The Hunters Series

by Shiloh Walker

  She couldn’t speak, just lay there panting and crying out, moaning when Eli drove back inside her again. “Has he?”

  Declan laughed and answered for her. “Hell, no, Eli.” He reached down, wrapping his hand around his now erect cock and stroking as he stared at them. The blond vampire hunkered low over the body of Declan’s wife, his big hands holding her slim hips as he drove his thick penis inside her ass. Declan couldn’t fathom how easily he shared her with Eli, but it didn’t bother him to do so. He didn’t question it, he just did it.

  Tori screamed with frustration, clenching her muscles and trying to hold Eli’s cock inside her. In response he moved, going from lying atop her body to kneeling between her thighs, still deep inside her ass. The flat of his hand smacked against her naked bottom, a sharp stinging pain left in its wake, but before she could snarl at him in indignation he started to ride her hard and fast, driving his cock completely inside, pulling out to the flared head and then driving in with a force that stole her breath.

  Three deep, hard, bruising strokes and she was screaming in release. A groan rumbled from Eli’s throat and finally, he found his own release. Declan continued to watch and pump his cock until he, too, came.

  Tori stared into the dark night.

  She had watched as Declan disappeared into the woods, his furred, golden hide gleaming under the light of the moon.

  Somewhere out there was Eli as well, stalking his prey.

  Only Tori wasn’t compelled to hunt that night. With a tiny smile, she took a moment to appreciate the fact that, being the hybrid she was, if she was actually hungering for steak and a baked potato followed by chocolate, she could indulge, and not just dream. So her belly was full of traditional food tonight, not blood, even though that had been the ticket yesterday when she, Eli and Declan had traveled to Virginia and interrupted a would-be gang rape.

  Yesterday blood has been satisfying.

  Today, after the fuck-fest, steak had been satisfying. Laying a hand on her belly, she decided, maybe ice cream would be coming later.

  The two men she adored were out there, one tracking a deer, the other tracking the human garbage that were his favored prey, the men who beat their children or raped their wives. Eli loved taking that kind of life and ending it, loved the fear he could induce as he used his mind to hold his prey still while he fed.

  Declan had the same gift.

  Tori was learning it.

  Both of her men could induce fear, could induce lust—either emotion—simply with a turn of his head, a blink of his eyes. With her it was always the lust, and it made their mating so much sweeter, so much more.

  With the hunting—when they prowled and preyed on the scum who preyed on the less fortunate—it was made sweeter as well. The blood that poured from a man who was nearly mad with fear was as sweet as nectar, Tori had learned. And when she was feeding from a man she had just ripped from a woman he had been intent on raping, it was almost orgasmic.

  You stayed away too long this time, Eli had whispered to her.

  She wouldn’t admit it to him, or to Declan, but she had no choice. The need she felt for Eli didn’t shame her or bother her. Not really. Tori loved her husband, with all her heart, she loved him.

  But if she allowed it, this strange need for Eli could consume them both. While she hungered for Eli and even loved him some, Declan was her heart.

  The three of them shared a bond, true. But she and Declan were bond-mates, soul-bonded. Each would die without the other.

  And if she wasn’t careful she feared what could happen between Eli and herself— feared it could hurt all three of them.

  So she made them go months without this, out of necessity. Hell, she knew Declan craved it almost as much as she did, but she also knew part of Declan would think like the wolf. If it wasn’t hurting him now, how could it hurt him at all?

  The sweet ache of sex rode her body like a fine cloak and she reveled in it. Yes, she had stayed away too long. And she knew she would continue to drag it out until the need almost overrode her common sense.

  But while she was here…

  Chapter One

  Five Years Later

  Eli felt the odd…tingle in the air as another Master entered his lands.

  It wasn’t Tori. His body went on red alert any time she came within fifty miles of his boundaries. And besides, the hybrid vamp and her mate Declan had only left three weeks ago. Eli knew it would a good five months before he saw her again. Five months before he was able to ride that sweet body again, and take the oblivion she offered when she and Declan allowed him into their bed.

  But he knew this Master. It was the one who had freed Eli years and years ago.

  Malachi.

  As far as Eli knew, Malachi was just…Malachi. He had no other name and he felt older than the ages to Eli’s mind. They shared a rather uneasy friendship.

  Vampires weren’t exactly commonplace, but they weren’t rare, either. A Master was more of a rarity, though. And one who wasn’t controlled by the bloodlust, rarer yet.

  Ones like Malachi were the rarest of them all.

  Eli owed his life to Malachi.

  Eli’s maker had Changed him against his will and he’d spent the first fifty years of his existence in a cavern far below the surface of the earth. She had kept him chained, kept him half starved and Eli was certain he would have gone mad that last year if Malachi hadn’t come.

  Elspeth had feared Malachi.

  Bloody hell, Eli was quite certain that everybody feared Malachi. The vampire was older than any other Eli had ever known and held every unusual power a vampire was capable of. He could control a person’s very thoughts, even if that person was a vampire. He could shift from his given form to mist to hawk, maybe even more forms. He could go weeks without feeding and he needed little blood to maintain. And he could take sunlight.

  How much, Eli didn’t know, but three hundred years ago, Malachi had covered Eli’s body with his own cloak and carried him away from Elspeth’s keep before the sun had set. For the past three decades Eli had been able to tolerate enough sun to watch the sunset, but he could tolerate no more than that. He knew Malachi had traveled for several hours in the sunlight to take him to safety.

  Nobody was ever quite sure of all Malachi could do because he never did it unless it was necessary.

  Very little was actually necessary.

  All Malachi had do was simply show his face and his enemies would most likely die of fright, so why use the weapons is his rather impressive arsenal?

  Many of the Masters who followed a different, darker path had only to hear Malachi’s name and they fled. Or possibly died of fright.

  The vampire everybody feared was now approaching Eli’s territory. Eli rose from his chair and took the stairs at a lazy pace, shoving his own nerves aside in disgust. He often felt like Malachi’s annoying baby brother, eager to please, dying to impress, and most likely, looking like a fool.

  Once in his office, he settled in the massive leather chair, the creamy leather molding itself to his frame. There he waited for Malachi.

  And wondered what in the hell had caused the ancient one to seek him out.

  * * * * *

  Malachi was ancient, no longer certain just how old he was. Hell, he had never been certain.

  A slave child growing up in Rome, he had been serving as entertainment when a lovely young vamp had sired him all those centuries ago. Big, nearly a giant back then, and he was a large man even now, over six feet. Malachi’s purpose in life had been whatever his masters wished of him, whether it was fucking the women in secret to ensure they were breeding, fighting, killing…it didn’t matter. Ancient…aye, he was ancient. He barely recalled much of his mortal life, though he did remember when he was taken from his village, his mother raped and killed, while his father was gutted and left to die slowly, watching and unable to help.

  And Mal remembered Alys.

  Lovely, sweet Alys. Malachi’s masters had sent him out for more
wine, more food, and he was certain when he returned, he would be ordered to brawl with another slave…or worse, kill one. So he had tarried and they had forgotten him. He had taken some much needed rest, only to awaken when he felt a cool hand on his brow, followed by cool lips, tasting of sweetness on his.

  She had come on him in the night like a pale misty dream—singing and humming softly, straddling his body and whispering to him in a tongue he hadn’t understood. Certain he was dreaming, especially after her voice came into his mind as well, Alys promised him a new life, new things, new pleasures, while her pretty blue eyes held a plea for forgiveness.

  He had fisted his hands in her hair and held back his moans while he drove his cock into her sweet, soft pussy, wondering why she felt so cool, then forgetting it as she warmed so quickly—as they fucked under the stars while his masters slept through the night, drunk from their days of revelry.

  She had ridden him well into the night then she had sung him back to sleep before sinking her teeth into him—taking the first of three bites. The next night, she had come upon him while he was bedding his mistress.

  With narrowed, wary eyes he had drawn back, his wet cock going from erect to half rigid in his suspicion as the woman he was certain he had dreamed appeared at the door. He could hear but not see as she whispered, “Invite me in, lady of the house. I want to play as well.”

  And she had done it.

  While the rest of the household had slept, Alys had come on them like a pale whirlwind—laughing and smiling, while her eyes wept. She had whispered to the mistress, whose name Mal had long forgotten, “Sleep…” and the woman had slept. Alys turned to Mal and in a soft, almost meek voice, in his own tongue, whispered “Your forgiveness, I beg. But I need you, a warrior. He seeks me.”

  And she had launched herself at him.

  Strong, like the very devil.

  That night, Malachi knew she was not mortal, though what she was, he did not know. He was wakeful and aware when she bit him the second time, and even though he fought her and cursed her viciously, she did it painlessly, sliding inside his mind and whispering to him, singing in a voice that even then broke his heart.

  Malachi planned to kill her the third night. But as simple as she was, Alys was a warrior in her heart, if not her body. “No,” she whispered as she dodged the spear he launched at her, moving quicker than his eyes could track. He could not know how very close he came, him, a mortal. It was unthinkable. But she beat it, just barely, and hid from him—luring him farther and farther from the large sprawling village his master owned, into the forest, where he was the weaker one.

  “You see, I am not the first one.” Alys spoke into his mind as she let him chase her, letting him think he might catch her, might win. But he was weak from blood loss, from sleep deprivation, and he was already too close to coming over. “You will kill him. You will stop him. You are a warrior...”

  “Foul bitch,” he rasped, wheeling on his heel and snagging a thick branch from the ground, snapping it over his knee. A glimpse of white—he spun and threw the makeshift stake and heard a soft female cry, but she was gone before he could see if he had touched her.

  Later he learned he had, low in her belly, but she had ripped it out and flung it aside, leaping into a tree, and waiting for him to pass by. In desperation, she had dropped down on Malachi. This was the one, she knew. The one who could free her.

  The third bite drained him to the dregs, and then as Alys forced Malachi to feed from her, she sighed and murmured, “Such a pity that you will hate me. But he is coming—my Master. By the time you have changed, he will be here. And already you are stronger than us both. And you will see…

  “But I wish you did not hate me.”

  Her blood had tasted bitter, then sweet, but Malachi had torn his mouth away as he glared her, spiraling into a black, soft darkness, staring into her blue, glowing eyes.

  “To my death, I shall hate you—”

  After he had been turned, though, all that had changed. His purpose was now tiny, pretty little Alys. She hadn’t been evil—sweet Alys. She had been lonely and frightened when she had sired Malachi against his will and he had quickly lost his hatred of her once he realized just how lonely and frightened the vamp was. The bastard who had sired her years before had done so out of malice, forcing the change upon her after feeding from her and raping her for days on end.

  And Jacob had indeed come upon them within two days of Malachi’s transformation. Mal had come from the dark, burning sleep full of ravenous hunger, dying to kill the woman who had changed him. And Alys had known, had been waiting with her head bowed…waiting.

  Malachi had torn out of there with snarling rage and had fallen upon a deer, sating his hunger that way, unable to understand these new urges, wanting badly to return to what had been home for so long, but unable to leave the woman-child.

  Then Jacob had come.

  Malachi had been brooding, in a tree, his belly full of wolf blood that night, but still, a gnawing, aching hunger filled him—so badly he ached and he felt a hot, burning tingle rip through him, followed by an immediate, confusing anger, nay, a rage unlike any he had ever felt. And possessiveness.

  When Alys came creeping out of the small cave where she had taken him while he went through the changing, Malachi dropped to the earth, his bare chest gleaming in the moonlight as he approached her. Possessive of her, rage of something wrong that had been done to her.

  “He is coming.” Her eyes were filled with terror and hope and relief. “I do not know why you did not kill me—nay, I know why. A valiant warrior, I found indeed. Though you have much hatred of me in your heart, you cannot simply kill me. But him, you will…no… he calls me…please no…”

  Then Alys fell screaming to the rocky ground, blood pouring from her mouth and nose and eyes. Malachi lifted her and shouted to her and if he hadn’t held her with all his strength, she would have gone running off into the woods, to the man Malachi felt approaching.

  Malachi had killed a Master vampire—a two-hundred-year-old vampire—when he merely three days changed.

  That sweet child hadn’t been broken by Jacob’s treatment of her amazed Malachi. Jacob had been brutal and cunning but not particularly bright and Malachi had enjoyed killing him. After that they had left the place of Malachi’s birth and settled in a land of mountains and green valleys and misty lakes. His purpose was here, caring for her, bedding her with all the skill he had been forced to acquire in his youth and teaching her that the touch of a man didn’t have to be painful.

  Alys had blossomed, knowing at last true happiness, true kindness from Malachi. She had remained simple, of course, but she smiled and laughed instead of cringing and hiding.

  Of course, Alys hadn’t lived long enough to truly enjoy her freedom.

  A priest had killed her a few years later after she had been fool enough to return to his young flock to feed several times in a month. Malachi had been unaware of her visits to the village and he hadn’t arrived in time to save her.

  His first true failure.

  After arriving at the charred remains of their home that morning, he had become reclusive, hiding deep within the caverns in the mountains and hills of what would come to be called Scotland. Feeding from some of the more blood-thirsty men who roamed those hills and mountains, he took particular pleasure when he happened upon those men who fought and fucked with equal brutality. Taking those cruel men and draining them near to death, he would leave them with their minds shattered, simple and completely incapable of rutting on any woman.

  That had been his life.

  Malachi became something of a legend in those hills and after a time, fewer and fewer men found pleasure in rape.

  He had been certain he would spend the centuries alone and without purpose. Over time he had learned how to shift from his mortal form to mist and back again, and had gained the ability to walk in sunlight.

  When the Council had finally approached him, they had reckoned his age at mor
e than eight hundred years. Malachi didn’t tell them that he had been able, from his first century, to walk in even mid-day sun. Nor did he tell them he could hear their thoughts, try as they might to conceal them.

  That had been before the first Crusade.

  There, in those first years he learned more of what he was, vampyre, nosferatu. He met others like him, many who had been forced into this life, brought over against their wills, though none seemed to have the skills he had, and none called to him or felt like a comrade in arms—in more than name any way.

  But Malachi learned.

  Master Vampires, ferals, Hunters, witches, wolves, so much more than just the mortals out there. The ferals, the vampires that starved and went mad, losing their sense of self and going insane, turning into little more than monster. The Master vampires who had sought vampirism, like Jacob had, evil twisted things that were sought out and killed before they could change more mortals.

  Witches and wolves fought on both sides, some with the Council, some hunted by them.

  And others.

  Several centuries had passed before he even learned to read or write, or to count. Finally he had gotten a human servant to teach him after he had come to grips with his fate.

  Malachi had been born to be a Hunter, and now he was a Hunter trained, taken into the Council in those early days, where he found others like himself. There he found a new purpose.

  To protect, as he had been unconsciously doing, but this time he wasn’t preying on just those within his territory and more often than not, his prey wasn’t human.

  By the time he had met Eli, he was the only one left from that early council. The shifters and witches, though long lived, weren’t as long lived as a vampire and they had died off, one by one, of old age or in battle.

  The handful of vampires were gone as well, replaced by others. Several had died in battle, some had simply grown tired of their existence, and ended it.