Wolf Slayer (The Order of the Wolf)

by Angela Addams

  With her to-do list fully stocked, Aubrey worked the morning away, knocking item after item off and feeling good about the progress she was making. By the time Darcy woke up, Aubrey would be ready to join her in whatever plans she had for the day. A pleasant thought that had Aubrey checking the time on her phone. Eleven. That meant an hour left to herself. She closed her laptop and glanced at her bow. It had been two weeks since she’d had an opportunity for target practice and her fingers were itching to get a few shots out.

  Jaylon had said the west lawn was safe for practice and the property was surrounded by trees—not the most ideal method of training, but she could make do. She put on a pair of runners and grabbed her bow, eager to get outside and shoot a few arrows.

  The mansion was huge with rooms of exquisite art and sculpture, a maze of wonders that she could get lost in. In fact, she did get lost, sort of, following a series of paintings that were so beautifully crafted, unlike anything she’d ever seen before. And then there were the sculptures. Unreal artistry. Like the one Aubrey stood admiring now, a veiled woman—weeping it seemed—as she cradled the head of a giant wolf. Beautiful and haunting, it actually sent shivers down her spine, prickling her in a way that made her feel like she was missing something, her instincts knocking at her awareness but just out of reach. It was maddening and yet as suddenly as it came upon her, the feeling skittered away, leaving her even more confused.

  What was it about this place that she couldn’t hold onto her thoughts properly? There seemed to be this constant nagging feeling that became increasingly irritating with each passing hour. She stared at the sculpture, reaching to trace the cold, smooth surface of the woman’s face. Such sadness captured, such loss, very much depicting the way Aubrey felt. She’d lost and she was lost, it seemed.

  The weight of her bow, the shoulder strap slipping slightly, nudged her out of her reverie, and she shrugged. There would be time to admire the art later. She needed to get outdoors.

  Aubrey backtracked and found a hall that led outside. She greeted the sun with a sigh of satisfaction, and the fog that seemed to be a constant lately faded. For the first time since she’d arrived at the mansion, she felt a little more like herself. She stood there, face tilted up, soaking in the rays, letting the clouds fall away until she suddenly felt weightless—not happy, but burden free. She stretched her arms up, felt the bones aligning in her spine, everything righting itself. It was utterly amazing how much fresh air and a little bit of sunshine could improve one’s mood.

  As she scanned the perimeter of the property, assessing the best place to shoot, her gaze caught on something red. She shielded her eyes as she walked toward what looked like a series of targets of varying sizes, shapes and colors—some actually moving, rigged up in the trees on ropes that swayed in the slight breeze. It was brilliant. She pulled her bow from the case, nocked an arrow and let it fly. Her fingers tingled, her heart thundered. This was what she needed. Her bow, the extension of herself, the only weapon that made her feel right, whole, satisfied.

  She missed the first shot and laughed.

  Okay, so a couple of weeks away from training and her skills lapsed a bit. Fair enough. She took her time on the second shot, tracking the moving target, holding her fingers steady until exactly the right moment and—bam—hit it home.

  Yes!

  It took her almost the whole hour to realize that Jaylon must have been behind setting up the targets, or at least arranging for someone else to. She’d been so consumed with getting her skill back to normal, working the kinks out of her coordination, that it didn’t occur to her until she started collecting her arrows and her thoughts turned to the actual set up. What were the odds of a perfectly staged target practice area existing at the mansion of a famous rock band? And who had been the one to inform her of the location in the first place?

  Jaylon.

  As soon as her mind turned to him, the usual sensation of all consuming lust crashed into her, this time mingled with confusion and what? Tenderness? He’d done a thoughtful thing for her. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was Jaylon was behind creating the target area for her. It must have taken him hours, in the dead of night, to get it just right. Was he trying to redeem himself? Above and beyond most certainly. Suddenly, her anger at his thoughtless words the night before seemed like an overly dramatic reaction. Maybe she’d been too quick to react. Maybe he was just used to dealing with women like the ones she’d encountered on her way into the mansion’s property. Whatever the case, she’d have to thank him—keep things professional for sure, but at least let him know how much she appreciated what he’d done for her.

  She could think of various ways she’d really like to thank him. With her hands, her mouth, her tongue…her cheeks burned just as fiercely as her lust and she fought to push them back. Keep things professional. Easy. She groaned as she pulled another arrow free and slid in into her hip holstered quiver, determined to get her shit together. This was a job, one that she needed not only as a distraction from the shitty turn of events in her life, but also as a new start. Jaylon was not part of that plan. Not in a romantic or recreational sense at all.

  Right. That was about as believable as the notion that the Hunters would suddenly realize their mistake and come to claim her. In other words: not believable at all.

  She moved to the last targets, the ones rigged high up in the trees. She’d been so thrilled at the moving targets that she hadn’t really given much thought to retrieving the embedded shafts.

  She sighed, trailing her gaze along the rope and following it from the branch it rested on, down the trunk of the tree to… “Ah! I see.” The rope looped around a notch carved in the bark. She lifted the rope, feeling the weight of the target in her hands as it slowly started to descend. Clever. The rigged target was innovative, and again, showed a lot of effort.

  She lowered the target to eye level, then retrieved her arrows. She reset it then moved to the next one. Within minutes, she had gathered all her arrows with the exception of the one she’d misfired, which was now somewhere in the forest beyond.

  She turned to walk back to the house, bow in hand, quiver full, when she felt prickling on the back of her neck—that eerie gut instinct that let her know she was not alone. She paused in stride, grip tightening on her bow, hand reaching for an arrow, eyes tracking from tree to tree.

  A branch snapped and she spun, bow armed, arrow nocked. A flash of activity, something dark in her periphery. She spun again, aiming for a target that was moving too fast for her to track.

  A rustle of leaves, another crack. She turned again, taking two steps back, fingers twitching, ready to fire. And there it was. Yellow eyes, brown fur. A wolf in the bush, staring at her. Possibly the same one that had attacked the big white weeks earlier. Werewolf or wolf? Something was wrong with her senses, which were normally in tune when it came to differentiating between the two. This time the fog was back, hanging over her like it had in the mansion, clouding her judgment, making her doubt. The wolf lowered its muzzle to its paws and continued to stare. Locked on its eyes, Aubrey felt her arm loosen of its own volition, her finger let go of the tension, the arrow fell from its perch, useless.

  Her heart hammered, her breath coming in short pants. She was frightened, and intrigued. The wolf rose, stalked out of the bush. It was huge. Warning bells rang in Aubrey’s head and yet her arms grew limp, unable to harness the power in her hands, her bow effectively neutralized by some overwhelming compulsion she could not understand.

  I am going to die. She dropped to her knees, her legs no longer able to hold her up. She felt like she was sinking into the forest floor. Submission. The wolf moved within a foot of her, staring down, its gaze mesmerizing, its breath hot against her cheeks.

  Tears burned her eyes. Fear slipping away, overwhelmed suddenly by this need to be consumed by the wolf. To feel his fur. To run her fingers along his snout. To be pierced by his fangs. This was what death looked like for her.

 
A faint noise penetrated her thoughts. A howl. Mournful. The wolf jerked its yellow gaze to the left, moved its massive head as a second howl, louder, echoed around them. It looked back at her, licked its snout, then bolted away, leaving her to crumple to the ground with relief and something that felt like regret. Not for her inaction, not for her impotence, but because she hadn’t touched the magnificent beast.

  Chapter Eight

  Aubrey was embarrassed. For a variety of reasons. What had happened that morning, in the forest, with the wolf…yeah, she’d been trying to forget. She knew now for absolute certain the wolf she’d come face to face with had been a werewolf. No doubt about it. Why she’d become so confounded in its presence, she had no idea. It went against everything she thought she’d been prepared for. She’d spent her life training for that moment and instead of taking the shot, she’d dropped to her knees in surrender. It made her sick. She’d faced the enemy and had failed her heritage.

  Failed.

  Which was probably why she wasn’t chosen by a Hunter. What kind of Hunter would want to bond with a failure?

  If there was any doubt before that moment—any hope that the Hunters had made a mistake—it was gone now. She was not a Huntress. A Huntress would not have wanted to caress the fur of a hated enemy.

  Aubrey had been lost in her thoughts all day, feeling the burn of her embarrassment. Thankful in one regard that she had no one to confess the transgression to. Mournful that she had no one to commiserate with at the same time. Would her sister understand? Maybe before she’d become a Huntress—certainly not anymore.

  She was alone. Unwanted. And for good reason. She was a disgusting show of weakness.

  Strangely, the only thing that invaded her dark thoughts was the determination to thank Jaylon for taking the time to set up her target area. She felt it was vital he know how much his thoughtfulness impacted her. Maybe it was a need to connect with someone. An excuse that would make a lot more sense if she’d made a little more effort throughout the day to connect with Darcy.

  If she’d been acting weird, which she probably had been, Darcy hadn’t said anything. Instead, Darcy had tried to pull her into the fun, took her out shopping for the day, demanding that she try on some clothes, sling a purse over her shoulder to see how it would look, slip on a pair of impossibly high, neck-breaking heels. After indulging Darcy for a while, Aubrey resisted any further temptation for shopping fun, determined to keep things professional so she wouldn’t lose herself any more than she already had. Except…she couldn’t keep her mind off of Jaylon. That persistent little tingle of something in her stomach every time she thought about his kind gesture. Professional.

  Yeah, sure.

  It wasn’t until dinnertime that she even saw him. Dinnertime. An event that was mandatory for everyone, including security, to attend. Something she would have preferred to avoid given her current state of mind, but if it meant a chance to speak with Jaylon, then she would bear it.

  “You’re part of the family now,” Mayhem had said in his stern, demanding way, like a father making a command that brokered no debate. “We’d like to get to know you.”

  Get to know her they did, pushing her to the limits of the story she’d planned out for herself. Even causing her to slip up once or twice about her sister, her training, her life in the woods. Her accidental info sharing was nothing of much concern—without context, they would never guess that when she said she’d been training with her bow for her whole life, she actually meant training to kill werewolves. Or that when she let it slip about her sister being chosen by her true mate, what she’d really meant was that her Hunter had come to claim her.

  They poured glass after glass of wine, the first one going down so quickly, loosening her tension, and her tongue. Easing the burden of regret she’d been carrying all day.

  “I saw a wolf in the woods today. Probably want to avoid strolling out there without some kind of protection.” She hadn’t meant to say anything, didn’t think it would be an issue for anyone in the house. How many rock stars went for strolls in the woods? Especially at night when they seemed to be most active. As of late, the werewolves generally stayed away from humans, unless they were after someone in particular. “In fact, it might be best if you avoid going out there at all. I think there might be a pack prowling the area. I heard howling.”

  Mayhem’s eyes snapped to hers. All conversation stopped. Someone dropped a utensil, the clang on their plate deafening.

  “You saw a wolf?” His voice was low, almost a growl, a warning.

  Aubrey frowned, the hair on the back of her neck prickling. “I was training with my bow.” She glanced at Jaylon, suddenly nervous, confused. His eyes were cold, glaring, it seemed, at her. “In the west lawn, and it came out of the woods. Big, brown, golden eyes.”

  “Did it approach you?” Mayhem gruff voice pulled her gaze back to him. His jaw was clenched as he lowered his fork to his plate. “Did it harm you?”

  Aubrey’s stomach plummeted. She felt like she had just said something so very wrong, the tension in the room pumping into her like a jackhammer. She shook her head, swallowed. “It approached me. I felt its breath…” She sucked in a gasp, lowered her gaze to her plate, her eyes burning with her remembered embarrassment.

  Mayhem cleared his throat. “You felt its breath where?”

  Aubrey shook her head. Her words caught in her throat. The confession too much for her. He could not know what this meant to her.

  “Tell me.”

  She swallowed again. Her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue heavy. “On my cheek.”

  A gasp from Darcy. A low growl that forced Aubrey’s gaze up again. Danger. Something was wrong.

  Mayhem wasn’t looking at her. His glare, his growl, was directed at Jaylon.

  “I really don’t think it will be an issue, as long as you don’t wander into the—”

  “It won’t happen again.” Mayhem snapped, holding Jaylon’s stare for a heartbeat longer. Something silent but threatening passed between them.

  Jaylon clenched his fists, bared his teeth and then looked down at his plate, his head lowered.

  Aubrey looked from him to Mayhem. What am I missing here?

  “You have nothing to fear in the forest, Aubrey.” Mayhem pushed his chair back. “I think we’ll take a night off. I find myself in the wrong frame of mind for work.”

  His departure sucked the air out of the room. For a heartbeat everyone was still, almost frozen.

  Strange.

  And then like a switch being flipped, the air came back in and the rest of the group quickly broke up. Darcy and Raven clearing up the dishes, waving away her offer to help. Dyami dropping his napkin to his plate and strolling out of the room without a glance at anyone. Leaving her and Jaylon, who sat in silence, his head still lowered, his breathing deep, eyes closed.

  She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, he was up, out of his chair and bolting from the room like his ass was on fire.

  Aubrey followed him, determined to speak to him before he disappeared to…wherever he was going. “Jaylon.” She slid up next to him, touched his arm gently.

  He jolted like she’d given him a shock. “Yes?” Cold demeanor met her gaze as he turned. Maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe he hadn’t been the one to set up the targets after all. His attitude now contrasted so greatly with her ideas of his generosity and thoughtfulness. He glanced at her hand, which still rested on his arm, and she pulled it away, feeling like she was once again making a huge mistake.

  “I, ah, wanted to thank you.” She stammered at first, finding her tongue heavy, reluctant. “For the target area. It was very kind of you to think of me.”

  “Why would you think that was me?” There was that cocky grin again, like he had some secret, some joke. He took a step toward her, crowding her back to the wall as he so liked to do. Grinning down at her now like a predator stalking prey. “Could have been anyone.”

  She frowned, shook her head. “I-I-I though
t…” Why was he fucking with her? Like he got off on unnerving her, making her feel awkward. She stared up at him, her mouth impossibly dry. She felt like an idiot.

  His grin grew, his teeth flashing. “You’re welcome.”

  Aubrey flinched. So it had been him. Why would he…?

  Jaylon leaned forward, his breathing became rapid, his stare beyond intense. He licked his lips and she shivered.

  She wanted that tongue on her, in her…and his grin said he knew it. What an ass.

  “Forget it.” She pushed against his chest, wanting suddenly to be anywhere but there. The man was a control freak, enjoyed making her uncomfortable.

  He captured her wrists, the back of his hands brushing against her breasts, and her nipples budded hard and fast. With a wicked grin, he yanked her arms up over her head, stretching her to stand on her tiptoes, bringing her almost to eye level. He licked his lips, his gaze burrowing into her. There was danger there, buried deep. It made her shiver with excitement and fear. “I can think of a few ways you could thank me properly.”

  Chapter Nine

  She struggled. He liked that.

  “Let me go.” She twisted her hips as she lifted her knee to try and hit him. “You have no right—”

  “You have no idea what you do to me.” He pushed against her, pressing his body to hers, caging her with his bulk. He nipped her neck, then licked the same luscious spot. Mmm, salty. “I want to fuck you, Aubrey.” He ground his cock against her stomach, knowing he was being rough, needing her to understand how desperate he was to sink into her.

  “I…I…” She stammered as he sucked on her throat, moaned when he kissed her skin all the way to her lips, latching on the second he got there.