by Fel Fern
Harley hovered on the border between the two territories, his hackles raised and his ears flattened. He didn’t know what spooked his wolf, or what let him here, but he intended to find out. Unlike Darkfall and the other nearby towns, Northfield wasn’t under any supernatural group or clan.
It was considered neutral grounds for any mortal and member of the paranormal community to enter. Unfortunately, that also made it a popular hunting ground for unsavory characters like vampire and shifter hunters looking to trap newly changed supernaturals. Harley didn’t have anything against hunters, but he never warmed up to them. Those groups, like the Order of the Knife, stayed cleared off Darkfall because their kind was unwelcome there.
Harley sniffed the air. He tasted fresh pines and slight rain. No chirp or the sound of small animals though. The forest here was dead silent. Harley padded forward, then it hit his nose—the smell of hurt and fresh violence. In the distance, past the cluster of trees, Harley spotted an ill-maintained and abandoned farm, except the lights in the barn were on. Also, the smell of blood became prominent the closer he came.
His human half screamed at him to back away. To leave these fuckers alone, because it was none of his business and he’d never been the sort to recklessly rush in. Aside from occasionally turning to a wolf, Harley led a completely ordinary life. He liked it that way, too.
Before a rogue werewolf bit him during his backpacking travels in Europe in his teens, Harley had been just another average guy. After learning to control his beast, Harley finished his degree, but never got to teaching English. He preferred working with his hands, and when a spot opened up at the garage one of the pack members, Joe, ran, Harley jumped right in.
In terms of power, Harley was mediocre. He wasn’t the kind of power-hungry upstart werewolf who challenged the next best guy to climb the pack ladder. Harley was content being the pack mechanic, but something about this entire set-up nagged at him.
Harley’s beast was insistent on coming dangerously up close and personal. To charge in, be the reckless hero and save whoever was in there without caring who they were up against. The more Harley urged his wolf to head back and rejoin the pack, the more it disagreed. Harley moved toward the fringes of the woods facing the barn and the scent of hurt and blood hit him hard. Growling, he squeezed through the gap in the broken fence.
Then he heard the arguing voices.
“Let’s kill the leech, and then head to Darkfall,” the first argued.
“We might be able to wring more information out of the bastard,” said the second.
A hoarse scream followed, then the rattle of chains. These hunters, whoever they were, had been at the torture for a while. It didn’t occur to Harley until much later how he only heard three heartbeats, not four.
Seeing red, Harley didn’t bother thinking of a plan. He rushed in, fangs bared. Two men, built like bricks and dressed to the nines in all blacks, stood around a pale and slender figure hung by his limbs. Smelling burnt skin and blood, Harley snarled.
“What the fuck? Where did the beast come from?” the bald bastard muttered, quickly drawing something from his back.
Seeing the glint of metal, Harley didn’t give him a chance to draw. Judging by their gear, the two were experienced hunters, but one sniff told him they were mortal. Harley leaped for his throat, bringing both of them down.
The guy screamed as Harley sunk his canines deep into his neck. He heard the satisfying sound of the gun clattering to the ground, before the second hunter’s gun roared to life. Harley let go of the first hunter’s throat with a growl. Pain streaked up his left side, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He’d caught sight of the insignia sewn into the left pocket of the guy whose throat he’d torn out—a bloody fist holding the bladed end of a knife.
Sergio made sure all his wolves had basic education about the supernatural and mortal politics outside of Darkfall. That insignia belonged to the Order of the Knife, a centuries-old organization of mortal hunters who specialized in hunting down the supernatural.
“You fucking mongrel!” the first hunter spat, aiming the gun at him.
“Get down!” a voice rasped.
Harley rolled, barely avoided the spray of bullets that would have ended his life. Judging from the burn on his left side, these hunters came prepared with silver-coated ammunition. Harley tensed when the hunter shifted targets and pointed the gun toward the helpless tortured figure.
“That’s right, asshole. Game over.” The hunter bared his teeth.
Harley didn’t know why the spineless gesture filled him with unexplainable fury. He’d played the hero, and lost the battle. Time to head home and lick his wounds. Why would he risk his life for a stranger he just met? Yet, he couldn’t leave it alone. Harley wanted to take his time leisurely ripping apart the hunter who dare think it was fine, hurting what was his.
His—
Who exactly was this pale man? Why did he wield so much power over Harley? There was only one logical answer, but Harley refused to face the truth yet.
Now was not the time to over think matters. Ignoring reason and trusting his reflexes, Harley leaped at the hunter, going for his legs. The man shrieked as Harley’s claws tore through the ligaments of his left knee. Harley grunted, feeling the impact of the barrel as the man used it as a blunt instrument. They tangled on the ground.
Pissed, Harley dislodged the weapon from the guy with his jaws. Refusing to yield, the man fumbled for the inside pockets of his vest. Seeing the hint of a hunting knife handle, Harley automatically bit the bastard’s wrist. He knew assassins of the Knife were hand-to-hand combat specialists and aside from this one incident, he’d never been in many fights.
Harley would have finished the dirty business too, except his ears caught the sound of police sirens in the distance. Fuck. He didn’t know what to tell the local cops. Worse, the sheriff would probably call up the local Darkfall branch to handle this.
Harley didn’t care about the Darkfall law enforcement, but who knew how Sergio and the other pack leaders would react to the news? Sergio was a fair leader, but he and his brother Alessio, didn’t take kindly to wolves messing with the peace they worked hard to build, especially with a neighboring town.
With little time to spare, Harley decided to abandon his kill. Harley shifted, gritting his teeth at the sudden change and the bullet still embedded in his ribs. Limping slightly, he took the hunter’s knife and used it cut down the stranger from his bounds. Severely injured, the man fell against him, light as a feather. His nostrils flared at the smell of burnt flesh.
When the guy began to thrash against Harley’s arms, he said, “Hush. You’re safe now. No else is going to fucking hurt you ever again. I swear.”
Harley didn’t know what prompted him to start making promises he wasn’t sure he could keep. Tonight was apparently the start of many firsts.
The half-naked man blinked very vivid and almost inhuman sapphire eyes at him. “What’s your name?” the beautiful stranger whispered.
Even half-dead, the man was a sight to look at. He had a lean runner’s build, a smooth silken skin Harley wondered would turn a nice shade of pink once he put his mouth and hands to it, and the sculpted face of a blue-eyed and golden-haired Adonis.
What the hell? How could Harley be thinking of inappropriate thoughts at such a time?
“Harley.” Harley grunted, wondering how he was going to get both of them out.
“I’m Silas.” Then Silas’s eyelids fluttered shut. Panicking slightly, Harley pressed a thumb against his pulse and felt nothing. The guy wasn’t breathing either.
“Christ. All that fucking trouble and you end up dying in my arms like some tragic movie victim,” Harley muttered.
He was about to set Silas down, and abandon him, but his wolf vehemently disagreed with the idea. Silas wasn’t dead, his beast seemed to argue, and Harley always trusted its instincts. It occurred to Harley suddenly how he couldn’t hear Silas’s heart beating, but he distinctively hear
d his screams.
“Order of the Knife,” Harley muttered, turning the pieces quickly in his head.
These two hunters definitely wanted Silas for a reason. Silas clearly wasn’t mortal, but a damn vampire. Shit. Harley’s night seemed to get only worse. Best he rid himself of this sorry business, because helping Silas would bring him all sorts of unwanted trouble.
“Double fuck.”
Harley took a deep breath and listed out the things he needed to do. First the bullet had to go out. Once he got that out, the wound would heal slowly, but it would eventually close. It was now or never. Gritting his teeth, Harley shoved his fingers into the wound. Unbelievable white-hot pain ebbed, but Harley managed to dig around and get the dratted thing out. No time to examine it now, but at least he didn’t need to worry about it injecting more poison.
Harley hefted the vampire over his shoulder and took off into the night, just as the first cop car pulled into the farm. He didn’t know where he got all the extra energy. Maybe it was his stubborn will to live, but whatever it was, Harley hoped it would be enough to get them the hell out of there.
Chapter Three
Silas fought hard not to regain consciousness. He didn’t want to wake up to the leering faces of the hunters, or remember the agony streaking up his ruined body. Most of all, Silas didn’t want to think of Lucius, and his corpse filled with holes. His Master would never hold him close again, keep him safe, and make his body a stranger to his own skin.
“Are you awake, vampire?” an unfamiliar deep and husky voice asked.
Silas tried to clear his foggy mind. Despite his misgivings, he opened his eyes. For a moment, his head spun. Instead of the warm, almost suffocating enclosed barn, Silas was somehow in motion. A forest rose on either side of him. Cool fresh air caressed his face. Relief almost replaced fear, except Silas realized he was tossed over the shoulder of someone, being carried like a sack of flour.
“Put me down this instant!” Silas pounded at the guy’s broad and muscled back.
“Fucking hell,” his captor muttered. Without warning, he tossed Silas on the leaf-strewn ground.
Silas cursed as he hit the hard surface.
“After risking my fucking life to rescue you, this is the bloody thanks I receive?”
With a hiss, Silas sat up. The events of the past came flooding back. He remembered being out of his mind, silently pleading the hunters to kill him, when a furry beast burst into the barn—a werewolf and his unexpected savior. Still, this bastard had some nerve, carrying him like that.
Harley, he remembered the shifter calling himself. He also recalled the strange way his body reacted. Even bound and tortured, Silas felt the invisible tug between his body and the wolf’s. A dangerous reaction, he remembered thinking, because only Lucius should be able to pull his body like an instrument.
“Give me a break. Who the hell do you think you are?” Silas demanded. He had a couple of more things to say.
Anger had always been his defense mechanism, but he stopped cold seeing the impressive specimen—no other word for it, towering over him. Harley was the exact opposite of Lucius, but something about the werewolf drew in Silas all the same.
Standing at six-foot plus, Harley was built like a fighter, golden-skinned and padded with hard muscle. Silas wouldn’t consider him handsome in the traditional sense, but there was something alluring about his roughly-hewn face. Silas dropped his gaze, licking his lips at Harley’s well-formed pectorals, his narrow waist and six-pack abs, and finally on his generously-proportioned cock. Already at half-mast, Silas noted.
“Oh my,” Silas whispered.
He silently cursed himself for sounding like an idiot. Harley did save him, and Silas had not been expecting any help from God, fates, or whoever was out there in the universe. In a way, Harley was his prince. A dark knight maybe, but Silas’s savior nonetheless…until he opened his mouth.
“Explain. Right this instant, or I’ll leave you here to rot.” Harley growled. Seeing the wild glint of gold in Harley’s eyes, Silas knew Harley’s wolf was riding the man. Any other logical person would be cautious, but not him.
“Oh, you won’t do that,” Silas replied without thinking.
Harley raised one dark eyebrow and approached closer. He grabbed Silas’s arm and easily jerked him up to his feet. Harley bared his teeth, showing Silas the slightly sharpened ends of his canines. “Fucking dare me.”
Silas crossed his arms, and tried not to appear intimidated. It was hard though, especially knowing only inches separated him from the wolf.
“You didn’t have to, but you rushed in and killed the hunters…unless you have something to do with them.”
Silas didn’t bother hiding the suspicion in his voice. Judging by the way Harley thoughtlessly rushed in, and exited when they heard the police sirens, it was unlikely the werewolf was involved with the orders. Silas didn’t know why he wanted to rattle Harley, and try getting under his skin.
Harley growled and stabbed a finger into Silas’s chest. One angry nudge had been enough for Silas to feel a jolt of electricity that went right to his chest and groin. Shit. This werewolf was bad news.
“I ought to leave your pale skinny ass.” Harley faltered when Silas grabbed hold of his pointing finger, and slid the digit into his mouth.
Silas didn’t know what possessed him to suck slowly, his own fangs gently grazing the skin. One prick had been enough for a droplet of blood to well up. Silas froze, tongue catching the rich thick crimson elixir. So easy for him to do more and commit the unthinkable.
Harley did nothing but save him from his tormentors. Silas owed the guy his life, yet hunger, more intense than he’d ever felt hit him like a sledgehammer. He wanted to wrap the werewolf in his embrace, release his vampiric pheromones to keep his prey docile, but he knew a man like Harley would fight. He’d fight Silas to the death and the prospect of a challenge excited him.
Then his human brain kicked in. Silas drew out Harley’s finger from his mouth and whispered, “You should leave me here.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harley demanded, grabbing his shoulders.
Silas shook his head and showed Harley the misery in his eyes. “They took me when Lucius changed me,” he said in an uncertain tone.
“Calm the fuck down. Take deep breaths—forgot that,” Harley said quickly. “Tell me what happened.”
Silas didn’t know how Harley could switch from being angry one moment and sound incredibly persuasive and soothing the next. He opened his mouth and Lucius and his story spilled from his lips. Silas gave Harley the condensed version, the summary without embellishments. Focusing on his words helped Silas think past his hunger a little better. After, Silas felt all hollow. Numbed out like an empty vessel missing his purpose in life.
“They kept on asking questions about some chalice I had no fucking clue about, then you know what happened after,” Silas finished.
Harley furrowed his brows. Feeling a little light-headed, Silas leaned in close. He was terrified he’d fall over and embarrass himself, but he felt Harley’s strong arms easily catching him.
Silas sniffed the line of Harley’s throat. Pressed his fangs so hard against his bottom lip to keep himself from sinking them into Harley’s neck, he tasted his own blood. Worse, he could smell the fresh blood on Harley, especially from the healing wound over his ribs, but he tried his best not to think about it.
“Easy there. You need to feed.”
“I don’t know how. Harley, you need to go. Save your own skin. You’ve done enough for me,” Silas muttered.
“Shut the hell up. You have no idea what you’re saying.” Harley’s golden gaze glinted with intent under the moonlight. “Take some from me.”
Stunned, Silas stared at him for a couple of seconds. “You’re offering me your blood? What if I can’t control myself? I’ve never done anything like this before. Why would you suggest something like that to a complete stranger?”
Harley snarled. “Whate
ver we are, whatever this thing between us, we’re no longer strangers.”
Then the werewolf surprised him again by tilting up his chin and taking his lips. Lucius kissed sweet, tender, and occasionally rough, but Harley plundered. He took full possession of Silas’s mouth, eradicating any logical thought left in his mind. Silas’s insides melted. His heart raced when Harley gripped the back of his neck and deepened the kiss. He opened his mouth, letting Harley tongue fuck him.
The werewolf rubbed Silas the wrong way. Harley was coarse, hard, and warm unlike the sometimes chilly and reluctant affection Lucius gave. He was, Silas decided, all heat, incinerating everything in his mouth. When Harley let go of him Silas felt a little dazed and unlike himself. Harley had replaced his hunger for blood with temptation of a different sort.
“What was that?” Silas whispered, wide-eyed. “What are you doing to me? You’re making me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling again after my Master died.”
Harley pressed a finger to his lips. “Ask questions later.”
Silas moaned when Harley pushed him gently until his back tasted the rough texture of bark. He shouldn’t be feeling anything but the old aches of the torture he endured. It felt incredibly inappropriate to feel so aroused.
Harley pinned his wrists above his head one-handed, and kissed him again, sending his mind reeling. He pelted kisses down the side of Silas’s neck, while he used his other hand to reach for the button of Silas’s jeans. One flick and Harley sent it flying. He jerked the zipper down and pulled out Silas’s needy member.
Harley’s gaze darkened with intense need. “So hard for me already, baby?”
“We don’t know each other well enough to call each other pet names, honey,” Silas couldn’t help answer.
Harley chuckled. “Play nice or you won’t be getting any.”
“What kind of sick game are you playing?”
Harley leveled those bestial yellow eyes at Silas. “Tell me you feel nothing, Silas. Go ahead and lie to my face.”