The Midnight Hunt

by L. L. Raand

  The Midnight Hunt

  Applause for L.L. Raand’s The Midnight Hunt

  “Thrilling and sensual drama with protagonists who are as alluring as they are complex.”—Nell Stark, author of the paranormal romance everafter

  “An engaging cast of characters and a flow that never skips a beat. Its rich eroticism and tension-packed plot will have readers enthralled. It’s a book with a delicious bite.”—Winter Pennington, author of Witch Wolf and Raven’s Mask, the Kassandra Lyall Preternatural Investigator paranormal romance novels

  “‘Night’s been crazy and it isn’t even a full moon.’ Who needs the full moon when you have the whole of planet Earth? L.L. Raand has created a Midnight otherworld with razor-cut precision. Sharp political intrigue, furious action, and at its core a compelling romance with creatures from your darkest dreams. The curtain rises on a thrilling new paranormal series.”—Gill McKnight, author of Goldenseal and Ambereye, the Garoul paranormal romance series

  “L.L. Raand’s vision of a world where Weres, Vampires, and more co-exist with humans is fascinating and richly detailed, and the story she tells is not only original but deeply erotic. A satisfying read in every sense of the word.”—Meghan O’Brien, author of the paranormal romance Wild

  Acclaim for Radclyffe’s Fiction

  Lambda Literary Award winner Stolen Moments “is a collection of steamy stories about women who just couldn’t wait. It’s sex when desire overrides reason, and it’s incredibly hot!”—On Our Backs

  Lambda Literary Award winner Distant Shores, Silent Thunder “weaves an intricate tapestry about passion and commitment between lovers. The story explores the fragile nature of trust and the sanctuary provided by loving relationships.”—Sapphic Reader

  Lambda Literary and Benjamin Franklin Award Finalist The Lonely Hearts Club “is an ensemble piece that follows the lives [and loves] of three women, with a plot as carefully woven as a fine piece of cloth.”—Midwest Book Review

  ForeWord’s Book of the Year finalist Night Call features “gripping medical drama, characters drawn with depth and compassion, and incredibly hot [love] scenes.”—Just About Write

  Lambda Literary Award Finalist Justice Served delivers a “crisply written, fast-paced story with twists and turns and keeps us guessing until the final explosive ending.”—Independent Gay Writer

  Lambda Literary Award finalist Turn Back Time “is filled with wonderful love scenes, which are both tender and hot.”—MegaScene

  Lambda Literary Award finalist When Dreams Tremble’s “focus on character development is meticulous and comprehensive, filled with angst, regret, and longing, building to the ultimate climax.”—Just About Write

  By L.L. Raand

  The Midnight Hunt

  By Radclyffe

  Romances

  Innocent Hearts Love’s Melody Lost

  Love’s Tender Warriors Tomorrow’s Promise

  Passion’s Bright Fury Love’s Masquerade

  shadowland Fated Love

  Turn Back Time Promising Hearts

  When Dreams Tremble The Lonely Hearts Club

  Night Call Secrets in the Stone

  The Provincetown Tales

  Safe Harbor Beyond the Breakwater

  Distant Shores, Silent Thunder Storms of Change

  Winds of Fortune Returning Tides

  Honor Series Justice Series

  Above All, Honor A Matter of Trust (prequel)

  Honor Bound Shield of Justice

  Love & Honor In Pursuit of Justice

  Honor Guards Justice in the Shadows

  Honor Reclaimed Justice Served

  Honor Under Siege Justice for All

  Word of Honor

  Erotic Interludes: Change Of Pace

  (A Short Story Collection)

  Radical Encounters

  (An Erotic Short Story Collection)

  Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.:

  Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments

  Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love

  Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions

  Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

  Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

  Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets

  Visit us at www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  THE MIDNIGHT HUNT

  © 2010 By L.L. RAAND. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  ISBN 10: 1-60282-140-2E

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-140-8E

  THIS ELECTRONIC BOOK IS PUBLISHED BY

  BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.

  P.O. BOX 249

  VALLEY FALLS, NY 12185

  FIRST EDITION: MARCH 2010

  THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY . ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

  THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT PERMISION.

  * * *

  CREDITS

  EDITORS: RUTH STERNGLANTZ AND STACIA SEAMAN

  PRODUCTION DESIGN: STACIA SEAMAN

  COVER DESIGN BY SHERI (GRAPHICARTIST2020@HOTMAIL.COM)

  Acknowledgments

  As this is a new adventure in my writing career, I must thank all those who said “do it!”

  First and last and always, my partner Lee, without whom none of what is best in my life would be possible, for always believing in my stories. Amo te.

  Editors extraordinaire, Ruth Sternglantz and Stacia Seaman, for finding the wrong turns—those that remain are all mine.

  First readers Connie, Diane, Eva, Friz, Jenny, Paula, Robyn, and Tina, for embracing the dark even when it was “scary” and learning to love the “others” as I do.

  Sheri, after ten years and two hundred–plus outstanding covers, I am still amazed at how truly gifted you are.

  And finally, to the readers who continue to support and inspire me—my everlasting gratitude.

  L.L. Raand, 2010

  Dedication

  To Lee, my mate

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sylvan hungered to free her wolf. After three days in the city, encased in a steel-and-glass building fifteen hours at a time with nothing but concrete under her feet at night, she needed to fill her lungs with the scent of warm earth, sweet pine, and rich, verdant life.

  She needed to run with her wolves and lead them on a kill. The insistent pressure between her thighs and the shimmer of pheromones coating her skin reminded her of another critical need, one not so readily satisfied.

  She’d gone too long without sexual release, but she couldn’t risk even a rough-and-ready tangle with a willing female when her wolf seemed insistent on claiming a mate. That she would never do.

  Never long on patience, she was edgy and amped on adrenaline and hormones. Even knowing she could be in her Adirondack Mountain compound in thirty minutes didn’t curb her temper while she sat at a desk in the New York State Capitol Annex building listening to a politician patronize her. But she needed to do the job that had fallen to her when she had ascended to Alpha shortly after the Praetern species had stepped out of the shadows for the first time in millennia. As head of the Praetern Coalition representing the interests of the five Praetern species—Weres, Vampires, Mages, Fae, and Psi—she had been charged with convincing the senior senator from New York to push PR-15, the new preternatural protection bill, through his committee.

  “We’d like to bring the bill to a vote this session, Senator,” Sylvan said into the phone, careful not to allow her frustration to bleed into her voice. She spun around to face the view of the Hudson River six blocks away. A breeze through the open windows of the twelfth-floor office carried a teasing hint of the river on a raft of summer heat, remindin
g her that her imprisonment was only temporary. “The bill has been tabled for the past six months and the Coalition members are asking why.”

  “We all want the same thing, Councilor Mir,” Senator Daniel Weston said, “but we have to remember, this is all very new for the human populace. We have to give the voters a chance to get used to the idea.”

  The senator’s patrician tone grated, and Sylvan growled softly, her right hand tightening on the leather arm of her desk chair. The wood creaked, protesting the crushing pressure, and she consciously relaxed her fingers. No one knew better than she that for some humans, there would never be enough time to accept those who were other as equals. The nonhuman races had hidden their preternatural essence for centuries in order to survive in a world where they were greatly outnumbered. Eventually global culture expanded until isolation was impossible, and the Praeterns learned to hide in the light, forming uneasy coalitions while building a formidable economic power base.

  Sylvan’s father had finally convinced the Praetern leaders to make their presence known to the world, arguing that the benefits of visibility outweighed the dangers—their corporations could compete openly in international markets, their scientists and doctors would have access to greater research opportunities, those in politics who now had to work behind the scenes could actively advocate for their rights. And most importantly, they could demand protection under the law for future generations.

  Shortly after Antony Mir had spearheaded the Exodus, he had died, leaving Sylvan to assume the mantle of leadership. She had been twenty-six years old, a year out of law school. Her father had been her Alpha, her mentor, her friend, and her greatest champion. She’d had no time to mourn because the Pack needed a leader, especially in the midst of the chaos the Exodus had incited. His absence remained an agonizing void in her heart.

  “Over a year now, Senator—and several million dollars in campaign donations. That’s a long time to wait for basic protection from those who would destroy us for simply being different.” Sylvan couldn’t help but think of her father’s death and how little progress she’d made in achieving security for those whom she had been born to protect and defend. Anguish and fury frayed the last remnants of her temper and a low rumble resonated from deep beneath her breasts. Her skin tingled with the ripple of pelt about to erupt and her claws sliced through her fingertips. Her wolf shimmered so close to the surface that her slate blue eyes, glinting back at her from her reflection in the window glass, sparked with wolf-gold. Her dusty blond hair took on the silver glint of her pelt. Along with the impending shift came an exhilarating surge of power and raw sensuality.

  The door behind her opened and a husky alto voice inquired, “Alpha?”

  Sylvan swiveled to face Niki Kroff, her second and imperator—the head of Pack security. One of Sylvan’s centuri, her personal guards, Niki was also her best friend—they’d grown up together, tussled and played dominance games as adolescents, sparred together as adults.

  Tonight Niki wore her usual uniform—a formfitting black T-shirt, cargo pants, and lace-up military boots. Her compact muscular form looked hard and battle worthy, despite the soft swell of her full breasts and the luscious fall of thick auburn curls that touched the top of her shoulder blades. Niki had sensed the rise of Sylvan’s wolf, stirring Niki’s instinctive need to guard her Alpha against any distress. Sylvan didn’t find Niki’s sudden appearance in the office an intrusion on her privacy. Pack members had very few physical or emotional boundaries.

  In fact, Sylvan hated having the centuri stand between her and the rest of the Pack, forcing her into even more isolation than her status as Alpha demanded. But since her father’s death, the Pack would have it no other way. She was too important to them not to be under constant guard.

  “I’m fine,” she sotto-voiced, too low for Weston, who continued to try to placate her with platitudes, to hear. Niki, though, could hear her easily, and after one last searching look, backed out of the room and closed the door. Sylvan reluctantly brought her wolf to heel, promising her freedom soon. Breaking in on Weston’s monologue, she said, “Some of the Coalition leaders are beginning to question if our friends in Washington are really friends at all.”

  “Now now, Councilor,” Weston said almost jovially, “I’m sure you can explain things to the Coalition and your own…uh…followers.”

  “Pack. My Pack,” Sylvan said softly. She wanted to point out, not for the first time, that the Adirondack Timberwolf Pack was not a cult or a religion or a social organization. They were a community, connected physically and psychically. She was their Alpha, their leader, but she was part of them as well. But she was too weary and her wolf was too anxious to roam for her to repeat what she had been explaining publicly for months. “The Mage and the Fae have never been as solidly behind the Exodus as the Weres. I don’t think I have to remind you how strong a force those two groups are in industry and international commerce. I don’t think you want to lose their support.”

  “Of course not. Of course not. The committee plans to convene within the month, and I assure you this matter will have priority on our agenda.”

  Sylvan could tell she’d gotten as far as she was going to get with him that night. Human politics were fueled by money, and until the money train carrying funds from the Praetern Coalition to Capitol Hill ground to a halt, the laws to protect them would be slow in coming.

  Hopefully, once humans began to appreciate that Praeterns had lived and worked among them for centuries, and not only performed many essential functions within society, but were their friends and neighbors and, sometimes, even relatives, popular opinion would swing in their direction.

  “I look forward to hearing from you soon, Senator,” Sylvan lied, and put down the phone. Almost ten thirty. Traffic on the Northway would be light this time of night. She couldn’t wait to shed her pale gray linen shirt and tailored black trousers, a necessary concession to her high-profile persona as the head of U.S. Were Affairs. If she and her centuri left now, they’d be home before full moonrise. Running under the moon was her favorite time to hunt—the forest took on a primeval glow and the very air seemed to glitter with moon dust. She preferred to run in moonlight whenever she could, even though most Weres had evolved to the point they no longer needed the pull of the moon to shift.

  She and her Pack could shift at any time, although she alone could shift instantaneously. Even her most dominant centuri needed a minute or more to accomplish the change. Her singular ability to call her wolf at any time, to shift partially or totally at will, was one of her greatest joys and helped balance the price she paid in loneliness for being the Alpha.

  “Niki,” she said quietly as she packed her briefcase. The door opened and her second slipped inside. Niki’s forest green eyes took in the unfinished meal she had delivered earlier in the evening and narrowed in displeasure. Sylvan ignored the look. “Have Lara bring the Rover around. Let’s go home.”

  “You didn’t eat.”

  “Do I look like I need a den mother?”

  Niki folded her arms beneath her breasts and spread her legs, an aggressive stance. She met Sylvan’s eyes for a second before looking away. “More like a mate. If you won’t look after yourself—”

  “Niki.” Sylvan gave a warning rumble. She knew many Pack members were anxious for her to take a mate, not because of pressure to produce an heir—she had decades for that—but because she would have more protection. The Pack Alpha could accept intimate care and safeguarding from a mate, whereas she couldn’t from anyone else. She had her reasons for ignoring the not-so-subtle hints that Niki and those close to her had been making, especially the last six months. She did not want a mate. She had seen the desolation in her father’s eyes after the death of her mother over a decade before. He had fought his desire—the innate drive—to join his mate in death until Sylvan was old enough to take her mother’s place, but he had been broken, an empty shell of who he had once been. Sylvan had lost her mother, and in many ways, her fath
er, all in a few moments of betrayal and blood. She would not allow herself to be that vulnerable. Ever. “We’ve had this discussion. I don’t want to have it again.”

  “You’ve been working twenty hours a day for six months and ignoring your needs. It’s not going to help the Pack if you’re too weak to stand a challenge.” Niki was a dominant Were at the top of the Pack hierarchy, and one of the few who would dare incite Sylvan’s ire in order to protect her.

  Sylvan cleared the desk so quickly Niki barely had time to put her back against the door before Sylvan towered over her. Sylvan didn’t touch her. She didn’t have to. Niki dropped her chin and turned her face away. Sylvan brought her lips close to Niki’s ear, and when she spoke, even the Weres outside in the hall, who could hear a mouse in the walls three floors below them, did not hear her. As their Alpha, she could speak to them mind-to-mind as effortlessly as she could with words. Do you question my ability to lead, Imperator?

  Niki shivered and tilted her head, further exposing her neck. A Were as powerful as Sylvan could crush the windpipe or tear open the great vessels in seconds. “No, Alpha, I do not doubt you. But I am responsible for keeping the Pack safe, and for that, we need you.”

  Am I not always here for you?

  “Yes, Alpha,” Niki whispered, her eyes nearly closed, her gaze still averted. “But many in the Pack fear what will happen if the humans decide to hunt us. You give them the strength to fight the fear.”