The Magic Hunt (Midnight Hunters)

by Raand, L. L.

  “Sleeping soundly. Marta is with them.” Sylvan bit down gently on the sensitive skin at the angle of Drake’s neck and shoulder. “I didn’t want to wake them, so I only stayed a second.”

  “Did they know you were there?”

  “They sensed me, I think.” Sylvan laughed. “Hard to tell. They were in a pup pile with some of the two-year-olds and there was a lot of ear-flickering going on.”

  “With the two-year-olds? Isn’t it too soon?” Drake had images of her daughters being buried by bigger, stronger wolf pups.

  “They’re wolf Weres—not human. They won’t follow the growth curve you’re used to seeing. Our ancestors had to hunt to survive, and the only young who lived were those who grew quickly and learned to run within a few months.”

  “I keep expecting them to be like human babies,” Drake said.

  “They aren’t human,” Sylvan whispered, rubbing her cheek on Drake’s throat—a possessive wolf gesture. “And neither are their parents.”

  “No. We aren’t.” When Drake had been turned, her cells, her DNA, had mutated. She had stopped being human. She was not a hybrid—she was pure Were, and her mate was the strongest wolf Were in existence. “When did you first speak?”

  “In words?”

  Drake laughed. “How else?”

  “My mother said I could understand her mental commands in pelt right away. I didn’t vocalize words until I was six months old. I was big enough to run with the Pack long before then.”

  Drake caught her breath. So soon. “Do you think ours—I know they have all your power, but—”

  “Possibly. Probably,” Sylvan said. “They’re growing fast. And I think they both look like you.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed”—Drake turned onto her back and pulled Sylvan on top of her—“one of them is blond.”

  “Other than that.”

  “I suspect they will both have a little bit of each of us.” She tapped Sylvan’s chin. “Although Kira already seems to be you, through and through.”

  Sylvan rumbled, a proud self-satisfied growl. “She does have the air of an Alpha already.”

  “Do you think it’s a burden, that she’s born to it, like you?” Drake would have caught the words back if she could have. She wasn’t sorry she had borne the next Pack leaders. She only wished the future would be more certain. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know you’re only worried for them,” Sylvan said. “But if I had been given the chance to change what I am, I wouldn’t. I am proud to lead. Except…”

  “Except what?”

  Sylvan rested her forehead on Drake’s. “When I put you in danger.”

  Drake twisted her fingers in Sylvan’s hair and tugged hard. “I’ve told you I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She wrapped her legs around Sylvan’s hips and coated her belly with a burst of victus, hot and thick and intoxicating. “And I wouldn’t trade this for all the safety in the universe.”

  Gold flashed in Sylvan’s deep blue eyes and a gleam of canine sparkled between her parted lips. Her grin was predatory as she pushed tight between Drake’s thighs. Her clitoris was already distended, and her call brought Drake to instant readiness. “Your argument’s convincing.”

  “Convince me more,” Drake whispered, slowly rolling her hips in a way she knew pushed Sylvan to the edge.

  Sylvan’s face grew heavy and stark, her hunger a living force, and she thrust in time with Drake’s teasing motions. “I don’t need to run to be free,” Sylvan murmured. “I just need this.”

  Drake scraped her claws up and down Sylvan’s back, not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to heighten her pleasure with a whisper of pain. Sylvan was the ultra dominant, and challenge heightened all her responses, including pleasure. When Sylvan thrust harder and faster, pushing them both toward release, Drake gripped her shoulders hard and turned Sylvan onto her back.

  Sylvan growled.

  “Hush,” Drake ordered against Sylvan’s ear. “Let me.”

  Sylvan gripped the sides of the bed, struggling with her need to claim her mate. Giving her throat, exposing her belly, required the ultimate trust. Feeling Drake cover her, owning her, brought her pelt coursing to the surface and filled her glands to bursting. “Hurry.”

  Drake laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “I do—feel me.” Sylvan’s claws dug into the bed and she arched, pressing her clitoris against Drake’s belly. “I’m ready.”

  “I know. I can scent you, feel your hunger like my own.” Drake braced her arms on the bed and rocked downward, kissing her way along the cleft between Sylvan’s taut abdominals. “I will make you come. Just wait.”

  Sylvan panted, needing to empty. Needing Drake even more. She whispered the word no one but Drake would ever hear. “Please.”

  Drake gripped Sylvan’s hips and took her into her mouth, stroking her length with her tongue, teasing the rigid, silky core of her. Sylvan’s need was her pleasure, Sylvan’s release her satisfaction. She pulled her deeper, felt the first sharp spasm.

  Sylvan jolted, a howl of pleasure torn from her throat. Drake’s hips bucked at the sound, poised to release when Sylvan did. She sucked harder, drawing forth Sylvan’s essence in long powerful waves. Pleasure as bright as sunlight burned through her.

  “More,” Sylvan groaned, her hands in Drake’s hair, slowly thrusting between Drake’s lips as she crested and then languidly continued to empty. “I love when you claim me.”

  Drake rested her cheek between Sylvan’s thighs, slowly licking the last drops from her still-turgid flesh. “I love making you mine.”

  “I’m always yours.”

  Drake rose above Sylvan and straddled her thigh. As she kissed her, she thrust several times and finished emptying over Sylvan’s leg. Marking her with her scent. Sighing with contentment, she tucked her face into the curve of Sylvan’s shoulder, cradling Sylvan’s breast in one hand. “You are everything.”

  Sylvan stroked her hair and closed her eyes. “Let’s go wake them up—they could use some playtime.”

  “All ri—”

  Sylvan jerked as her wolf snapped to attention. “That will have to wait.”

  “I think we’re going to have to move the den farther into the mountains,” Drake said half-seriously. “Callan, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  A knock sounded on the door and they both sat up.

  “I’ll go,” Sylvan said swinging out of bed.

  “No, I’ll come too.” Drake joined her and they both pulled on clothes. “If he’s here this early, it’s something serious.”

  Sylvan opened the door and Callan ducked his head quickly. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Alpha, but I’ve had a report of an attack on one of our border outposts.”

  Sylvan’s eyes flashed. “Where?”

  “At the northern Massachusetts line.”

  “Cats?” Sylvan’s growl filled the air with menace, and Callan backed up a step.

  “No, Alpha. Wolves.” Callan snarled. “Blackpaws, we think.”

  “Bernardo,” Sylvan spat. “Do we have prisoners?”

  “No, but we have wounded.”

  “Then we can’t waste time. I want whoever attacked us caught.” Sylvan sent out a mental call for the centuri standing guard in the forest, and Jace, Max, and Dasha appeared in the clearing a few seconds later. They looked to Sylvan, who called, “We hunt!”

  A howl split the air and a great silver wolf bounded off the porch into the clearing. Milliseconds later a midnight wolf joined her, and the others, drawn by Sylvan’s power into pelt, shifted in the second wave. Spreading out into a phalanx behind the Alpha pair, they raced to the hunt.

  *

  Torren watched the moon slide behind the clouds for the last time as dawn broke. She drew in sweet morning air through the open window, letting the morning mist cleanse her body and soul. After weeks underground, in the dark, the moment was as sweet as any she could remember. The door behind her opened and closed, and another fragranc
e—crushed leaves and simmering pine—soared through her like morning song.

  “I brought you some food,” Misha said quietly.

  Torren turned and took in the tray. A plate of fruit and some kind of bread and filling. Misha eyed her warily, as if expecting her to do something threatening, but some of the tension had left her. The angry press of wolf was gone. Torren tilted her head, studied her. “You’ve been pleasuring.”

  “What is it to you?” Misha said defensively. She had spent hard, but the gnawing pressure remained. She could control it now. She was a wolf, after all.

  “Nothing, other than I like the taste of it on your skin.”

  Misha dropped the tray onto the small table next to the cot with a clatter. She folded her arms and spread her legs in challenge. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your pleasure”—Torren drew in a breath—“tastes of wild berries and rain.”

  Her words struck Misha like a spear piercing her belly. Her thighs tensed. Softly, almost against her will, she said, “How do you know?”

  “Your taste is everywhere in the air—you’re powerful and strong,” Torren murmured, “and young.”

  Misha growled. “Not as young as you think.”

  “No, perhaps not. War has a way of aging us.”

  “How old are you?”

  Torren lifted a shoulder. How could she explain to this creature of the earth what it meant to occupy an ethereal plane, where light was as solid to her as the stones beneath their feet. “We don’t judge time the way you do. Not in years, not even in seasons. But I have seen more than a few cycles.”

  “Have you had many lovers?” Misha asked abruptly.

  “Yes.”

  Misha growled again.

  “But none of the heart.” The admission surprised Torren. The Hunt ruled her life, and she never thought of what else she might want. Or need.

  “What does that mean?” Misha asked.

  “Have you pleasured with many?”

  Misha gave her an arrogant nod. “I am a wolf. We tangle whenever we want.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “I haven’t had as many…cycles…as you.”

  “And have you…tangled…?”—at Misha’s nod, Torren continued—“from the heart?”

  Misha stared at the plate of food. “No.”

  “Then you know what I mean.”

  Misha raised her head, glared at Torren. “Why do I know what you taste like?”

  Torren jolted, surprised. “Do you?”

  Misha stepped closer, ran a finger along the edge of Torren’s jaw, brushed her thumb over Torren’s mouth. “Yes. Honeysuckle and spice.”

  “I hadn’t intended that.” Torren’s eyes were incandescent, glowing silver deep enough to drown in.

  “What are you doing to me?” Misha gasped.

  “Only hoping to convince you to trust me.”

  “It’s not my place to trust you or not. The Alpha will decide.”

  “And that’s enough for you? Your Alpha’s decision?”

  “Of course.”

  Torren regarded her curiously. What would it be like to have total trust in another being? She’d never encountered that. Allegiances, loyalty, perhaps. But trust? Never. “Why? Why do you trust her?”

  “Because she would die for us,” Misha said instantly.

  “Would she?” The concept was curious and foreign. The Fae, at heart, were selfish. Life was a game to be played and won. Self-sacrifice was unheard of, a weakness to be exploited. “And you? Who would you die for?”

  “Any of my Packmates.”

  “Why?” Torren asked again.

  Misha straightened, her chin lifting proudly. “Because I am a wolf.”

  Torren laughed softly. “Your reasoning is circular.”

  “I do not have to reason. I only have to feel.”

  “And what do you feel right now?”

  Misha shivered in the sunlight that slanted through the window. The scent of honeysuckle enveloped her and silken wings played across her skin. Her pelt ruffled as if in a morning breeze. The cry of a hawk urged her wolf to run. She panted softly. “Freedom. The thrill of the hunt.”

  “Your Alpha is hunting now.”

  “Is she,” Misha murmured, her vision swimming in pools of iridescent blue and silver.

  “Yes. Do you want to follow?”

  “No. I want you.”

  Torren slipped closer until their bodies touched. She cupped Misha’s jaw and tilted her face upward. Her mouth hovered over Misha’s. “You are very beautiful.”

  Misha’s wolf leapt forward, eager and jubilant. Misha grasped Torren’s shoulders.

  How can you trust anyone when they can make us do anything?

  This wasn’t real. Torren was other. Not wolf.

  “No,” Misha whispered, gravel tearing at her throat. She stumbled back, and her wolf howled in protest. “I don’t know you.”

  “Don’t you? You knew I was hungry. You brought me food.” Torren spread her hands at her sides, opening herself to Misha’s wolf—exposing herself. “You know my scent. You hear my blood.”

  Misha stared at the food, heard the call of the hawk, scented honeysuckle. Her nipples tingled, her belly tightened. She backed against the door. “How do I know any of it is real?”

  “What is real?” Torren whispered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Just before dawn, Sasha had turned the Rover onto the unmarked, single-lane trail leading to the Compound.

  “Let me out,” Katya said.

  Sasha slowed. “Are you sure? I’m supposed to be your escort.”

  “We’re on safe ground. And I want to run. Don’t you?” Katya jumped down and peered at Sasha. She looked as if she’d just come back from a week’s patrol and was in need of a long night’s sleep. Katya felt anything but tired. Her wolf clamored to hunt.

  “I…I’m fine.” Sasha smiled wryly. “Just a little hungry.”

  “Go get a meal and then some sleep.”

  Sasha still looked unsure, but drove on.

  Katya’s wolf burst free, energized, her senses sharper than she could remember since the Alpha had freed her from captivity. She chased down a small prey, killed it swiftly, and fed. Then she ran just for the joy of running, watching the sunrise crest the trees, breathing in needles of frosty air until her muzzle ached. And with every step, she felt Michel’s power coursing through her. Michel was everywhere—the heat of Michel’s mouth on her skin, the sharp pleasure of her bite, the piercing ecstasy of her hormones exploding through her—every sensation was defined by Michel’s presence.

  Katya bounded across the Compound, vaulted through the high narrow barracks window, and landed on her cot, shifting to skin as she settled down in the center. Michel shouldn’t worry about how often or how long Katya fed her. She felt stronger than ever.

  “Where have you been?” Gray sat cross-legged on the adjacent cot, her back against the wall. She wore charcoal fatigue pants and a matching T-shirt, both stretched tight over thick muscles honed every day with hours of running and solitary workouts.

  “Out.” Naked, Katya stretched back on the plain wool blanket. The unheated room was cold despite the early morning sun that had followed her inside. Her nipples tightened and gooseflesh pebbled her skin, but inside she was hot. Her blood still burned. Michel’s smoky taste lingered on her tongue. Her sex beat in time with her heart, full and tense. She could never remember feeling so alive, even after a hunt.

  “Where?”

  “You know where.” Katya sighed, her hand trailing down the center of her torso. Now she was tired, but even the fatigue felt wonderful. She pressed her hand to her bare abdomen, the last vestiges of pleasure tingling under her fingertips. Michel would be deep in the lair by now, possibly asleep. Katya looked forward to sleep—Michel would come to her then.

  “You smell different,” Gray grumbled.

  Katya turned her head, read the anger in Gray’s eyes. “You smell like sex.”r />
  “At least I smell like Were.”

  “Why do you care who I’m with? You never have before.”

  “Because I watched them torture you.”

  “You remember?” Katya sat up, fatigue falling away. “Tell me.”

  “You don’t?”

  Katya shook her head. “Only pieces. A few more now than before, but mostly, I remember…pain.”

  Gray sneered. “Yes, I think that’s all we were supposed to know.”

  “Elena and Drake said they poisoned us with silver—in the air, so our minds would be clouded and our bodies weak. I remember feeling heavy, like a blanket of snow and stone was piled on top of me. And sometimes…” Katya looked away.

  “Sometimes what?” Gray leaned forward intently.

  Katya met her gaze, saw something she rarely did in Gray’s eyes. Fear. “Wanting. Wanting…needing…to release so badly. Just wanting someone, anyone, to take me and make me come.”

  Gray shuddered. “Do you remember the shocks?”

  Katya frowned, searched the murky haze of her fractured memory. Pain was the final common pathway—all she could conjure clearly. That and the pleasure wrenched from her. She shook her head. “No. What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. What did they do to you?”

  Gray stared at her hands, pressing her palms so tightly against her thighs her fingers dug into the flesh. “When they wanted to punish me, they would shock me over and over until I…They would force me to release. I didn’t want to, at first. But then I did. Sometimes I think I fought just for the punishment.” Gray’s shoulders shook. “Like a coward, I did what they really wanted me to do.”

  Katya drew a slow breath that seared her lungs, as if she still breathed poison, but the sensation came from deep inside her. “We should kill them all.”

  Gray’s lips drew back in a feral grin. “Yes. All of them.”