The Hunters Series

by Shiloh Walker

  He feared the Hunters. He must, otherwise he wouldn’t live as he did, in shadows, erasing all signs of himself before the Hunters could track him.

  “Tell me of this vampire you saw her with,” Pierre murmured, stalking around Marcus in a close circle. Stopping behind him, he murmured right into Marcus’ ear, his voice silky, seductive. “Tell me…”

  Shadoe could feel the hot, mind-fogging lust that he exuded. Using it to control Marcus, she realized. And it was working. She saw the unwitting arousal bloom in his face, watched as his cock started to tent his trousers. “Big, pale, red-haired. I heard her call his name… Malcolm…Malachi…yes, Malachi.”

  Shadoe shivered as Pierre lifted his gaze, and she saw the fear and rage explode in his eyes, watched the deadly smile that curved his mouth. Marcus, however, with his back to the vampire was unaware of anything except the hot, lustful waves that rolled through the room.

  She was unaffected, whether by her fear or by her own magic, she didn’t know. She watched with undisguised horror as Pierre stroked Marcus’ short, curly brown locks, fisting his hand. Marcus shuddered as though in ecstasy. Now another scent filled the air, that of the shape-shifter’s hunger, a scent she was familiar with. He was horny.

  He opened eyes dazed by need and licked his lips, unaware of the death that stood at his back.

  And Shadoe flinched as Pierre struck, sinking his fangs into the line of Marcus’ neck as he jerked the Inherent’s head to the side, arching and baring it.

  Marcus moaned, like a man caught in the throes of ecstasy.

  He was moaning until he passed out from blood loss, nearly fifteen minutes later. A wet stain had bloomed on his trousers and she smelled the unmistakable scent of semen.

  The vampire had brought him to orgasm as he fed. Jerking his head sharply, Pierre drew back, licking his lips. She was surprised to see his tongue wasn’t forked. The hideous sound of flesh tearing was one she would never forget. A huge, hideous hole appeared in Marcus’ neck and blood pumped from it in a steady flow.

  Dropping the limp body to the floor, he turned his gaze her way, and Shadoe shivered at the burning light of his green eyes. “I’ll be back for you later, little Hunter bitch,” Pierre swore. “I have not fought this long to fall at the hands of your lover. I don’t care that he is the fabled Malachi. He is outnumbered, outclassed… He will die for daring to come to my lands.”

  She didn’t dare argue with him. If she told him Ben was her lover, he may realize that he had more than Malachi to deal with.

  But the factor of surprise could work in their favor. No, she told herself. It would work in their favor. It had to.

  She was left alone in the room as Marcus bled to death through the gaping hole Pierre had torn in his throat before dropping him.

  Malachi simply alighted on the grand porch and waited, flinging his large frame onto the padded chaise lounge, staring up at the sky, listening to the baying of the wolves who were trying to track him.

  Of course, they were searching the wrong area.

  I’m up here, he thought, unable to stop the grin that curved his mouth.

  And they weren’t searching Ben’s area either. The wolf was pulling the Inherent deal, menace rolling from him in silent waves. Lesser wolves would instinctively avoid the area around Ben, not even aware of why. When the door blew open and the vampire stepped through, Malachi continued to lie there, fighting back the urge to start whistling under his breath.

  “Find him, damn it,” the vampire rasped. The power of his voice alone would have been enough to make some people pause.

  Malachi grinned.

  More wolves swarmed out of the house, some wolven, some in wolfman form, beyond them, vampires flowed out in silent waves.

  Nearly twenty people, and all searching for a man who was waiting right there. Not much on searching for brains amongst your followers, are you? Malachi mused. Granted, he was not dead in their line of sight, a good twenty feet to the side, and the veranda was dark.

  He might not be breathing, and they couldn’t hear a heartbeat that sounded only infrequently.

  But Hell, they could have smelled him.

  These weren’t mortals, who didn’t always think to look beyond what they could see in front of them. A paranormal should remember that, and Malachi knew damn well a legion of Hunters could have passed by him, and every damn one of them would have looked for him.

  None of them would have been that stupid.

  Because if they were, Malachi was who they would deal with when lives were lost.

  With a lazy stretch, Malachi moved and drew attention to himself. “Such an intelligent bunch you have there,” he said, laughter thick in his voice.

  The eyes that flew to his face were wide with astonishment, then malice filtered through. “It truly is the esteemed Malachi, feared by all, the most powerful and ancient of the Hunters,” Pierre murmured, a wide grin curving his mouth. “I never thought the day would come when I’d draw the attention of the mighty one himself. I always assumed you’d send your underlings to deal with me, if ever I was discovered.”

  “Although,” he mused, tapping a finger to his chin. “I imagine my taking your lover had something to do with it.”

  He paused and lifted his hand to his nose, breathing in deep.

  Malachi’s lip curled and he had to remind himself to blank his face. He knew what the bastard was up to—Mal could scent the musk of Shadoe’s body, faint as it was. Ben would kill him, assuming Malachi left anything behind.

  “She smells so sweet… I can hardly wait to taste.”

  Malachi didn’t respond to that as he moved closer. “I don’t like killing men until I know their names. What is yours?”

  Apparently he didn’t like Mal’s lack of response to his taunt. “Pierre Dumas. Your bitch will scream my name before the night is over,” he snarled, flashing his fangs and flinging a hand at Malachi.

  Mal moved away from the fire, shifting to mist as the second blast came winging at him. “Pete, you should really get some new hooks when you try to piss somebody off. The threat to rape my woman, probably over my dead body, is one that has been used more times than I can count,” Malachi said, settling back to human form a few feet behind Pierre. He didn’t bother addressing the little mistake about Shadoe not being his woman. Might as well give Ben all the advantage he could.

  “But why waste it? Particularly when it’s so very true.” Pierre smiled. “I’ll put my hands on her, though, and when she has no shields between us, she will fall under my thrall and scream for completion as I rip your head away from your body. She’ll scream for me, for me to love her, to fuck, to rape her, to hurt her, whatever I desire. I’ll fuck her in a puddle of your blood.”

  Malachi sidestepped a blow, moving quicker than human eyes could track. “You have to spill enough of it first,” he said calmly. “So far, you haven’t even managed to lay a bloody hand on me.”

  “I will not have to—I can always settle for fucking her in your ashes,” Pierre rasped as he drew his hand back and flung it forward, as though throwing a baseball, only what came flying forward was a ball of fire.

  Leandra laid her hand on the house.

  Ben could feel the shield she was boring through, but only just now. If she hadn’t laid her hands on it, Ben wasn’t sure if he would have seen it in time. “The witch who laid this spun it out of himself. If we break it, we’ll weaken him. If it’s the one Malachi sensed, this won’t slow him down for long.”

  “Malachi doesn’t need our help,” Ben muttered, distracted. He was feeling…something…

  “He stripped Shadoe of her shields,” Leandra muttered. “Once we get through these, you will feel her again.” She looked like a cat burglar, working some unseen lock, as Ben focused his gaze on her hands.

  “I can already feel something,” he whispered, his big body shuddering, vibrating. He could feel the animal inside him trying to tear free. A soft, familiar voice whispered… Patience. The Wolf’s image shim
mered into view just behind Ben’s eyes, so that he had to focus to actually see what was in front of him, instead of the Wolf.

  Patience…listen to your head, right now, not your heart. Act like a Hunter.

  “I’m a Hunter. I think I can manage,” Ben growled. Then the shield underneath Leandra’s hands fell apart.

  And all he could feel was Shadoe’s terror and horror, and he tore through the widening hole, his body shifting from human to wolfman in three lunges. Leandra, still frozen as she worked in demolishing the whole of the shield, swore softly. “Damn it, Cross, use your damn head!”

  But Ben was already tearing down the hall, following the direction of his heart.

  Shadoe screamed as the door flew open.

  When the wolf tore through, she buried her face in her hands, whimpering. Damn it, no more…no more!

  Screaming it, her hands stiffened and went to her sides, clenched into tight fists. “No more!”

  And then she sobbed, “Ben!”

  He went from wolfman to his mortal skin as he stepped to her, the change liquid and seamless. Laying his hands on the shield, he whispered, “Be quiet…don’t move, don’t breathe… I’ll get you out of this.”

  The shield was easily broken from the outside, and a few seconds later, she collapsed against Ben. Throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing, she buried her face against his chest.

  “It’s all right, baby, all right, shhh,” he murmured, shielding her from seeing the pooling blood and the cooling body with his own, now naked form. His clothes were lying wherever he had shifted, she knew, and she revelled in the heat of his body. She was so cold…so damned cold.

  “Damn it, Shadoe…look at me,” she heard him shout, but it was a distant sound.

  “You’re going into shock—listen to me, listen!” he demanded and his voice was so insistent, she looked at him…and listened.

  Listened to his voice as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, watched his lips moving as he spoke.

  Leandra paused outside the door, checking on Ben and Shadoe. She looked shocky, but Ben was taking care of her. Leandra had to take care of them. This house was too big, too open. Too many places for evil to hide and lurk.

  She ought to know, after all, she hadn’t spent her formative years in charm school.

  As she walked, she whispered a spell of her making. A web sort of spell, with her as the center and only those she allowed in or out would be able to approach the house. Any vampire, mortal or shifter caught within her web without her consent would die. The web was the house, and the more of it she saw, the larger the web grew.

  A soft, muffled curse reached her ears, one that was in a soft, Scottish burr. The snarling and growling that came to her made her belly roll and pitch with fear. The vampire wasn’t playing nice anymore. He had called for reinforcements, in the shape of ugly, magical nasty things.

  She recognized the baying that filled the night air.

  Her teacher had called them hellhounds. Leandra didn’t know if they truly were anything demonic, but they were definitely bred of dark, nasty magic and they fed off pain. They ate it up like candy.

  She broke into a run as she swore, following the sound of the baying, and the stink of the evil magic.

  The hounds appeared just as Leandra tumbled to a stop at the door of the house. Her web had worked, keeping all she didn’t allow out and the hounds that struck the invisible line of the web fell away baying in pain.

  But they had Malachi cornered, and he was bleeding. Badly.

  Not even Malachi could fight that many of the hounds.

  And the vampire watching knew it.

  Blood trickled from his mouth as he pushed up, but there was evil pleasure in his eyes as he watched another hound launch itself at Malachi and land on his back. This one was a small one, roughly the size of an Irish wolfhound, but he sank his teeth into Malachi’s flesh and tore out chunks of it.

  She swallowed and the sound was a dry click in her throat. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the web, changing the nature of the spell as she moved, and letting it center on Ben and Shadoe. Brushing against Shadoe’s mind, she assured herself the witch would be fine.

  Leandra, suddenly, wasn’t so certain about herself.

  Malachi could fight, but not if he kept getting struck, and not if he didn’t get away soon. They had to even the odds a little, she figured. She could handle a few hounds. Maybe.

  “C’mon, puppies…” Leandra started, her voice singsong, not revealing any of the terrible fear she felt.

  Malachi’s eyes widened and he swore. “Get back, damn it!”

  The vampire on the floor was pushing himself to his knees, bleeding from a myriad of injuries, his mouth swollen and cut, but knitting together, smoothing out even as she watched.

  “Jacob!” the vampire bellowed.

  “If you call for your wolves…well, you’ll have to expend some energy to get them here. They are…rather lost,” she said. “In a maze I made for them before we busted through your pathetic shields.”

  Turning her eyes to the hounds, she released what was sure to attract them—fiery, shining displays of magic. “Make sure Ben gets Shadoe out of here,” she said, her voice calm.

  But on the inside, she was screaming.

  Now that it had come down to it, Leandra had decided, she really didn’t want to die.

  But it took a witch to fight hellhounds, to destroy them. Just as it took a witch to call them. They were made of magic, after all.

  They leapt, and as they struck her shielding, the baying started.

  Malachi couldn’t cross whatever barrier she had set up.

  Dropping his own shielding, he bellowed, “Cross!” The paralyzing fear he was capable of exploded from him, and the weaker hounds fell prey to it, as did many of the witch-vampire’s minions. The howls of pain and fear started. Malachi heard the roar of shrieking and sobbing out beyond the veranda and suspected Leandra’s little maze was built on an illusion that hid them from sight as well.

  Ben appeared at his side, Shadoe cradled in his arms, her eyes wide and far too dark.

  “Get her out of here,” Malachi ordered, his eyes on the witch he could barely see beneath the hides of the hounds. So many…too many. Not even a witch as powerful as Leandra could fight that many alone. Not when Dumas was pushing to his feet, eyeing Leandra with hatred and rage.

  And hunger…Malachi went rigid as he saw the calculation in that gaze. Yes, a witch like Leandra would make a tasty meal. But more…Leandra was still human, like Shadoe was not. He could almost see the wheel’s spinning in Dumas’ mind.

  Malachi could see Dumas’ lips moving as he called more hounds.

  “Shit, she can’t fight that many hounds,” Cross swore. “And she damn well knows it.”

  “I told you to leave,” Malachi said, his fangs dropped in his fury. Lifting his hands, he laid them on the still unseen shield. It burned into his flesh and he swore, clenching his teeth against the pain. With a whisper of power, he shifted to mist and flowed over the shield, searching for the entry, a weak point where he could slide in.

  “Screw that,” Ben swore, kneeling and laying Shadoe against the wall. Her eyes flew to his, and Malachi could sense the rabid fear that filled her. “Baby, Leandra needs me…shhh, just wait here.”

  Shadoe’s eyes closed and Mal sensed the battle she waged against her fear. When her eyes opened, clear and focused, he saw she had won that battle. “Go,” she said hoarsely. “I’ll be fine.” Bracing her back against the wall, she prepared to wait.

  Malachi grimaced as he felt Ben’s magic strike the shield. But it was too damn strong, and they both knew it.

  Malachi shifted back to mortal form, swearing.

  “I can break through,” Shadoe said softly, still sitting on the ground, clutching her knees to her chest. Her eyes were glowing, the unseen winds of witch power blowing her hair all around her.

  They could feel it, a needle’s lance of power, striking the sh
ield and boring through. “Careful how you go, pet,” Malachi whispered, watching Leandra. “Don’t go damaging the maker.”

  Ben’s face was pale and he said, “I’m taking care of that… Shadoe’s magic is still too raw. Get ready…it’s about to break.”

  When it did, it was with a dull roar of power and Malachi flipped into the air as hounds launched themselves free of the dying shield. He rasped out a muttered, “Fuck,” and shot Shadoe a desperate look. Her magic would call to them, just like Leandra’s had.

  But Shadoe was sitting untouched in a small semi-circle of clear space, the hounds snarling and gnashing at her from feet away, unable to reach her. “Smart girl,” Malachi murmured.

  A pain-filled shriek rent the air and Malachi launched himself at the source. “Leandra, on the other hand, is a foolish one,” he muttered to himself. A hound’s claws raked his arm as he tried to power through their writhing masses. Unsuccessful with strength, he shifted to mist and reformed at her side as she slapped out with a glowing hand to beat at the hound that had sunk his teeth into her thigh.

  She was bleeding from a dozen different wounds.

  Something large and furred leapt into the small circle and Malachi turned, fangs bared and hand fisted, only to see Ben sinking one huge, deadly hand, tipped with ebony claws, into the side of the nearest hound. Smoke emanated from the hound’s mouth as it howled, and then the light died from its eyes as Ben crushed and burned his heart.

  Another wave of hounds struck, and the three of them battled them back, the witches with fire, Malachi with strength.

  “Somebody has to face the vampire,” Ben grunted, closing his eyes for a brief second. When they opened, flame surrounded them, trapping most of the hounds behind it, blocking them. Malachi caught the one that lunged at him and ripped it apart, severing the head from the long serpentine body and flinging the pieces into the fire.

  “It can’t be me,” Ben panted, catching Malachi’s arm before he could attack another of the hounds. Staring into the ancient one’s face, he repeated harshly, “It can’t be me. I may be a powerful witch, but he’s better. You’re not a witch, but you can handle witchcraft in ways no vampire should be able to do. He’s hidden from us for this long—we can’t allow him to keep hiding. He has to die. And that means you have to face him.”