Hunter, Hunted: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 1)

by Ashley Meira

  Hunter, Hunted

  The Spire Chronicles: Book 1

  Ashley Meira

  Copyright 2016, Ashley Meira

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously or are entirely fictional.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to meirabooks@gmail.com.

  Editing is an imperfect process; mistakes always find a way to slip through. If you notice any typos or mistakes, please send a message pointing them out to meirabooks@gmail.com!

  Cover design by Ravven

  (www.ravven.com)

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  (www.polgarusstudio.com)

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  Story Summary

  Talented witch and monster hunter extraordinaire, Morgan Maxwell has spent most of her life killing deadly paranormal creatures – and searching for any information related to the mother who disappeared from her life when she was four. Now stuck on bed rest in her hometown, Morgan has resigned herself to a few months of finishing as many TV series as she can.

  But when a straightforward murder investigation takes an even worse turn with the discovery of another body – one that leaves Morgan brokenhearted and lusting for revenge – she’s forced to do something she never wanted to do: work with the sexy and insufferably sweet man who came to put her in handcuffs – and not in the fun way.

  Oh, and she has to kick a ton of bad guy ass, but that’s something she’s always happy to do.

  Hunter, Hunted is the first book in the Spire Chronicles urban fantasy series.

  Table of Contents

  Story Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Author’s Note

  Sample: Ties that Bind

  1

  “Word is you’re a murderer.”

  I peered up from my magazine with a raised brow. Rowan sat on the table, her little black paws perched precociously close to my teacup as she stared down at me with her wide emerald eyes. When I first heard the news that I would get a talking cat as a partner and advisor, I’d been ecstatic. It was a shame no one told me she’d end up being a second mother. Or a third, since Lady Cassandra raised me after my birth mother wasn’t around to do it. My father wasn’t around, either, but I’d rather cut my arm off than think about him.

  “We’re all murderers,” I said before going back to my magazine.

  The house was quiet; sunlight filtered through the trees and past the large window to my left, bathing the table in front of me in a pale green light. Rowan’s words were rather curious. Normally, when she baited me, it was for a bit more than just pointless amusement, but I couldn’t really see the point in pulling me into a philosophical debate. She’d been a hunter – she knew what we did, what we had to do.

  I could still feel her gaze through the glossy pages, and I had to force myself to focus on the canary yellow trench coat in front of me. Maybe if they had it in red…

  A dark paw pressed over the edge of the page. “This is serious, Morgan.”

  Steel grey eyes met vibrant green ones as I looked up at her expectantly.

  “Your name is on the list of people suspected of the massacre at Fortune Square.”

  “Me and everyone else within a ten mile radius of the fountain it happened at.”

  “The Court of Hell is out for blood over this. If you can’t convince them–”

  I set the magazine down and reached for my tea. “Calm down, Rowan. Ipos is in charge of the inquiry.”

  “Your boyfriend is in charge of investigating the potential demonic perpetrators,” said Rowan. “They’ve got an upstart from the Campbell family coming to head up the hunter side of things.”

  Ipos wasn’t my boyfriend. He was my lover. It was a distinction I didn’t bother to mention for the millionth time as I took a sip of my tea, letting the sweet taste of jasmine calm my nerves. How the hell could the Council allow a Campbell to lead an investigation on this family? Sure, America’s four Order families were supposed to be buddy-buddy and all, but that didn’t mean I wanted an outsider nosing around to try and accuse me of murder.

  Jin appeared at the door, only the top of his balding head visible as he bowed. “Visitor for you, Miss. One Alexander Campbell.”

  We’d never met, but from what I heard, Alexander Campbell was in the same boat I was – the heir apparent to his family. He was also adopted. Like me. Kind of. The last thing I needed was some cocky guy overcompensating and throwing his weight around. If Rowan wouldn’t scratch me for it, I’d have slumped down in my seat and whined.

  “Thank you, Jin. I’ll be right there.”

  The elderly man bowed once more and exited the room. I forced a fake smile on my face, holding and messing around with it until it looked vaguely sincere. It was true, I’d been at Fortune Square when an entire caravan of innocent demons was massacred. I didn’t have anything to do with it, though. Being accused of murder wasn’t fun, but I was innocent, and there was no proof to say otherwise. I stood up and straightened my clothes before exiting the living room.

  The foyer was plain. There was a mirror on the right wall, stairs to the left, and a small table in the middle where a bouquet of flowers sat. Fake flowers, because I hated dealing with dying plants. There wasn’t much else; when I had people around to clean up after me, then I’d consider cramming this place full of stuff. Alexander was standing in front of the synthetic nightshade. I took the opportunity to look him over.

  He looked like part Playgirl model, part boy-next-door. He was somewhere in his late twenties, but could probably pass for younger. His bright blue eyes were a striking contrast to his dark, well-coiffed hair. A black sweater and jeans tucked into a pair of army boots comprised the entirety of his outfit, fitting against his form in a way that was understated but noteworthy. One pale finger ran along the faux petals, and I couldn’t help wondering how those fingers would feel running along my skin.

  All in all, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t slit his throat if I had to. The fact that my thoughts jumped from sex to homicide probably didn’t bode well for my mental health, but hey, since when was I concerned about that?

  “Most people wouldn’t display poison so prominently in their homes. Then again, witches do play by different rules.” His voice was a serene and measured cadence, not unlike a ballad, but it held an underlying edge that sent tingles up and down my spine in the most delicious way.

  I see my magical – pun fully intended – reputation preceded me. Good. At least he had an idea of what I was capable of. Bam, sex to homicide in three seconds; I’m oh for two. Or was it two for two? I shrugged. Whatever.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s not real; I save that for my tea. Would you like a cup?”

  He chuc
kled softly, the corners of his perfectly formed lips tugging upwards. “No, thank you. I prefer coffee.”

  “I have coffee.”

  “Nightshade in coffee?”

  “Of course not.” The easy banter softened my plastic smile into something more natural. “I have other poisons for that.”

  “You’re funny,” he said, coming to stand in front of me. “Tell me, why would such a humorous woman murder half a dozen merchants?” Straight to the point, I appreciated that in a man.

  I didn’t miss a beat. “A killer punch line? If you really want to know, you’ll have to ask the actual culprit.”

  “Didn’t I just do that?”

  Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop a frown from pulling at my face. It only lasted for a second before I straightened it out. “Coming into the Maxwell family’s capital city and making such outlandish accusations about the next head of the family… At least you’re direct. I’m assuming you have more than just baseless accusations?”

  He smirked at my displeased reaction. “I have a witness that places you at the scene of the crime.”

  “Morgan was nowhere near Fortune Square that day,” Rowan said, hopping up next to the plastic flowers.

  I looked at her a moment, holding my tongue. I had been in the square that day, following up a lead on my mother. Rowan didn’t know that, though, and if she could prevent me from having to lie during an official Council investigation, then I was more than happy to let her. It wasn’t a lie to her, so her hands – paws – would be clean.

  I turned back to Alex. “Besides, Mister Campbell–”

  “Alexander, please.”

  “Fortune Square is a busy place. There are always crowds of people there.”

  He smiled in a way that was infuriatingly attractive. “This particular witness is quite invested in finding the perpetrator.”

  “Family of the deceased?”

  “No, one of the deceased themselves.”

  Great, a medium. Those guys were so freakin’ weird. You can be walking with one, and they’ll start up a conversation, so you go along and have a great time… Until you realize they were speaking to the ghost of the old lady next to you. Really, it was just rude. And embarrassing.

  “Obviously, the ghost was mistaken,” Rowan said, her husky voice dripping with disapproval. “Morgan isn’t exactly an exotic creature. Any pasty brunette could pass for her.”

  I’d be offended if she wasn’t sticking up for me, no matter how right she was. Right now, though, I was more than happy to stand aside and let her work that feline magic while appreciating the way Alexander’s shirt hugged his body.

  “The spirit was quite clear, Lady…”

  “Rowan.”

  “Lady Rowan.” He nodded. “A white-skinned human woman with wavy brown hair reaching the middle of her back. Approximately five foot two, wearing expensive-looking clothes. She also had a beauty mark near the inner corner of her left eye. “

  I clasped my hands behind my back, resisting the urge to touch – or even glance at – the aforementioned beauty mark. While I’d rather not admit to Rowan that I had been there that day or why I was there, I would much rather not be thrown in jail. Actually, with that many of their own killed, the Court of Hell would probably call for an execution or worse.

  “I didn’t kill those traders. I didn’t even speak to them.”

  Alexander peered down at me, likely searching my face for signs of falsehood. “You don’t seem to be lying, so I’ll extend you the courtesy of saying it’s hard to take your innocence at face value with the reputation you have.”

  “And what reputation is that?” I asked, amused that my name had carried so far. Amused and paranoid – a lot of people were vying for my position; one well-placed lie and the walls could crumble around me. “Last I checked, being a frigid bitch wasn’t the same as being a liar.”

  His lips twitched, but he kept his expression neutral. “Actually, the title I heard was ‘Ice Queen.’”

  “Listen, I appreciate what you have to do, but I’m not the killer.”

  “If that’s true–”

  “It is.”

  “–then I’m out of leads. You were the last on my list. Not to mention you’re the spitting image of the suspect.”

  Normally, I’d make a joke about saving the best for last, but the severity of the situation wasn’t lost on me. This had taken a turn I wasn’t expecting. One of the victims claimed the killer looked like me. How was that possible? Could they have just seen me and gotten confused? It’s possible; victims of violent death were usually too traumatized to be trustworthy.

  I was saved an awkward silence by a harried knock at my door. Rowan leapt off the table and padded over to the entrance, stretching up to pull the handle down. No matter how many times she did that, I never stopped finding it adorable. Lilia peeked her head inside the house.

  Lilia – Lily – was my neighbor and sort-of cousin. She was a small waif of a girl with puffed out red hair, hazel eyes that bordered on gold, and a propensity for ruining even the simplest of dishes. Seriously, this was a woman who almost burned her house down making instant popcorn – sometimes I swear I can still smell the stench of the burnt kernels.

  She scurried over to me. “Mimi!”

  “We’ve talked about that name,” I said with a flat look.

  “It’s so cute, though,” she insisted.

  “No.”

  “Mimi?” Alexander asked with an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Oh, hi!” Lily turned to flash him a smile before her jaw dropped. That polite smile quirked up into a coquettish one as she batted her eyes at him. “Well, her name is Morgan Maxwell, right? So, M.M. Of course, ‘Em-em’ is kind of a mouthful – that’s why I changed it to Mimi.”

  “That’s precious,” said Alexander.

  I rolled my eyes as Lily giggled, her cheeks flushing under his piercing blue eyes.

  “Can I help you, Lilia?” I stressed her full name as a warning, but she was too distracted by Alexander to notice.

  “Right. Mimi–” she cut off, biting her lip as I glared at her. “Morgan, I need your help. Well, actually, Auntie Cass needs you. She wants you to come over, but it’s meant to be hush-hush. Can’t have everyone knowing the head of the Maxwell family is feeling unwell, after all.”

  Judging by the look on Alexander’s face, it seemed we were thinking the same thing: why would she say all of this in front of a complete stranger? Still, one didn’t ignore a direct summon from the head of the family. Maybe I could discuss the situation regarding our handsome – and nosy – friend with her while I was there.

  “What does she want to see me about?”

  “I dunno.” Lily shrugged, avoiding my gaze. I peered at her, tapping my foot impatiently, and waited for her to crack. “Okay, fine. I kind of broke her favorite vase, and I really don’t want to face her alone.”

  “Was that really the best lie you had for getting me to come with you?”

  She gave me a sheepish smile in reply.

  Standing around and listening to Lady Cassandra scold her niece wasn’t my idea of a fun afternoon, but it was better than standing around here and being accused of murder. I turned to give Alexander a polite smile. “I do apologize for having to rush off, but I really should help Lily out. Good luck on your search, though.”

  “Actually,” he said with a smirk, “I was about to visit Lady Maxwell to discuss any further options regarding my investigation.”

  “That means we can all go together!” Lily smiled and dragged us both out of the house. Rowan stalked along behind us, closing the door with her back leg.

  Cassandra Maxwell’s manor was a home away from home. The interior was filled with antique furniture and a plethora of rare historical items, serving as both a historian’s dream and a cleaning lady’s nightmare. It was built with white marble and dark granite accents, kind of like a ritzier version of my own home. Rather, my home was the pauper’s version of this one;
my admiration for Lady Cassandra ran deep, up to and including her design choices.

  I’d spent a lot of my time here as a child, running around and taking in all the artifacts as the staff tried to stop me from pulling ceremonial swords out to play with. They never succeeded, if only because Lily would dash by and knock over some priceless vase. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  The house was quiet as we stepped inside. It seemed the staff was off for the day, which was strange since it was only a little past noon. The discrepancy put me on edge. Well, more on edge, thanks to “tall, dark, and could-potentially-have-me-executed.”

  Lily asked us to wait in the living room while she alerted Lady Cassandra of our presence. She shot me a coy wink before waggling her eyebrows in Alexander’s direction, making sure she was gone before he turned around again. I rolled my eyes and took the seat opposite him. I kept a general rule of not sleeping with people who could have me killed. Okay, that was absolutely not true – almost everyone I dealt with was dangerous enough to kill me – but there was a time and place.

  The air carried the scent of roses, which I loved. The smell brought to mind Lady Cassandra and all the warm feelings I had for her. It was so peaceful here, so dignified. I always felt like a little princess when I visited. One day, when I took over as head of the Maxwell family, all of this would be mine.

  “Your friend is related to Lady Maxwell?” Alex asked. It was a poor attempt at making conversation, but at least he was making an effort.

  I crossed my legs. “Her name is Lilia, and yes, she is the Lady’s niece.”

  “You use their last name instead of your father’s, are you related to this family as well?”

  “Well, it’d be weird if Lady Cassandra’s successor didn’t have the same last name as her,” I said dryly. Hopefully, my tone was clear enough to deter him from pressing the issue.