Warrior Untamed

by Shannon Curtis

  “I’m waiting for a delivery, bozo. You might want to move on, yourself.”

  “I said, get the hell back inside,” Lance growled, his fists clenching, his shoulders slightly raised in a dominant pose.

  Hunter’s eyebrows rose. He looked threatening enough. He glanced to see what Melissa would do next.

  She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Get lost, before I call Reform Authority.”

  Hunter smiled. Ah, there was the shrew he knew so well.

  Lance took a step forward. “It’s dangerous out here. Go inside.”

  Melissa laughed, a sexy little tinkle as she stepped toward the edge of the loading dock. “I know this place far better than you, alley rat.”

  Something skittered at the mouth of the alley, and Hunter turned as shadows seemed to emerge from the encroaching darkness.

  “Well, what do we have here, boys?” A masculine voice called out from the darkness, and a form stepped forward. He was tall, with blond hair and dark eyes. “Looks like the book witch has a new friend.”

  Hunter eyed the men stalking down the alley, and that’s what they were doing, stalking. Their movements were smooth and predatory, and he watched cautiously as they fanned out in a strategic move that looked well practiced.

  A vampire pack. Five in all, and very determined.

  A second vampire stepped forward. He had dark hair, brown eyes and a coldness that seemed to emanate from his pores. “You were right, Ty. She is out tonight.”

  Hunter glanced back to the dock. Melissa eyed all of the vampires. He knew there would be no way for her to close the roller door in time, and the narrowing of Melissa’s eyes suggested she’d arrived at the same conclusion.

  Then she did something that surprised him. She laughed.

  “Is that you, Dick? Did your little underling come crying to you? Is this your idea of some big, bad retribution against the witch?”

  “I did try to warn you,” Lance muttered as he shifted, subtly putting himself between Melissa and the vampires.

  “Rick,” the blond corrected through gritted teeth.

  “Well, if the name fits...”

  Rick laughed, showing his elongated fangs, as he nodded. “You’re right. You might be a witch, but I’d prefer to call you dinner.”

  He opened his mouth in a snarl, and he and his pack moved as one, all springing toward the woman on the dock.

  * * *

  Melissa peered through the peep slot of her door, frowning. After a few minutes she turned to retreat up the hall, but then she heard a sound.

  Sobbing. A painful, woeful, sorrowful sobbing, as though someone was mortally wounded, or their heart was cleaved in two. It was the kind of sound that reached deep into a person’s conscience, and Melissa whirled back to the door. She craned her neck, twisting from side to side, peering into the darkness.

  There.

  Someone lay in the gutter, rocking, as the snow drifted around. Melissa frowned. It wasn’t clear if it was a man or a woman—they were in shadow, their head covered with a knitted cap that even now showed the glitter of wet snow. She could see, though, that whoever it was wasn’t wearing a coat.

  Damn fool would freeze out there if they stayed much longer.

  She opened the door, gasping as the bitterly cold air swept into the front hall. Then she stepped out and hurried to the person huddled in the gutter. She paused halfway across the sidewalk.

  “Hey! You can’t stay here,” she called out. She flexed her mouth, then stepped forward again. “Hey, there, you in the gutter. You need to move on.”

  The person whimpered. Melissa frowned. It wasn’t a normal whimper, she could tell; it sounded almost like a pup in pain.

  “Excuse me? Are you okay?” She reached her hand out to touch the person’s shoulder. The action seemed to make the person erupt out of the gutter.

  Snow flicked in all directions, and the person’s form twisted, a pained growl coming from them as they turned. It was a man, only it wasn’t—not anymore, as his body morphed into lycan form.

  Melissa turned to run back to her doorway, back to the haven that would protect her and prevent his entry, and halted.

  Another werewolf had planted himself just in front of the doorway. Melissa raised her hands, summoning her powers as the lycans launched. She screamed as fangs tore into her shoulder.

  * * *

  Hunter watched as Lance and Melissa fought off the vampires. For a big guy, Lance could move like lightning, and if Hunter didn’t already know Lance was a dhampir, he would have been impressed. Knowing he possessed similar attributes of strength and speed as a vampire made the brutal clash a little ho-hum, in his book. Still, it was interesting watching Melissa in action. She was like a virago, a whirlwind of red locks, flashing green eyes and hands that caused her opponents to scream in pain and clutch their heads at her softest touch.

  Lance, on the other hand, was far more brutal, matching his strength against the vampires, his punches and kicks vicious. His expression was savage as his fangs elongated, and he bit into the necks of his victims.

  He grimaced as Melissa touched one of the attackers, and he convulsed, screaming in pain as he fell. Lance ripped out the throat of another, and suddenly the numbers shifted from five to two dead, one who rocked, staring sightlessly at a crack in the pavement, one frothing at the mouth and unconscious, and the leader. Dick.

  Oh, wait, Rick. Dick was Melissa’s special name for him.

  “Wait,” she called, as Lance stepped toward the vampire.

  He glared over his shoulder at her, eyes an eerie red, and blood smeared on his chin.

  “He’s lost his guardians. He’s powerless now.”

  “He’s a vampire,” Lance stated roughly. “He should die.”

  Melissa strode up toward them. Damn, the woman didn’t know the meaning of the word retreat. Hunter drifted closer to listen to the exchange.

  Rick glared at them both. “This isn’t over, witch. You think you can set up shop here and sell your poisons? Ain’t gonna happen.”

  Melissa looked down the alley, then shrugged. “Looks like it just did.” She put her hands on her hips, and gave the vampire a slow smile. “So you can go back to your little nest and tell Vivianne Marchetta that she doesn’t own everything in Irondell. If she tries to mess with me or my store again, she’s going to find out exactly how painful a curse can be.”

  Rick snorted. “We are going to rain hate down on you so bad—”

  Lance reached out, his movements so fast they were almost a blur, and snapped the vampire’s neck. He watched in satisfaction as the body crumpled to the ground. “Sorry. I hate it when they go on, and on.” He rolled his hand. “And on. Besides, all these bodies will tell Marchetta exactly what she needs to know.”

  Melissa assessed the man next to her for a moment. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  Lance chuckled. “I was. Once. It’s been a while.”

  “Oh? Where have you been?”

  Lance took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and cleaned his face. “Prison.” He said the word calmly, but didn’t look at the witch.

  Melissa digested that for a moment. “And yet you were in my back alley when these guys decided to pay me a visit. Why?”

  Lance shrugged. “I’ve been trying to track this particular vamp, and heard he might show up.”

  “Dhampir?”

  Lance nodded. “Yeah.”

  Melissa looked down at the bodies strewed around, and nodded. “Good job.”

  He glanced toward the entrance to the alley. “Hey, you don’t happen to know if anyone’s got some work going on around here, do you?”

  Melissa shook her head. “Sorry, no.” She turned, hesitated. Hunter watched her fleeting expressions with curiosity and amusem
ent. First there was resistance, and she actually shook her head as though arguing with herself. Then there was guilt, followed by reluctant resignation.

  “Wait.” She turned around, and Lance halted. She sighed. “I’m looking for a store clerk. Minimum wage. Interested?”

  Lance tilted his head, considering. “I tend to attract vampires.”

  She gestured to the bodies littering the alleyway. “So do I. I can live with it if you can.”

  Lance chuckled. “Then you have yourself a clerk.”

  * * *

  The scream jerked Hunter awake. He lay on the floor, confused for a moment until he got his bearings. Melissa’s spare bedroom.

  Another scream, followed by a snarl.

  Hunter rolled to his feet and made his way over to the window. He peered out to the dark street below.

  Melissa was prone on the ground, one arm outstretched, as two werewolves circled her. Even from this distance, he could see the blood. It glistened down her arm, scarlet drops staining the white snow she lay in, and he could see the fine tremor in her hand as her lips moved. Whatever she was doing was holding them at bay, but they still prowled around her, snarling.

  Even as he watched, one of the wolves launched at her.

  “No!” Hunter roared as Melissa kicked at the wolf. He bolted through the bedroom, down the hallway, and yanked open the front door—and ran into an invisible barrier.

  He growled with frustration, trying to bust his way through, but whatever ward Melissa had put on her home to keep him in was strong. He wouldn’t be able to leave her home unless she allowed it.

  He ran back to the bedroom, vaulting over Lance’s body on the bed and landing at the window. He could open it, but encountered the same issue.

  Melissa had trapped him inside her home.

  Chapter 10

  Melissa kept chanting the buffer spell. They’d caught her by surprise, damn it, and it was the first one that sprang to mind when the lycan’s fangs had sunk into her shoulder. It created a small zone of protection, one that the lycans could pierce through, if they figured it out. She was on her butt, and using her good arm and legs to slowly shuffle back toward her front door. The snow was falling thicker, heavier, and the icy wind was numbing her. She was sluggish to move, sluggish to think.

  If she could just get inside...the werewolves wouldn’t be able to follow her.

  She whimpered midchant, and one of the werewolves pressed his advantage, barreling toward her. She started chanting faster, her arm outstretched as she focused her power on the wolves, and she cried out in pain as teeth snapped—and caught—her ankle. Even through the leather, she could feel those sharp fangs pierce her skin, heard the crack of bone, felt the snap deep inside.

  She screamed, kicking out viciously with her other foot, the heel of her boot raking across the lycan’s snout, and the werewolf recoiled.

  She chanted faster, blinking furiously to try to stop the gray creeping in at the edges of her vision.

  God, her arm was so heavy, stretched out like this, and she tried not to stare at the rivulets of blood that ran down her sleeve. So much blood. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, see her fingers tremble as the painful heat of her shoulder started giving way to a cool numbness.

  She shuffled back again, reciting the spell, thinking furiously. What else could she do? The shock of the attack was numbing her brain.

  She heard a dull roaring from above, and thought for a moment she was going to pass out. A thump, followed by a crack, caused her to glance up.

  Hunter was pounding on a window upstairs, his expression fierce. He was trapped. She kicked out again when one of the wolves came too close.

  Her wards. If she died, her wards would still be in place. Hunter would be forever trapped—unless another witch managed to break the spells. She sucked in a breath, wincing as the gesture moved her shoulder.

  If she broke the seal, he’d be free. Free to leave. He’d fulfilled his promise. If she didn’t break the seal, he’d rot inside her home.

  It was almost ironic that he’d tried to kill her, but in the end her death would be his undoing.

  One of the lycans caught her eye, and she knew. It was going to push through her buffer. Funny how, even in their beast form, they could still telegraph their intentions.

  A promise is a promise. Our word is our bond, and the only way a spell has any weight is because of the commitment we infuse in it.

  The words sprang into her mind in the voice of her mother, and she bellowed, dismayed that the constant lecture from her mother had such a strong foothold.

  The wolf sprang at her, and she raised her arms in a defensive motion as the furry bulk hit her in the chest. Teeth clamped around her right forearm and more teeth caught her on her left thigh.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, whispering the words that would unlock freedom for her light warrior.

  * * *

  Hunter could sense when the wards dropped. There was high pressure that built in on him whenever he tried to ram his way through the door, or break through that open window. And then there wasn’t...

  He launched himself through the open window, sliding down the first-story roof, his hands outstretched as he summoned his light force.

  He already had a fireball in each hand when his feet cleared the gutter, and suddenly he was free-falling down to the pavement.

  He flung his fireballs at the lycans, and hit the ground in a roll to absorb the shock. He rose to his feet, smiling grimly as he heard the yelps and whimpers of the wolves as they felt the heat.

  Melissa cried out, and he frowned. The werewolves didn’t turn, didn’t slow down. He summoned more energy and created two more fireballs. This time he threw them with force, and the lycans howled as their coats were consumed by the fire. He scooped up Melissa and strode to her doorway, not even bothering to look back.

  His flames would finish the job for him. He kicked the door shut on the painful howls and whimpers outside, and jogged down the hallway to the stairs.

  Melissa tried to lift her head, and she murmured something.

  “Shh,” he whispered as he climbed the stairs two at a time. “I’ve got you.”

  “A promise is a promise,” she whispered, her head lolling against his shoulder. “You kept yours.” She gasped in pain as he leaned forward, twisted the doorknob in his hand and shouldered his way into her apartment.

  “Take it easy, Mel,” he told her. She’d lost a lot of blood; she needed to conserve her energy. He trotted down the hallway to her bedroom, placing her with care on her bed.

  “I kept my promise,” she told him, her eyes flickering as though she was battling unconsciousness. “You’re free.”

  He frowned. He had no idea what she was talking about. Delirium was setting in. “Shh, I’ll look after you.”

  Her eyelids rose slowly, as though their weight was almost too much for her, and he found himself staring into the most mesmerizing green eyes. Her lips pulled down. “Is it going to hurt?” she whispered. There was just the faintest flicker of fear, and her bottom lip trembled, until she caught it between her teeth.

  He stroked her red hair back, such a contrast to her pale, almost gray complexion. He smiled at her gently, wanting to reassure her. “Trust me,” he whispered. “I’m a doctor.”

  He caressed her brow, and watched as her eyelids slid shut. She went under so fast, it alarmed him. She was so hurt, so damn weak. His lips firmed.

  He would look after her. And it wasn’t because she was annoying and feisty and had managed to entertain him and challenge him with every breath she took. It wasn’t because she was so damn vibrant and lively and luscious. She thought she was dying, and she’d set him free.

  Damn it, how could he hate a woman when she put his needs before hers? He frowned. It was just
like her to entangle him with guilt, with duty and loyalty. Damn witch.

  He got to work.

  * * *

  The dark seemed to waver, lift, waver, lift...it took a hell of an effort, but Melissa finally managed to open her eyes. She stared up at the pressed ceiling. Her bedroom ceiling. She flexed her feet beneath the covers, grimacing at the pull on muscle. Must have slept in a funny position. She was warm. So warm and toasty. She stretched, wincing at the ache in her shoulder and arm. The brush of cotton sheets against her naked skin was oddly liberating, and she sighed softly. Thirsty. She was thirsty.

  Her bedroom curtains were open, and sunlight was streaming in. Candles, half-spent, were on every available surface, and Hunter sat in a chair next to her bed, in a pool of light from the window, his arms folded on the bed, his head down.

  Hunter. In her bedroom.

  Melissa shrieked, hauling her sheet up to her chest as she sat up in bed.

  Hunter flinched, his head whipping up, and his chair tipped back, upending him on the floor. He glanced around wildly for a moment, his hair tousled.

  “What are you doing in here?” she screeched at him, her voice hoarse.

  He held up his hands, wincing as he moved gently on the floor. He blinked rapidly, as though to get rid of the sleepy cobwebs in his brain.

  “Hey, take it easy,” he soothed, rising to his feet, grimacing.

  “Take it easy? Get out of my room!” She flung her arm up to point to the door.

  “Settle down,” he snapped, arms out toward her. “You’re still going to be tender, and I don’t want you to rip open any of my work.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  Even as she said it, she realized her shoulder had begun to throb from the startled movement, and her ankle ached beneath the sheet. She glanced down to her arm and gasped. Pink slashes marked her skin—on her shoulder, her arm... She cautiously slid her ankle out from beneath the sheet. It was mottled with purple-and-blue bruises, with marks that looked a lot like puncture wounds, only they were already healing.

  Melissa sat up in bed, dragging the sheet up with her. She frowned, touching her forehead. Last night...