Warrior Untamed

by Shannon Curtis

  Arthur growled in frustration, backing her up against the railing. Her eyes rounded as she felt the pressure against her. Arthur pushing against her shoulders, the railing at her waist. She tried to kick out, but Arthur dodged her feet, the whites of his eyes visible as he shoved at her, and then her feet left the ground, and she felt herself falling.

  “No!” Hunter yelled. She reached for him, panic rising inside as she briefly saw his face as she fell toward him. The ground raced toward her. Hunter stretched out his hand, leaning out over the fire escape, and then a black cloud raced up and billowed over her.

  Time seemed to slow—or at least, the speed of her fall did.

  She screamed as she felt something hard grip her hand, and the muscles in her shoulder tore. Her other senses were ripped away from her. Sight, sound—she couldn’t even tell which way was up or down. Slowly the black fog drifted away.

  Hunter was half-over the railing, and he gasped with relief when he met her gaze, his hand holding hers tight. She hung suspended, caught by Hunter’s death-defying grip, the ground still some twelve feet below.

  Arthur screamed with rage as Hunter slowly pulled her up to him, the muscles in his arm bulging as, hand over hand, he transferred his grip from her hand to her wrist, her forearm, her upper arm, until he could finally clasp her under the shoulder and pull her over the railing to him. He enfolded her in his arms, and she collapsed against his chest, wincing at the awkward, heaving feel of her arm hanging by her side.

  Arthur raised both hands, fireballs sparking on his palms as he took aim at them both. Hunter shifted Melissa behind him, facing his father.

  “You’re not going to win this time, Arty.”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Watch me.” He hurled the two fireballs at them, and Melissa even dodged behind Hunter, then frowned when nothing happened. She peered over Hunter’s shoulder.

  Arthur stood on the fire escape above them, and the confused expression on his face was comical. Sparks flared again, and he aimed them at the couple below. Melissa watched as little dark clouds danced over and swallowed them up.

  Hunter chuckled. “Have you met my brother?” He pointed to the alley below.

  Melissa glanced down. Griffin stood calmly below, arms folded, muscles bulging, his pale blue gaze trained on the scene above him.

  “The white brat,” Arthur seethed, and flung a fireball down at the albino. Griffin gave a flick of his fingers, and the ball of flame disappeared in a puff of black. Arthur frowned and clasped his hands together, a small explosion that fired down at Griffin with breathtaking speed.

  Griffin curled his fingers, and black tendrils caught at the fireball, ripping it apart and consuming the flame. Griffin chuckled. “This is fun. I could do this all day.”

  Arthur growled, spreading his arms out, and Griffin sighed. “You really don’t learn, do you?” Griffin raised his arms, and the tendrils of black fog leaped from his hands, spearing into Arthur’s palms and slamming him back against the side of the building.

  Arthur grunted, trying to free himself from the dark power that now trapped his hands against the side of the brick wall.

  Griffin gave a swift yank, and Arthur flew from the landing, tumbling to the street below.

  * * *

  Hunter climbed down the fire escape as fast as he could, running over to where his father lay in the middle of the alley, his limbs bent at unnatural angles. Arthur blinked, as though trying to figure out, as much as his damaged brain would allow, what had just happened.

  Hunter skidded to a stop as Griffin approached Arthur. The strange man who had knocked out a werewolf approached from the tavern garden, his arm around Amelie’s waist as he helped her hobble along beside him. Melissa came up behind him, and her hand touched his shoulder. They all stared as the albino stood over the broken man on the ground, his expression harsh.

  “You came into my home, and you killed my people,” Griffin spoke quietly, calmly. “Your first mistake was entering Old Irondell and thinking you could do whatever you wanted. Your second mistake was compelling my man to betray me. Your final mistake was to attack my family.”

  Arthur’s gaze shifted to Hunter, and Griffin nodded. “Yeah, he’s my family, too.” Griffin knelt on one knee by Arthur’s side, his elbow resting on his other bent knee. “You see, we do things differently down here in Old Irondell. There is no Reform law, there is no tribal law. There is just me. My judgment is sound, my punishment is swift.” He leaned closer, those pale blue eyes staring blindly at the man on the ground. “It’s time for you to go.”

  Griffin placed his hand above Arthur’s chest, and a dark blade, glistening in the fire from the distant braziers, emerged from his palm and speared through Arthur Armstrong’s heart.

  Arthur flinched, his expression stunned, before his mouth sagged open and his eyes glazed over as his skin turned to black. His head lolled to the side.

  The man with the sunglasses grimaced. “Effective,” he commented, his tone dry. Amelie stared down at the man who was once her husband, and shook her head, but said nothing.

  Hunter stared for a moment, shocked, as his half brother rose to his feet. “You killed him,” Hunter said, his voice low.

  Griffin turned to him. “Did you want that privilege for yourself?” The albino’s pale blue gaze flicked between the man at his side, and the corpse in the alley, and he finally placed a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “I have no doubt you would have killed him, brother, but hear me when I tell you this—no man should have to kill his father.” Griffin raised his finger. “Trust me. You may feel the hate, and you may feel the justification, but killing a parent—that haunts you forever.” He patted Hunter’s shoulder, and Hunter stared at his younger half brother. He spoke with a weary wisdom beyond his years.

  Griffin lifted a hand to Amelie. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”

  “Well, you weren’t going to do anything,” Amelie retorted. “I had to do something.”

  “I told you to trust me to know what I was doing.”

  “You told me you weren’t going to help your brother.”

  “No, I told you we weren’t going to help my brother,” Griffin corrected her. “You were supposed to stay back at the hall, all grumpy and righteous.” He pointed to the Darkken who had lured Hunter away, and Hunter grimaced. His neck was twisted at an awkward angle. He felt no pity, though. The guy was a vampire. He’d regenerate, and awaken with a sore neck, but at least he’d still live. As much as the undead could live. Hunter took some comfort knowing his father’s compulsions died with him.

  “Knowing that one of my men had removed one of my guests without my say-so—I had to remove Hunter’s protection so whoever was responsible would bear the news to Armstrong.” Griffin shrugged. “And we followed.”

  Hunter arched an eyebrow. “Sneaky.” He tilted his head. “I like you.”

  Griffin’s lips twitched, and he indicated Amelie. “And you can heal my mom. I like you.” Then he frowned. “Is that my shirt?”

  Hunter glanced down at the bloodstained, ripped shirt. “Don’t know, but I don’t have a good track record with borrowed shirts.” Then he frowned as he gazed across at his mother. “You’re hurt?”

  She waved a hand. “I’m fine, just got a little singed on my back.”

  The big man with the sunglasses shook his head slightly, and Hunter nodded, interpreting the man’s silent signal. His mother was hurt more than she let on. He turned back to look at Melissa. Her complexion was drawn and pale, and one shoulder sat lower than the other. She’d dislocated her arm in the fall. She needed his care, too. He gathered his mate close. “Well, let’s get everyone back to the hall. I’m going to need fire. Lots of fire.”

  “And beer,” the man wearing the sunglasses suggested. “Lots of beer.” He turned to help Amelie, but Griffin lifted his mother into his arms and
strode down the alley in the direction of the hall.

  “Who are you?” Hunter asked as he lifted Melissa into his arms, ignoring her halfhearted protests. “Shh, each step you take will jolt that shoulder.”

  Melissa sighed, then lifted her chin to the man who fell into step alongside them. “Hunter, this is my brother, Dave. Dave, meet Hunter.”

  Hunter nodded. “Ah, you’re the witch brother.”

  Dave slapped a hand hard on Hunter’s shoulder, and Hunter winced. “And you’re the pyromaniac who nearly killed my sister and has now bonded with her.” Dave jerked him closer. “Hurt my sister again and I’ll kill you.” Melissa’s brother gave him another friendly pat on the shoulder that could have flattened a lesser man. “Welcome to the family.”

  Hunter halted, his gaze dropping to Melissa’s face. She stared up at him, an eyebrow arched in challenge. Oh, hell. She knew. What’s worse, her brother with a fist that could knock out a werewolf knew.

  “I was going to tell you,” he said quickly. “I just—I just—”

  “Spit it out, hot pants,” Dave muttered, and Hunter gave her brother an exasperated look, before turning back to the precious woman in his arms.

  “Every woman I’ve ever loved has left me,” he told her quietly, and her eyes filled with understanding.

  Melissa sighed. She stared up at him, her smile gentle. “I promise you, I will never, ever leave you.” She looked at him meaningfully. “And you know me—a promise is a promise.”

  She’d used those same words when she’d used her energy to remove her wards instead of fighting off the werewolves. Hunter halted. This woman would literally die before she left him. She cupped his cheek. “I love you, Hunter. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Likewise,” Hunter breathed, and dipped his head to kiss his mate. “Let’s get married.”

  Melissa nodded. “Let’s,” she said, just before his lips took hers.

  Dave groaned and started walking. “Get a room, you two.”

  Epilogue

  “Can I look now?” Melissa asked, arms outstretched. She wriggled her nose, trying to dislodge the blindfold. Chill wind tousled her hair and danced with her skirt. They were outside, but she had no idea where.

  “No.” Hunter guided her, his hands on her shoulders.

  “What about now?”

  He sighed, and his breath gusted past her ear. “Patience, wife.”

  She smiled. “I love it when you say that.”

  “What? Patience? Yeah, I feel like I say that a lot with you.”

  She elbowed him in his muscled stomach behind her. “I meant wife.”

  His hands slid down her back and around her waist, pulling her back against his broad chest. “I love it, too,” he said as he nipped her neck. They’d been married for nearly three weeks. Her mother had been overjoyed to hear her daughter was marrying the light warrior, until Hunter had insisted she tear up any agreement she’d negotiated as recompense with the pack who had attacked his mate in her bookstore. Eleanor had discovered she had as much influence over the new family asset as she did over her daughter.

  Which was zilch.

  Hunter’s breath gusted past her ear. She trembled, and he nipped her again, trailing his lips up to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She tilted her head to the side, giving him better access, and her breath hitched as his hands slid under her jacket to cup her breasts.

  “Is this what you wanted to show me?” she said breathlessly, rubbing herself against his arousal pressed against her butt. He’d made her put on the blindfold as soon as he got her into his car, and she had no idea where they were, or who could possibly see them. It was Sunday, it was chilly, and she’d rather be back at their home, heating up the bedsheets with her sexy husband.

  “Oh, I’ve got something to show you, Red,” he whispered in her ear, then growled in frustration. He flicked her nipples with his thumbs, just once, then drew his hands away. “But I’ve got something else first.”

  He guided her along, her booted heels clicking on the pavement. She sighed. It had been a busy three weeks. Hunter, with Ryder’s agreement, had sought and successfully petitioned Reform Court for a family status. It had caused quite the sensation when the public learned that light warriors weren’t an extinct breed, after all.

  And now she was Consort to the Galen Warrior Prime. An impatient, blindfolded Consort.

  She heard the rattle of chains, the clink and groan of something that sounded like a gate, and then Hunter guided her farther. “Careful,” he told her, “it’s a little messy.” She could feel the dirt and rocks under her feet, and her heel sank into soft earth.

  “Okay, stand still.” Hunter’s hands untied the blindfold, and he pulled it away. Melissa blinked in the light. Christmas had come and gone, but gray snow was still on the ground in some parts. She looked down into the great big hole. She could clearly see the neatly poured concrete foundations, the spray-painted markings that delineated zones, the pipes that protruded from the slab. She glanced around in surprise. It was her building. Well, the place where her apothecary and bookstore had once stood.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, confused.

  Hunter stepped beside her to gesture to the staked-out markings. “That’s your wedding present.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “A slab of concrete?” A chill breeze drifted through the chain-link fence and scaffolding that edged the lot. A tattered cover lined the fence, blocking the view of the site from the street. She folded her arms, hugging herself.

  “No, this is your new store,” Hunter stated. He folded his arms, his navy blue sweater pulling taut across his chest.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. He’d been working on expanding his clinic since their return above—or so she’d thought. It was as though his time away from tending people had renewed an energy, creating a drive in him to work. He worked hard—and then he came home and played hard. He reached for her hand, and dragged her over to the site office. He unlocked the door, pulled her in and shut out the wind behind her. In minutes he had lights on and the heater going. She glanced around. The desk was surprisingly neat for a construction zone. Plans were pinned to the wall, and Hunter gestured to it.

  “Here it is,” he said huskily. “Your new store and apothecary.”

  Her eyes rounded. “What?”

  He clasped her one hand in two of his. “You lost your apothecary because of me and my family.” He nodded to the plans. “I wanted to give it back.”

  “Are you serious?” she gasped, glancing between her husband and the schematics drawn on the wall. She was still trying to get her insurance claim completed for her building. This—this was—wow.

  Hunter nodded. “Uh-huh.” He stepped up to the drawing. “See, you have a separate area here, on the lower level, for you to mix all your witchy-woo potions and lotions, and a separate consulting room here if you want it. I’ve added some storage there, for your supplies,” he said, gesturing to some markings. “And the stairs are wider, but you also have an elevator if you need to move supplies between the floors. Your apothecary will be made from reinforced concrete—it’s going to be a bunker that can withstand the end of the world, if need be,” he muttered, waving his hands casually. “And here are the plans for the bookstore, with some event space if you wanted to get authors in for a talk or signing, or something...” He turned to her, and for the first time his expression was unsure. “And if you want, you can change anything you like.”

  “Hunter, this is so generous,” she gasped.

  He rolled his eyes. “Well, not quite. My family destroyed your clinic twice, so it seems only fair we should rebuild it, and—” He grimaced. “This makes me feel better after what I did to you, so it’s completely selfish.” He leaned down and kissed her quickly on the lips, before drawing back and holding up his hand. “I was going to
attach your apothecary to my clinic, but then realized your patients wouldn’t want to be anywhere near mine, but really, if you want to build somewhere else, that’s fine, too—whatever you want.” He drew her closer. “I just want you to be happy,” he murmured. He lifted his gaze from her lips to her eyes. “What do you think?”

  She smiled. “I think it’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  Hunter closed his eyes in relief and tilted his forehead against hers. “Thank God. I wasn’t sure if I was overstepping the mark, or—”

  She rose on the tips of her toes and kissed him. “It’s wonderful,” she reassured him. He nodded, pleased.

  “I find I like making my family happy,” he said huskily, and despite the warmth in his gaze, she also saw the fleeting concern.

  Melissa squeezed his hand. “We’ll find her, Hunter. Soon.”

  Ever since Arthur had mentioned the missing sister, Hunter and Ryder had been searching for her. They were slowly wading through Arthur’s papers in an effort to discover the name of the woman who had birthed him a daughter. Griff was helping, too, and Lance. With so many searching, it was only a matter of time before they located their unknown sister.

  He nodded and winked. “We’ll find her,” he repeated, his expression grim with determination.

  She looked at him in inquiry. “Wasn’t there something else you wanted to show me?” she said suggestively.

  His lips curled in that wicked, sexy way of his, and those golden flecks in his eyes flared. “Why yes, yes there is.”

  He leaned over and flicked the lock on the site office door, and stepped closer to her.

  “You know what they say about a new office, though, right?”

  “This isn’t my new office,” she pointed out.

  He nodded. “True, but we can practice.”

  The golden flecks glimmered in his eyes as he stopped in front of her.

  Melissa shook her head. “Practice what, Hunter? What do they say about a new office?”