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

by Ashley Meira

  Holy crap this motherfucker could talk. That was fine, I could use that to my advantage. Snow swirled around my fingers, hardening into shards of ice that grew larger and sharper with each rotation. The sounds of steel drew my attention back to Alex. The hostages were still tied up but unharmed, while Alex and Vaughn fought in front of them. Vaughn seemed to be holding his own pretty well despite having to fend off Alex’s machete with a dagger half its size. Of course, there was also a trio of cultists keeping Alex busy, so that was probably why the blonde dickwad was still standing.

  I turned back to the mage, charging more magic into my hands. The world was going black around the edges, but I didn’t care. “Who are you?”

  The figure did that bird-like tilt again, this time in the opposite direction. “A true name can be a very dangerous thing, my dear. If you insist upon one, however–”

  “I do.”

  “Then, you may call me Corrigan.”

  My concentration snapped, the ice around my hands shattering with a sharp crack. “Fuck you.”

  “Now, now, my dear,” she – it – crooned. “That would be terribly inappropriate, don’t you think?”

  Skeletal hands reached up and pulled the blood red hood back, revealing a long, thin nose, thick dark hair, and big grey eyes.

  My eyes.

  12

  It had to be a coincidence. Or some sick joke. It had to be. Corrigan was a rare name, but not a unique one.

  The creature held its arms out. “As I said, such a fine young woman. Despite my misgivings about your birth, I was glad to learn that you inherited my eyes.” It shrugged. “Our eyes, I suppose.”

  I kept on shaking my head. Now that the initial shock had passed, I could see that she didn’t look the same. The picture I had of my mother, of the woman who conjured miniature dragons and played with me in the gardens, the memories I clung to with the desperation of a dying man holding on to his only lifeline, it didn’t match this stranger. This person’s eyes were cold, sly, and calculating. Their smile – with the exception of the comment about inheriting their eyes – was fake. My mother’s was genuine. She had rounded, feminine features, while this person had more narrow bone structure and androgynous details. Sure, I hadn’t seen my mother in twenty years, but.…

  “No,” I said firmly. “My mother would never do this. You’re not her.”

  “If you say it enough, it’ll be true, won’t it?” The mage’s expression was full of false pity. I began to wonder if they were even capable of genuine emotion. Maybe this was a golem made to look like my mother. But why? “Don’t worry too much, Morgan. Not yet. That’s not what this is about.”

  “Then what is it about?” I sounded unhinged even to my own ears.

  “Corrigan” sighed, shaking her head as if she were dealing with an impudent child. “Part of it is for my own bit of fun – much like that ordered massacre at Fortune Square. If I go too long without seeing a bunch of people die, I just get depressed.” The mage slipped on its sad mask. “The rest of it, my dear, is to keep you distracted long enough for my colleague to take you down.”

  No sooner had the words left their mouth than a thick pressure and a sharp, white hot pain, flooded through my back. My knees slammed against the ground as I looked down to see the cold steel sticking out through my chest. Blood filled my mouth and splattered out as I screamed, gurgled, my body hitting the floor and forcing the blade further around my insides.

  It was a clean hit, straight between my breasts and into my heart and lungs. I could feel the blade cutting against my organs with each breath. Agony was too mild a word.

  “Leave the blade in for now.” The mage’s figure blurred as tears filled my eyes. “Pulling it out shouldn’t kill her – not with her abilities – but the blood loss might cause her to pass out. I don’t want that. Our priority now, though, is the moon. Everyone stand down.”

  The sounds of fighting that had rapidly become muted to my ears died out entirely. The blurred figures of what I assumed were Alex and Vaughn stopped moving, both shapes turning to face Corrigan. Kill her now! The words tried to force their way out of my mouth but only blood spilled out.

  “You’re outnumbered.” The sorcerer sounded bored, as if this were all some big formality. “Drop your weapons and you won’t be hurt.”

  “Until the demon comes and kills you.” Vaughn sneered.

  “Grow up, you idiot,” said Alex. He sounded disgusted, but everything was still blurry. “You’ve been lied to.”

  Vaughn scoffed. “Do you even know what’ve you walked into, dude? Or did Queen Morgan get you all turned around? The tail can’t be that great.”

  “Back at you,” Alex spat.

  “No way, dude,” said Vaughn, taking a step back. “That’s a dude. I don’t do dudes, dude.”

  Corrigan sighed, and from this distance, I could see his shape reach up to rub at what appeared to be his temples. “I’d almost forgotten how much you loved that word.”

  Those were the last words that made sense before everything slurred into a grey haze. Everything hurt, but with the pain came a sense of relaxation. I knew it couldn’t be her. The figure that was kneeling once again in the middle of the sigil could never be my mother. I may not know much about her, but I knew there was no way she would do anything like this.

  Another bloodcurdling scream ripped out of my throat as my body began to heal. Every millimeter of flesh that healed was re-cut by the sharp blade every other second, leaving me in an endless loop of suffering. I wanted to pull the blade out, but I could barely get one finger to twitch. There was no way I could bring forth anymore magic, either, not even a small spurt of excess discharge. I used up all my efforts in the fight and was now paying for it.

  Damn it, why the hell didn’t I control myself? I knew better, and just because I hadn’t seen a fight in a while, didn’t mean that I could just forget everything I learned. Frustration rushed through my veins and – while nowhere near as distracting as my goddamned, fucking healing shit that was currently torturing me at the moment – it pushed me into trying to think of another solution.

  What could I do, though? I couldn’t even speak. Hell, even blinking took a Herculean effort. But I had to do something before it was too late. My vision cleared up enough to see Alex taking out Vaughn’s trio of lackeys before charging towards the traitorous hunter.

  “Try not to kill each other,” Fake-Corrigan called, his barrier up once more. “I still need a third sacrifice, though you are all free to die afterwards.”

  Vaughn looked up from where Alex had knocked him down. “What? You said–”

  “I said nothing. I gestured in front of me, where you were standing.”

  “You son of a–”

  “Relax, all of these celebrants would have happily given their lives. You just happen to be the only one left. That’s not my fault, now is it?” He turned to Alex. “You may want to let him live until I’m done, else it’ll have to be you, and I’m told the sacrifices’ deaths are quite…excruciating.”

  This dude was such a prick. I didn’t deserve to die with that crap as the last thing I heard. My pained grunts had devolved into strangled choking noises as blood spurted profusely out of my mouth. It was time for a last ditch attempt. I let my eyes fall shut, trying to keep my breathing as steady as I could while a sword made sashimi out of my lungs. I tried to push past the pain and focus on letting my magic flow naturally, like the blood flowing through my veins. Well, right now it was more like the blood flowing…everywhere, but I digress. My magic was a part of me, it was there whether I used it or not. It would never fade.

  All sound drifted away and my extremities went completely numb. There wasn’t even a tingling anymore, just numbness swapped out for excruciating pain at intermittent intervals. I was afloat on a cold, motionless ocean, the calm consuming me as everything disappeared into a dark void. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. I couldn’t even remember what I was doing here.

  “–gan! Morgan!” />
  Rowan? No, too high pitched. Lily?

  I forced my eyes open. Lily was kneeling in the far corner, the bag that had been on her head now laid in tatters in front of her and a strip of shredded duct tape hung from her mouth. A pair of wide green eyes appeared behind her. Rowan. Thank God. Why hadn’t she freed Trish yet? If they got free, Alex could help them escape. Wouldn’t that invalidate the ritual? No. Ipos was still here. So was I. Fuck. I didn’t care. At least the rest of them would be safe. I wanted to scream at them to run, but the blood in my mouth was thick, coating my tongue like molasses, making it impossible to speak.

  I tried to convey the message to Rowan through my eyes. She blinked once, what looked like profound regret filling her gaze before she turned to Lily, seemingly saying something. My pseudo sister nodded and closed her eyes as if bracing for something. Then, Rowan pounced, quite literally, and dug her claws into Lily’s arms, leaving deep, bloody gashes along the girl’s pale flesh. A high pitched scream pierced my ears, followed by another as Rowan struck again on Lily’s other arm. What the fuck was she doing?!

  At the third scream, and the blossoming of bright red against Lily’s chest, something surged through me.

  I saw nothing but red, and a howl pulled out from my very core as pure energy flooded through and out of me. My vision came back in time to see the cavernous corpse of the factory fill with a raging green fire, rushing around before crashing down onto the sorcerer. A blue glimmer made its way out of the fire, the barrier dissipating just as Fake-Corrigan was clear of the flames, discarding his robes as the inferno caught his coattails. His bare, deathly pale form morphed into a dark blur and it flew out of the window. As he shifted, something fell from his body, the sound of it hitting the ground muted by the vicious crackling of the flames.

  At the mage’s exit, the bindings around Ipos shattered. The duke pulled himself up, wiping the blood from his face, which had reverted back to his human appearance. There was bewilderment on his face as he stormed over to me. He kneeled, gripping my face in one large hand and studying me closely. His mouth opened, but instead of saying anything, he just stared at me a moment, his thumb caressing my cheek, before he shook his head and pulled away.

  My back spasmed at his brusque handling, causing the blade to cut through me at a whole other angle. The pain was getting worse as more flesh knit itself together only to be eviscerated a second later, my regeneration apparently on hyperdrive. My body’s vow of silence was broken once Ipos pulled the sword out. Even the roar of the flames were muted when I screamed as everything – ironically enough – ripped itself back together; skin, bones, and organs all healed at the same time, making a mad dash for their brethren body parts now that there was no Steel Wall to keep them apart.

  “The others–” I gasped out, spitting blood and what felt like part of my kidney out.

  “They’ll be fine,” Rowan said, appearing through the flames.

  “Lily. Why did you–”

  “Not now, child. Rest.” She turned to Ipos. “Put out the fire and go help the others.”

  He looked at me, his jaw working side to side in frustration despite the concern in his eyes. “Fine,” he forced out, heading towards the flames.

  What the hell was going on? I gripped feebly at the edge of his shirt, but it slipped from my grasp like water. Rowan looked sadly down at me, her soft tail tickling my cheek as I struggled to stay conscious.

  The bodies of the ritualists were little more than smoldering piles of ash, the smell of burnt flesh permeating the senses. This time, it was very effective at dampening my mood. Everything throbbed as exhaustion filled every crevice of both my mind and body. The last time I felt this bad was when I walked into that ambush. Hopefully, this wouldn’t happen every time I stepped into a supposedly abandoned warehouse.

  Rowan’s voice was a dull throb against the raging inferno. “The wounds will heal, but you know the exhaustion will remain. I’ll handle all the politicking with the Council so you can focus on resting. It’s going to be okay,” she finished, nuzzling me. Her wet nose against my cheek filled me with happiness despite the situation.

  “What happened, though?” I croaked out, my throat burning. “How did Ipos start the fire if he was bound? Did the ritual fail?”

  “It failed.” Rowan sighed. “Ipos didn’t start the fire, Morgan. You did.”

  “How…?” My eyelids drooped. “Hellfire… The sorcerer… His eyes…”

  “I don’t know who he is. We’ll find out.”

  “They’re my mother’s,” I said with certainty. “They’re connected, they have to be.”

  “You haven’t seen your mother in–”

  “I’m sure–”

  She pressed a paw against my forehead. “Enough, child. Rest.”

  I wanted to argue more, to find out what had happened. Rowan was keeping something back, and I wanted to get the truth once and for all. But before I could even blink again, the world went black.

  13

  The sheets were cool when I ran a sleepy hand over them, telling me Ipos had been gone a while. That was fine. I stretched languidly and rolled over, curling the blankets around me into a cocoon as sleep pulled me back into its embrace.

  Ten days had passed since the factory debacle, and the soreness in my body had abated to little more than a few twangs of pain whenever I moved. I would probably be all healed up by now if Ipos hadn’t decided to keep his promise about “making me feel special for a week,” but I wasn’t going to complain about the attention. A drowsy smile spread across my face as I thought back on our time together.

  The Council had been pleased with our results. Rowan gave me the details of everything that had been said, but I wasn’t able to retain much. Yay, painkillers. Since I saved her, Trish had been more than happy to give me all the good stuff. Like, literally all of it. I probably would’ve OD’d if Rowan hadn’t been monitoring me. What I did manage to glean from her speech was that everyone was happy the lock on the Spire wasn’t broken and that they’re still trying to decide who should replace Lady Cassandra as well as if I was ready to take her place. Considering the heads of the family were at least forty when they were chosen, I didn’t think it was likely, but stranger things had happened. It hurt to hear them talk about “replacing” her, but I understood the necessity; Haven needed a leader. Lady Cassandra’s funeral was today, too, and a one-eyed peek at my clock told me I still had some time before I had to get ready, though I doubt I’d ever really be ready for this.

  Lily and Trish were recovering nicely. With some help from Trish’s – thankfully not experimental – poultices and my healing magic, Lily’s scratches were now little more than thin white lines, barely visible against her skin. I still didn’t understand why Rowan had tried to mutilate her, but the feline had been scarcely available during my renewed convalescence, and when I asked Lily, she just shrugged and said Rowan had told her it was necessary.

  Trish had been a bit quiet at first, but she perked up after a weekend of rest. She said it wasn’t her first rodeo and it wouldn’t be her last before promptly rushing off to put out a fire that had started in her lab. Apparently, the new potion she was working on wasn’t going well. So, y’know, same old, same old. She actually found the whole ordeal exciting.

  “Not so much the terrifying kidnapping, but more the part where Alex stabbed Vaughn in the gut,” she’d said.

  It turns out Vaughn borrowed some stuff from Trish in order for Fake-Corrigan to brew the Draught of Abyssal Sleep they used on Lady Cassandra. After she died, he got paranoid that Trish would hear the news, connect the dots, and say something. Which, she had – the clue Lily figured out had been Trish’s “fall market” comment. Lady Cassandra had mentioned Vaughn’s posting during a lunch they’d had, and Lily hadn’t connected all the dots until later. It wasn’t the greatest hint in the world, but Trish was a doctor, not a spy. At least she tried.

  Alex had recovered from his injuries a few days ago. Apparently, he’d been th
e only one in our rescue group – apart from Rowan – to come out relatively unscathed. He’d returned to Whitefall to report to the head of the Campbell family. It would have been interesting to see Alex explain how a quick trip to investigate the murder of a demon caravan wound up becoming a three-day adventure that led to stopping the opening of Hell’s supermax and the solving of Lady Cassandra’s murder. He sent me a text saying he’d be accompanying Sir Campbell – who would be coming along with the rest of the family heads – to Haven for the funeral. I was happy to get a chance to see Alex again, even if it was a somber occasion – it’s not like we met under happy circumstances in the first place.

  Despite a very wonderful time with Ipos, I still wasn’t satisfied, if only mentally. Calling my memories of that night “hazy” would’ve been the biggest understatement of the year. Well, the second biggest, right after my comment on how bad it would be if the Spire was unlocked. Hey, I take my victories where I can, even if they’re for being the best loser.

  I couldn’t remember anything past Fake-Corrigan shifting and flying away. I was sure Rowan had said something important, but her vanishing act made it impossible to get answers. It felt like her constant occupation with the Council was just an excuse to avoid me – an accusation I couldn’t verify because she was almost never around.

  I also remembered Ipos being upset about something, but he acted perfectly normal the entire time after, so I had no idea. I tried asking him what happened after Fake-Corrigan left, but all he did was kiss me and pull me back into bed. I shrugged it off, assuming he didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten bound by the spindly satanic freak.

  Ipos returned to Haven a few short days after the fire. From Vegas, apparently. The Devil was fond of Sin City, go figure. Both the Council and Lucifer decided that Ipos should hang around town for a bit, just to make sure everything had really settled down. Ipos owned a bar in Portland. Actually, he owned several bars, but the one in Portland was his favorite. I thought he’d be anxious to get back, but he’d been more than happy with the arrangement, claiming he just hired a new bartender to handle stuff for him. I joked that he was just sick of managing backroom bar fights and would rather spend a week getting naked with me. He smirked and tossed me onto the bed.