Mating the Huntress

by Talia Hibbert

  Mating the Huntress

  A Halloween Romance

  Talia Hibbert

  Nixon House

  MATING THE HUNTRESS: Talia Hibbert

  Copyright (c) 2018 by Nixon House

  Credits: Cover by Cosmic Letterz.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or within the public domain. Any resemblance to actual events or actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No portion of this book may be reprinted, including by any electronic or mechanical means, or in information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  Created with Vellum

  This Halloween, love bites back… hard.

  * * *

  Chastity Adofo knows a monster when she sees one. As soon as Luke Anthony wanders into her family’s coffee shop, she recognises the evil lurking beneath his charming smile and fantastic arse. The handsome werewolf is determined to have her—but she’s determined to cut out his heart.

  * * *

  Little does she know, Luke’s plans for her are far more pleasurable than murder. And when the full moon rises, all bets are off…

  * * *

  Warning: Mating the Huntress is 30,000+ words of red-hot, Halloween-themed romance. This novella contains one flirtatious, cursed creature of the night, one badass, knife-happy heroine, and forbidden lust at first sight. Please read responsibly!

  For the matriarchs.

  Contents

  Content Note

  Prologue

  1. October

  2. Creation

  3. The Change

  4. Monster of Mine

  5. Rabid

  6. Judgement

  7. Full Moon Rising

  8. The Beast Within

  Thank You

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Also by Talia Hibbert

  About the Author

  Content Note

  Please be aware: this book contains casual violence and reference to rapists, which some readers may find uncomfortable. Rapists are mentioned specifically in Chapter 5, Rabid.

  Prologue

  September

  The Adofo women had been separated, and now Victory would die.

  She knew it, too—but dying on her knees wasn’t part of the plan, and it certainly wasn’t the Adofo way. So the young woman sprinted through the frigid forest, her muscles screaming and every breath tasting like blood in her mouth. The full moon’s icy glow wasn’t strong enough to illuminate each treacherous branch and root, so she let her instincts guide her. Victory ducked and leapt and weaved just in time, every time, because she was a huntress.

  A huntress who had just become the hunted.

  Slaughtering Werewolves had been Victory’s duty for years now, but she’d never experienced anything like tonight’s events. Weres might walk in human skin sometimes, but at their hearts, they were monsters. Slavering beasts. Easy enough for a team of women to put down, once they’d been identified and trapped.

  Yet the creature they hunted tonight… It was different. Smarter than it should be, cunning, almost human in its behaviour. It had played them, rounded them up and herded them away from each other. It had disarmed them one by one with an intelligence that had raw terror grinding through her bones. Now, Victory was alone, armed only with a silver dagger that would be useless until she was in range of the Were’s teeth and claws. She held it tighter, so tight that the hilt began to cut into her palm.

  Her little sister, Chastity, could turn and hurl this blade into the beast’s eye from 50 paces, hard enough to hit its brain. But Chastity wasn’t here, despite her skill. Chastity would never be here, never find herself running senselessly from death, and Victory had never been so fucking happy about that as she was right then.

  Perhaps it was the thought of her sister’s ruthlessness, or perhaps it was the pain of her own grip on the dagger, but Victory’s fear began to fade. Soon, only the pride of an Adofo woman remained, as sharp and bright as the silver in her fist. After a moment’s grim consideration, she finally stopped running, because a second’s rational thought had revealed a dark truth: The thing could’ve caught her ages ago. It had been playing with her. Trying to break her, perhaps. Whatever its twisted reasoning, she wouldn’t play its game.

  With a stretch of lips that could never be called a smile, Victory faced death.

  The creature stood a few metres away, watching her with curiosity. It was a shock to realise that she could identify any emotion on that cruelly distorted face, but she could. Regardless, the thing in front of her was undeniably a monster. Standing at eight or nine feet, the beast was all terrifying muscle and ragged fur that gleamed gunmetal grey in the moonlight. Its limbs were too long, its hind legs powerful and unnaturally formed. It seemed to have arms and hands, but those hands ended in claws as sharp as Victory’s dagger. It stared at her with eyes of glowing, poisonous green, sitting above a snarling muzzle that displayed vicious fangs. Those fangs, Victory knew, would eat her alive.

  She stepped closer. This, she told herself, was the best option. Once the beast had slaughtered her, moon madness wouldn’t allow it to turn away from her corpse. It would eat her. And the endeavour would take long enough that the rest of her family, separated and confused, would escape the forest’s haunting embrace and head to their meeting point to regroup. Eventually, they’d realise that she was missing—but by that point, the Were would likely have dragged her cadaver to its lair, so they would be safe from attack.

  Her death would have a purpose. At this point, that was all she could ask for.

  She tossed her dagger to the ground and spat, “Come the fuck on, then.” Her voice didn’t shake because she was a huntress, but she did tug the sleeves of her hoodie over her fingers in a nervous habit left over from childhood. The action had always comforted a once-shy Victory, and it comforted her now, too; especially because she’d borrowed this red zip-up hoodie from Chastity that evening. Chas had bitched and moaned about the fact that she wasn’t permitted to hunt, and Victory had laughed. She’d snapped her teeth at her little sister and joked, “You should be grateful. Who wants to play with the big, bad wolf?”

  Perhaps she was a little bit clairvoyant.

  And perhaps not. Because what happened next, Victory could never have seen coming.

  The Were overcame its hesitation all at once, lunging for her with the disturbing grace that all Werewolves seemed to possess. It landed on top of her, knocking her to the ground, its weight so vast that her lungs seized. Victory’s world shrank in an instant, until all she could focus on was the burning-hot breath bathing her skin, the scalding drool dripping from seven-inch fangs, and the venomous green eyes pinned to hers.

  The creature opened its jaws, and she saw hell.

  But instead of biting her goddamn face off, it made a sound. A low, ragged, snarling sound that almost seemed like… a word? A series of words, in fact, since it produced a few more strange noises. Then, when Victory’s only response was to gape in astonishment, the Werewolf…

  The Werewolf repeated itself.

  “Err—if—mm—eye?” came its halting growl.

  She squinted. “I beg your pardon?” (Imminent death, her mother would remind her, was no reason to abandon good manners.)

  “Err if meye?” the Were roared, sounding rather impatient. Then it clamped its fangs shut, shook its head for a moment, bent spine-chillingly closer… and sniffed her. She felt its wet nose against her neck like a particularly huge and terrifying dog’s. Victory held perfectly still, her blood r
ushing like lava in her veins, terror pulsing against her skull like the very worst migraine. Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited for her life to end in a storm of pain and suffering.

  Then she felt a tug, heard a rip, and suddenly the weight pinning her to the ground was gone.

  Was she… dead? Had she just heard her own vital organs being torn apart like paper? Victory opened eyes she barely remembered closing and decided that she must still be alive. Ghosts, as every sensible person knew, generally floated above their own corpses after death. They didn’t continue to lie in the cold dirt, feeling every bruise and ache and sprain in their body, while staring up at the Werewolf who’d just ripped off a part of their hoodie. And, since that’s exactly what Victory was doing, she clearly was not a ghost.

  The Were blinked down at her for a second, the glow of its unnatural eyes illuminating the scrap of red fabric hanging between its teeth. Then, as if its inspection had been completed, it turned and darted away.

  Victory sat up, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in her skull and the rather concerning agony of her ribs. This didn’t make any sense. Why was the Were leaving? It shouldn’t be able to leave. It should be a slavering, frenzied beast caught in the grip of the moon, driven only by the promise of blood and gore and death. It shouldn’t be rational enough to walk away from a kill! And why on earth had it taken part of her hoodie?

  Wait. No. Not Victory’s hoodie.

  Chastity’s.

  1

  October

  Luke Anthony was a simple beast, curse of the moon aside. He asked for very little: creatures to devour, excellent Wi-Fi, and a complete lack of human company, to be specific. Cup o’Go did very well on the Wi-Fi front, and it also sold food—dead meat only, unfortunately—but it was entirely too populous for his liking.

  And yet, Luke kept turning up. Day after day. To see her.

  The café’s door swung shut behind him, its little bell tinkling over the chatter of other patrons. He couldn’t see her at the counter, but he knew immediately that she was here somewhere. He could smell her, stronger than the fresh-baked pastries and Kenyan coffee beans, even stronger than the taste of the next full moon in the air. She was an intoxicating mix of autumn leaves, red velvet cake and chilled iron that had his cock hardening instantly—which was bloody inconvenient, to be honest. Public erections were, by all accounts, considered impolite. Luckily for Luke, self-restraint was his strongest survival skill. So, with great effort, he willed his body to behave.

  A second later, she appeared, popping out from the backroom with her hairnet on and her apron neatly in place. He watched as she took over from the boy at the till with a smile and a few short words. She’d been doing that since the first day he’d hunted her down to this little store; making herself available whenever he was around. Putting herself in his path. She was only human, but she must feel the connection between them too. They were fated, after all. They were written in the stars. And once he figured out how to ask a human woman on a date, Luke would mate her and fuck her and live happily ever after as her devoted swain. Chastity Adofo would be his.

  But he was getting ahead of himself. He should probably say hello first.

  He reached the counter and stood for a moment, staring at her in silence like a dickhead. He couldn’t help it. She was his mate—not yet, technically, but still—and she was so beautiful, with her dark curls battling the hairnet and her round, midnight eyes that looked everywhere but him. She had full lips that she always chewed on nervously, skin like brown velvet, a little scar on her right elbow, and—

  The love of Luke Anthony’s life cleared her throat and said, “Good morning, Sir. What can I get you?”

  And, just like every other morning for the past few weeks, he said gruffly, “Usual. And call me Luke.”

  She flashed him a tiny smile and turned to the coffee machine. This, you see, was the problem: Luke wasn’t so good with people. Or talking. Or talking to people. He didn’t usually care if he came off as threatening, or feral, or whatever—but this was Chastity. She was special, and shy, while he was an apex predator with a burning desire to sink his teeth into her arse. How was he supposed to convey all of that in a way that wouldn’t scare her shitless? He had no idea. Just the other day, he’d Googled How to ask a woman out without making her fear for her life—but the results hadn’t been particularly helpful.

  While he ruminated, she finished sorting out his coffee and got to work on his six ham and cheese croissants. Not as filling as he’d prefer, for breakfast, but he didn’t want to freak her out by ordering twenty. Since heating up the snacks brought her to face him again, Luke decided to test his conversational skills.

  “Cold outside,” he said.

  Chastity smiled and nodded, her corkscrew curls trembling, her gaze flitting shyly away from his. She was just so… delicate. Everything, from the curve of her forearms to the lush shape of her figure, screamed Soft. He had no fucking clue how to care for a woman like that without breaking her—but he would, he reminded himself. He would figure it out. She was his mate. They were made for each other.

  He slid a hand into his pocket and grasped the scrap of bright-red fabric in there, the fabric that had led him to her. Sometimes, that fabric confused him, since he’d torn it from the body of a huntress—but right now, it gave him courage. Chastity was his, and he was hers. Nothing could get in the way of that.

  His eyes settled on the Halloween-themed treats on display, and he decided to try again. “Biscuits look good.”

  To his absolute shock, she actually replied. She spoke to him, using words that weren’t related to his order. He almost dropped down dead. Her gaze still lowered, she murmured, “Those are scones.”

  He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s okay.”

  Not what he’d meant, but he was too busy rolling around in the sound of her voice to care. She was much firmer than he’d expect from someone so shy, her tone steely and smooth. His wolf liked that. And, apparently, biscuits were the topic that would tease a conversation out of her—which made sense, all things considered. Trying not to sound too eager, he asked, “Do you bake?”

  She hesitated for a moment before answering. “Allegedly. Does it count if you eat your own bakes before anyone else can see them?”

  He felt a huge grin spread over his face. Sounding exactly as besotted as he felt, Luke said, “You’re funny.”

  She pursed her lips. “Hm.”

  That was it. Just a short, flat sound. Maybe she was feeling shy again. After a beat, he tried once more. “So. It’s Halloween next week.”

  “Quite,” she said, and slapped his six croissants on a tray.

  He sighed, paid, picked up his tray and left her alone. According to his research, human women didn’t like being harassed 24/7. He still wasn’t 100% clear on how not to do that, but he was trying his best.

  What he really needed was to get her away from this shop. Once she was off the clock he’d feel better about shoving his conversation down her throat. Luke bit into his first croissant and chewed thoughtfully. Maybe it was time to ask her out. After all, she’d just talked to him. Voluntarily. In complete sentences. About something other than coffee! That was a great sign, right? Right. It was past time to claim her, really. He’d been cautious for her sake, but his beast was getting rage-y—which didn’t bode well for anything with a pulse—and he was sick of these never-ending erections. He’d never had one in his life until the first time he’d scented her, and he had a feeling that she was the only one who could deal with them effectively. So, it was settled.

  Today, Luke vowed, he wasn’t leaving this fucking café until he’d finally asked out his mate.

  “You’re funny.” Pah. Did he think she was so easy to beguile?

  Chastity Adofo leaned against the café’s counter and watched the Werewolf eat his croissants. He had decent table manners, for a murderous beast. He had decent everything, in fact, but it was all a predatory front. The confident
grace with which he moved was a distraction from his dangerously powerful build. The sweetness of his smile hid those unusually sharp canines. The honeyed shade of his skin and the ebony of his hair almost made those vivid green eyes seem normal, but they most assuredly were not. Chastity may be the only Adofo woman who wasn’t allowed to hunt, but she’d been trained alongside her sisters.

  She knew a monster when she saw one.

  This particular monster was doubtless the one who’d torn her hoodie off of Victory last month. She’d been told of that incident, warned that the Were might come for her on the next full moon.

  She hadn’t admitted to any of her sisters—and definitely not to her mother—that it had come hunting much sooner than that, in painfully handsome skin. The lie that was its gorgeous face tugged at something deep inside her, something strange and uncomfortable and forbidden. She presumed those feelings were the famous Adofo huntress instincts, finally at work within her. Judging by the way his presence drove up her pulse, heated her blood and set her on edge, killing him might just be her destiny. And once she did, her mother would finally see that Chastity should be permitted to hunt.

  “You got a crush, Chas?”

  She turned her thoughts away from sweet, sweet murder and her eyes away from her intended target. Her little brother had appeared by her side with a shit-eating grin, drying a little plate with a threadbare tea towel.