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Table of Contents
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Books by Lise MacTague
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Bella Books
Synopsis
Unknown to regular citizens, nightmarish creatures lurk in the dark underbelly of human civilization. The presence of these supranormals (“supras”)—werewolves, vampires, demons—is a closely guarded government secret, as is the existence of a cadre of specially engineered Hunters charged with exterminating them.
Codenamed Malice, Hunter Mary Alice Nolan was genetically modified and rigorously trained to use her great strength, heightened senses, and killer instincts to track and eliminate supras who prey on the innocent. A loner by choice, her only real link to the human world is her close connection to her mother and sister—until the unthinkable happens…
Ruri Samson has been a werewolf for more than a century and is comfortably situated as the Beta of her peaceful pack. Until she is betrayed by the woman she loves and an evil outsider massacres her Alpha and his most loyal followers. Barely escaping with her life, Ruri is forced to tread the perilous path of a lone wolf while vowing vengeance against the usurper and his minions.
Although these two powerful women should rightfully despise each other, fate will soon compel them to join forces on a dangerous quest to avenge their loved ones—and will ignite a forbidden passion that neither of them ever imagined.
Copyright © 2017 by Lise MacTague
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2017
eBook released 2017
Editor: Medora MacDougall
Cover Designer: Judith Fellows
ISBN: 978-1-59493-537-4
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Other Bella Books by Lise MacTague
Depths of Blue
Heights of Green
Vortex of Crimson
Acknowledgments
Thanks as ever to my alpha and beta readers: Lynn, Christina, Nikki, Eden, and Fern and Shari. You guys are awesome, and I couldn’t do this without you. It’s a little embarrassing how many continuity errors and typos you run across, but I’m glad you winkle them out for me.
Speaking of all the mistakes I’ve made, many thanks to my amazing editor: Medora MacDougall. I’m very proud of this story, and I know it’s only been made better because of your suggestions. I’d also like to thank the entire crew at Bella for making my book the best it can be.
This book was the last one I wrote while sitting across the table from Mary Lou, my writing partner, which makes me very sad. I’m going to miss discussing werewolf mythos with you, and hearing about the eight billion writing projects you have going at the same time. Your work, in its breadth and diversity, is inspiring to me. When I’m a grown-up writer, I want to be just like you.
To my family: Lynn, Whit, and CeCe, thank you for being there for me, for putting up with the “what if” ramblings and for turning road trips into extended plotting sessions. Thanks especially to Whit for being my Truck Physics Consultant on this one.
Finally, to my readers: I don’t think you know how much it makes my day when I hear from you about my work. Your feedback is one of the things that gets me up in the morning and cranking out more stories. Thank you all, and I hope you like this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
About the Author
Lise is the author of the science fiction trilogy: On Deception’s Edge. She grew up in Canada, but left Winnipeg for warmer climes. She flitted around the US, living in Ohio, New Jersey, and Wisconsin, before most recently settling in North Carolina with her wife, step kids, and three cats. Lise crams writing in around work, family, and building video game props in the garage. Find out more about what she’s up to, and find some free short stories, at lisemactague.com.
Dedication
For Fern. Thanks for backstopping me all these years, and in more than hockey. I couldn’t ask for a better friend, and I’m not saying that just to cement this book in your heart as your favorite.
Chapter One
She barely kept her feet, hunched over as she was, trying desperately to fill her lungs with air. The large pillar kept her hidden well enough for now, but it wouldn’t be adequate concealment for long. The stitch in her side was nothing compared to the knot of fire higher up along her rib cage. The bastard was damn fast. If she’d been almost any other human, she would be lying dead on the floor, a crater bashed into her rib cage. As it was, her torso bled slowly from half a dozen shallow puncture wounds. Whatever he was, he was covered in spikes. That had been a surprise. She was lucky it hadn’t been worse. There was none of the grinding that would have accompanied broken ribs.
Sucking in a slow deep breath, she tried to focus on her surroundings through her agony. Beyond herself, she listened as hard as she could for the slightest whisper out of place.
The darkness of the loft pressed in on her and seemed to swallow all sound. All she could hear was her strained inhalations. She struggled to get them under control. If she could hear herself breat
hing, chances were the thing hunting her could as well.
Where is he? He’d gotten the drop on her, moving faster than she’d believed possible. According to her intel, he was little more than a run-of-the-mill demon, though of a type they’d never seen before. It hadn’t stopped him from clawing out his own little corner of the shadow-world.
Why did it have to be a demon? She hated demons the most of the creatures she was set to take down. Demons came in so many horrible flavors, not like the rest of the supranormals. Werewolves and vampires started out human, at least. Demons were so different they might have been from an alien planet, not that her superiors would confirm or deny that. Human values meant nothing to them; they simply didn’t operate on anything near the same set of morals. Fortunately, there weren’t that many of them. Hunting vamps and furries took up most of her days. Confrontations with demons and the fae were fewer and further between.
She hadn’t dealt with fairies and changelings enough to get a handle on them. They’d been brought up in training, but she could count the number of interactions she’d had with them on the fingers of one mutilated hand. Demons on the other hand… Her theory on demons, not shared by her employer, was that they came from another dimension. Such ideas bordered on the mystical and were not accepted by the United States government, but their theories had so many holes and required such mental gyrations that they weren’t any more reasonable. She’d never met a demon she could stand to share a room with. Her current quarry was no exception.
A brush of air across her cheek was her only warning. She dropped to her knees, one hand on the floor, the other slicing through the air, the katana an unthinking extension of her body. His hand thudded into the pillar where her head had been less than half a breath before. Masonry exploded and small bits showered down on her head. The katana bit, blade sliding deep into his thigh. A hiss that turned into a wordless shriek was her satisfaction.
Determined not to lose her advantage, she surged to her feet, turning the sword in both hands and lining up for another strike. As fast as she was, the demon was faster. He blurred away from her and disappeared back into the darkness, leaving her fencing with shadows.
There was no time to consider her next move. He was on the run and she had to track him down before he made it out of the building. Now that he knew she’d been set upon him, he could easily disappear and she could not allow that to happen. He couldn’t be allowed to prey upon the unwary any longer. Countless scores of young runaways had already been sacrificed to his appetite.
Stalking through the empty loft after him, she was glad she’d at least marked him. Droplets of bright blue blood glowed and smoked on the concrete floor, corroding it, leading her onward. She peered deep into the gloom. Even enhanced as it was, her night vision was barely enough to keep her from running into the debris that littered the ground. He had a decided advantage in the dark. She pulled a compact cylinder from her pocket, holding it in her right hand as she stalked the darkness.
The droplets stopped and she looked ahead into the shadows. There was no sign of him, but from behind her came the barest rustle of spine upon spine. She grinned tightly, clamped her eyes shut, faced the other direction and pressed the button on the cylinder in her right hand. Light splashed across her corneas despite her precautions. If her calculations were right, though, the flash would have blinded the demon.
Another scream met her efforts and she dropped the cylinder, bringing her right hand up to grasp the end of the handle of the katana. In one smooth motion, Malice turned and raised the sword, getting her first good look at the thing. The demon cowered in front of her, hands over too-wide eyes that oozed thick blue blood. A spiny crest jutted aggressively from the top of his head. He was covered everywhere in spikes of varying lengths, even on the backs of his fingers. Her blood still stained the protrusions on one hand. His movements were jerky and quick, almost impossible to track.
“Don’t,” he choked, voice thick with pain. “For the love of the Seven Realms, Malice, please don’t.”
Malice gazed down at him. How many of his victims had pleaded with him in just the same way? They hadn’t deserved their fate, but he certainly did. She brought the sword down in a smooth arc, cleaving through his neck and both up-raised hands. They hit the floor in a series of small thuds as his body slumped over.
Already, the acrid stench of his death threatened to overwhelm her.
Another reason to hate demons, Malice thought. They can’t even die cleanly.
Not for the first time, she wished supranormal corpses simply disintegrated into ash, the way vampire ones did on human television shows. This wasn’t Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for better or worse. She had no sidekicks to rely upon, no snappy banter; it was just her and her prey. Reality, as was so often the case, was much messier than fantasy. His body should corrode away to nothing over the next twenty-four hours, if her previous experience was anything to go by. At least he’d had the sense to make his lair in an abandoned factory building. She could leave his corpse and be relatively certain nobody would blunder across it. It wouldn’t do for some luckless human to stumble across the body. They weren’t supposed to know about the nightmares that congregated in the underbelly of society. The government made very certain to keep knowledge of the beasts from their constituents. Their presence was an inconvenient truth, which was where Malice came in.
Impassively, Malice stared at the blackening corpse for another moment before turning. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and drew it along the blade of her katana. Demon blood was so corrosive it would pit the metal if left there more than a few minutes. Satisfied the blade was clean, she dropped the cloth. Already, holes were being eaten through the fabric. It would dissolve completely long before his now-inanimate corpse would.
Through the abandoned loft and down four flights of deserted stairs, Malice kept the katana ready in her hand. Demons sometimes ran in packs. She wasn’t sure about this one. His spiky exterior and impossible speed were brand spanking new. He could have had a dozen brothers and sisters with him, or he could have been the last of his kind. If there were others, they wouldn’t catch her unaware. Malice hadn’t survived as long as she had without keeping her head on a swivel.
Nothing moved in the shadows and she emerged into a dark courtyard. Light poles dotted the perimeter, and broken glass glittered in the light of the moon below each one. Folded in a neat pile in one corner was a black trench coat. Malice picked it up and slipped it over her shoulders, sliding the katana back into its sheath on her back. She pulled up her hood to disguise the sword’s handle. With easy strides, she left the courtyard, never looking back at empty windows that seemed to follow her every move.
The area was mostly industrial and deserted at that time of night. Malice walked swiftly down silent blocks, past shuttered factories and storage facilities. Her truck was a few blocks away from her target’s nest. She’d been trained never to get too close in a vehicle, and years of experience had only reinforced that training. Most supranormals had excellent hearing. She smiled slightly as she contemplated the other reason. If she didn’t survive the mission, her superiors didn’t want anything to connect her to them. She would be simply one more dead Jane Doe in a city full of them.
There were many reasons why she and her remaining cohort were stationed in major cities. The beings they hunted were drawn to large urban centers, full of humans who wouldn’t be missed, full of easy meat. In the wash of humanity, another dead body wouldn’t be a big deal. Malice knew that when she died, her body would spend its last days in a drawer in the morgue before being interred with the other John and Jane Does beneath the tall trees of Homewood Memorial Gardens. Unclaimed bodies went there, and there was no chance her body would be claimed upon her death. Her family would never know what happened; she would simply disappear from their lives. It was only a matter of time. It had only been, what, five years since she completed her training? Of her original platoon, six were already gone and that was of the sixteen w
ho had survived their training and…enhancements.
Malice grimaced slightly and twitched her mind away from the scant memories she still retained of that time. Even what little she remembered was more than she cared to. They said that memories of physical trauma were never as sharp as the actual pain, but that didn’t seem to apply to what had been done to her. Her bones ached, cold and sharp, and Malice brought her sister’s face to mind. Cassidy’s smile chased away the last vestiges of remembered agony.
Her truck was where she’d left it. The black Mitsubishi pickup gleamed under a lone street lamp. She extended her senses, but nothing seemed out of place. She emptied her pockets, pulling out more light grenades, a couple of knives and a Taser, and placed them in the toolbox in the truck’s bed. Her katana had its place in a specialized holder in the box’s lid. Satisfied that everything was secure, Malice headed home.
It was a long drive home, over forty-five minutes. At least with as late as it was, Chicago traffic wouldn’t be the headache it usually was. She flipped on the radio and relaxed as pounding drums and heavy guitar riffs seemed to absorb the adrenaline that still coursed through her veins. It would be a while before she would relax completely. This night’s takedown had been closer than most. Still, not as close as some.
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