that she was proud or conceited, it was just that she wasn’t a complete dunce. At five-foot-nine, she possessed the long, svelte body of a marathon runner or ballet dancer, and the agility, strength and dexterity of a gymnast. Her shimmering ash-blonde hair was striking. It was fine as down, but she had a lot of it and it was very long. Also striking were the color of her eyes and the smooth, unblemished condition of her fair skin. She was beautiful enough to present for the Hunters a very diplomatic face, which came in quite handy when applying for permits or acquiring funding from third-party affiliates. Katherine Dare was an asset for the Hunters that they wouldn’t soon allow to slip away.

  The other reason they paid for everything was because they did it for most Hunters. The good ones, anyway. It was a golden handcuff kind of thing. The more accustomed to depending on others a Hunter became, the less likely they were to leave the organization. Not that it would have been an issue with her. She was in for the long haul – she was in until the day she found the wolf with the gray eyes.

  And then….

  Kat frowned, her gaze lost in the waves just off of the pier. It was strange, but the truth was, she’d never given her life much thought beyond that ultimate point. Once she killed the demon who had killed her father – if she ever killed him – then what? Where did she go from there? What did she do?

  She closed her eyes and gave her head a brisk shake. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. She would cross that bridge when she came to it. Right now, she needed to concentrate, keep her guard up. She’d felt restless coming off of the hours of travel and TSA lines and check-in at the hotel. It was late, but she couldn’t sleep. The pier was more or less deserted and a fog was rolling in.

  It was all too familiar.

  Kat turned away from the rising tide and the tankers out in the bay to watch a group of seagulls pick at the leftover sour dough bread someone had obviously fed to them. Feeding the birds was strictly off limits here; they didn’t need any encouragement. Food that people didn’t want was disposed of rapidly and securely. However, these birds had half a loaf at their disposal; it was clear that someone with a bigger heart than brain had saved the loaf for them and fed it to them on the sly.

  It was admittedly something she’d done a few times herself. Life was short and feeding the birds was fun. So sue me, she thought. A cold wind caressed the back of her neck where she had her long, white blonde hair pulled into a low pony tail. She yanked the leather tie out and allowed her hair to fall about her shoulders, providing more warmth. Then she shoved the tie and both hands into her pockets.

  Waves lapped noisily against the wooden beams of the pier to her right as she began to make her way down the Embarcadero. The famous walkway was a wide strip of sidewalk that ran the entire length of the wharf and its piers all along the west side of the San Francisco Bay. Some of the piers along the Embarcadero were abandoned and had fallen into disrepair. Others, however, were used by merchants and private boaters alike. Pier 39, the busiest port on the Embarcadero, was nearly always bustling with some sort of activity. Travelers came from all over the world to see its carousel, shops, and the sea lions that made their homes on wooden rafts along one side of the pier. However, late at night in the middle of the week, as it was now, the tourist destination was home only to the birds, sea lions, the fish and the poor who slept in bundles of nondescript clothing in its shops’ empty doorways.

  Kat left Pier 39 and headed west, in the direction of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific beyond. The street lights cast long s
hadows on the damp sidewalk ahead of her. The sour scent of unwashed bodies and dumped trash wafted over her every once in a while; testament to another long day in the wharf.

  And then Kat stopped, her heart thudding, her senses alert. Her ears pricked, straining to hear the sound she’d just heard one more time. It had been a shoe – a boot, maybe. The make of the sole was in question, but the sound of footfall was unmistakable.

  Very slowly, Kat turned in place, her indigo gaze piercing the corners of darkness around her.

  “I admit, you’re good,” came a deep voice behind her.

  Kat spun, drawing her weapon from the shoulder holster she wore beneath her thick leather jacket. It was a special weapon, made only for Hunters. They were electric; there was no gunpowder involved, as werewolves could smell gunpowder a mile away. The bullets that came from these weapons ripped an unforgiving hole in their target and then released large quantities of tranquilizers into the victim’s system. Elephant tranqs had nothing on the poisonous concoction that was in one of those demon subduing bullets. They never failed to give Katherine the time she needed to take her opponent’s head.

  A man stood before Katherine, but she could sense at once that he was not a werewolf. For one thing, he was much older than most werewolves she had encountered. A hazard to being born a demon was that you normally didn’t die of old age. Hunters usually got to you first.

  Another thing was that he seemed… ethereal, for lack of a better description. Though he was solid enough in his black garb, there was a disturbingly pale hue to his face, a nondescript frailty to his tall body, and a deep, dark galaxy-like look to his eyes that seemed positively non-werewolf. But most of all, it came down to the way he felt. He simply didn’t feel like a demon.

  But he also didn’t feel human. So, Kat kept her gun up and waited to see what he would do.

  “Most humans would have missed a sound so small. My kind move about from here to there without ever being noticed by anyone. We lead our lives from the shadows, day or night,” he explained calmly. His voice sounded strange to Kat’s ears – it sounded both gentle and hollow, as if he were a ghost. “But you heard me and you look into my eyes now, and that can only mean that what they’ve said about you is true. You’re the greatest Hunter alive.”

  “Who are you?” Kat asked, unable to help herself. Her senses were fanned out around her, searching instinctively for anyone who might have accompanied the stranger and be attempting to sneak up on her from behind.

  “My name is not important. What I’ve come to tell you, on the other hand, is so vastly important that it will change the fates of many – including your own.”

  “Then spit it out,” Kat said, her tone like ice. She didn’t like playing games. She had to admit that the stranger was not exactly setting off her alarm bells like he probably should have. It was late and they were alone and he was wrapped in head to toe black like some kind of Hollywood vampire. But the energy around him was… calm. She felt unthreatened.

  However, that was no reason to be stupid about it. “Very well,” he said. “I can take you to the man you seek. I can show you the way to the wolf with the gray eyes.” ***** Byron glanced at the clock. A rod of tension ran through his body like constant static, setting him on edge. His teeth were clenched behind his closed lips. If he’d been near a mirror, he’d have been able to see the darkening of the gray in his irises that made them appear cold and hard. In a few minutes, they would be glowing.

  He’d been left unrestrained and he had no idea why. His imagination was running rampant. Had the princess finally tired of him? If she had, she would kill him. It would be a blessing. And at the same time, the prospect martialled his defenses, calling them to the front lines. If he was going down this night, he would go down fighting.

  Not that he stood much of a chance against the magic of the warlock king. But again, it didn’t matter. There was that strangely familiar buzz in the air around the estate. It was like the feel of adrenaline, antsy and electric. He’d sensed it once before.

  Twenty years ago.

  With a mental start, Byron turned to the clock on the wall. All at once, the silence in his chamber and the halls of the estate beyond were deafening. There were no guards in the room. The faintest hint of distant smoke wafted toward him. It hit him in that moment, the shock of the realization slamming into him like a freight train.

  He flashed into wolf form. And then he ran.

  *****

  Jason was still wrapped safely in the invisibility he’d draped over himself when he made it past the third set of gates and then stopped. He could sense the werewolf somewhere nearby. Byron Caige. The signature was so much like his little brother’s, Lucas, that it was unmistakable.

  Figured it out, did you? he thought bitterly as he slipped into a shadow beneath a grove of trees and scanned his surroundings. No doubt, Byron had taken the opportunity to escape just as Jason had. The warlock king’s estate was in turmoil. Someone had killed the princess.

  Jason had no idea who had done it or what kind of power it had taken, but he certainly hadn’t wasted the opportunity. The first thing he’d done was find the crystal the warlock king had used to resurrect him. That precious gem, he now wore around his neck, safely sequestered beneath the black material of his long-sleeved thermal shirt and black leather jacket.

  He didn’t know who had set this night in motion and at the moment he didn’t care. It had won him his freedom. Whoever had done the deed had not only killed the princess, he or she had set magical fire to the west wing, filling it with a destructive blaze that no amount of magic seemed capable of extinguishing. To top it off, someone had killed fourteen of the vampire Offspring guards, and cast most of the castle into a painful mixture of magical light and darkness. The light was as bright as sunlight, effectively blinding a good number of the vampires remaining within the estate. The darkness was impenetrable. Not even fire sliced through it, and if Jason hadn’t cast a few spells of his own, he would have run headlong into the hidden flames.

  Smoke and chaos filled the grounds, allowing him a relatively easy time past the wards and locks that had been put in place between his chamber and the main exits. And now here he was, his back against the trees in one of the estate grounds’ many groves, his green eyes scanning what little he could see.

  “Get out, warlock.” Jason spun at the sound of the voice, but he was met with nothing but a shadow, tall and broad and jet as night. “Get out now and never go near my brother or any of my kind again and I will let you live.”

  “Caige.” Jason’s green eyes narrowed. He swallowed hard, his throat dry in the smoky, heated air. His heart hammered and his lungs were beginning to ache. “Was it you?”

  “I wish,” the deep, gravelly voice replied. A set of eyes began to glow in that darkness and Jason found himself taking a step back.

  “Why don’t you just kill me now?”

  “Because you mean nothing to me.” With that, the shadow turned and vanished, crouching low. There was a brief flash of light and one shadow was replaced with another – the man replaced with the wolf.

  The black wolf shot forward and through the swirling darkness without further pretense, leaving Jason alone to contemplate his words. Byron hadn’t bothered trying to kill Jason because he didn’t consider Jason a threat to him. He wasn’t concerned with the warlock. Not at all.

  It could only mean one thing. Byron Caige was heading home to find his little brother. And if Jason – or anyone else, for that matter – decided to interfere in Lucas’s life in the future, Byron would kill them.

  Jason didn’t put it past the werewolf. Byron had somehow survived the last fifty years with his sanity intact. Jason had only been a prisoner to the princess for a few months and he’d already begun to go a little nuts. And Byron had supposedly been her favorite. The gods only knew what kinds of hell she had put the werewolf through.

  If he could survive that, he could survive anything.
>
  Something occurred to Jason in that moment, an epiphany of sorts that he would later look back on as a pivotal point in his life. The princess was dead – but her father wasn’t. Malachi Wraythe was sure to want revenge for what had transpired this night.

  Jason had known the king on a personal level for a long time before the infamous warlock had resurrected him and brought him back to the estate as his daughter’s plaything. Jason had always known the man to be short sighted and petty. But the king was powerful beyond any other warlock’s capacity, and hence his claiming of the throne.

  However…. Jason knew the nature of psychology well enough to understand that traumatic events changed a person. One big enough could diminish an individual’s spirit, thin it out, and make it weak. Jason was willing to bet that if this hadn’t already happened with the king – it soon would. Once the truth really hit him.

  Chapter Six

  “Iron Sights”

  It sounded like Niagara Falls. The blood was roaring through her head so loudly, so quickly, she was afraid she would pass out. She couldn’t believe she had come this far, done this much. Here it was: zero hour. And she was seeing stars.

  Getting to this point had been like walking the streets of a bad dream: Foreboding, hazardous, and intense. She had allowed the stranger in black to lead; she’d had no choice. He knew where to go, what to do, and she was once more the student in a very dangerous lesson. But she’d gone along with it, despite its impromptu insanity for two reasons. One, she’d long been aware that there was more to the world than what humans painted in two-dimensional colors. If werewolves could exist… then other things could as well.