Hunter

by Jacquelyn Frank

  The dark beasts would literally kill to have her. And once they got her ...

  Annali did shudder this time, unwanted memories rushing over her. Hunter chuckled abruptly, missing her reaction to her dark thoughts. He grinned at Ryce. “You know, Ryce, she actually thought you and I might be lovers.”

  Annali made a high-pitched and very unladylike sound of shock. She was jolted out of her private thoughts and sent into wild giggles. Ryce’s jaw dropped open with shock.

  “Me? Me? You I can understand,” Ryce provoked him, “but me? I’m the picture of heterosexual virility.”

  “I always said you were too pretty for your own good, Ryce,” Annali guffawed, grabbing her side as tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Shut the bloody hell up, Annali,” Ryce groused.

  “Shh, Anna,” Hunter chuckled. “She’s coming.”

  Anna struggled to compose herself just as Tatyana cautiously entered the room. She looked terribly self-conscious as she smoothed hands down over her short skirt. The gesture drew Hunter’s attention to her legs and his smile grew out of his control. She was tall for a woman, at least 5’10”, and clearly the majority of that length was in her legs. The long, shapely limbs began with smooth, rounded hips, which then blended marvelously into firm thighs, showcased by the rustling twitch of her flirtatious skirt. They were as sexy as they were long, even if they did end abruptly in a pair of white Nikes. Hunter could easily imagine what a nice pair of heels could do for her; not to mention what legs that lengthy and shapely would feel like wrapping encouragingly around him.

  The unexpected thought sent frissons of shocking excitement shooting around under Hunter’s skin, like a hormonal pinball machine that was hitting on all his key bumpers and racking up bonus points. He felt his breath hitching hard over a sudden constriction in his chest. He was hardly an angel, his brain being naturally wired with testosterone just like any other man’s, but Hunter could honestly look at his own thoughts with astonishment. He reminded himself that it was probably just his penchant for redheads, combined with the fact that it had been a while since he’d enjoyed the company of a woman in any capacity outside of simple friendship. When one lived with the Romany Gypsies, hospitality was cut sharply short if one got involved in the sexual politics of the clans. It had been best to focus on what he’d wanted to learn and to leave recreation out of it.

  However, his reaction to the exquisite woman moving slowly into the room wasn’t quelled by his logic. It wasn’t even quelled by the fact that she was the sister of a fellow in-coven witch. He hadn’t met many natural Russian redheads, so he wondered about her coloring briefly. Then he quickly brushed the curiosity aside when he found himself considering a surefire way of finding out. Down that road of thoughts lay any number of untoward bodily reactions he’d just as soon keep under control at present. Hunter satisfied himself simply with a guess that the color was far too unique in its darkness and diffused highlights to be contrived. Tatyana’s eyes, that sheer jade that leapt out of her lovely features, settled on him. Hunter had to stifle a reflexive groan as her gaze drifted with open contemplation down the length of his body. The tip of her tongue made a teasing appearance between her lips, giving them a meditative lick that just about fried his impulse control. Then, as if realizing what she was doing, her eyes snapped back to his and her face blossomed in a blush of delicate pink.

  Untoward bodily reactions abounded.

  If she’d made just as studied a return trip up his body, she’d have proof positive he was as heterosexual as they came. Hunter quickly took a seat, figuring it would be a really good idea to do so before their guest actually did take notice. He felt her gaze on him like a warm weight and he found himself looking back up into her boldly appraising eyes and an encore of the peeking pink tongue. She flushed and looked away, quickly crossing her arms over her breasts and rubbing her hands over her upper arms as if she’d caught a chill, but Hunter had a sudden insight that made him smile a bit wolfishly. This fence, he realized, very definitely had two sides to it, and suddenly he didn’t feel so ignoble. Enough so that he allowed himself to contemplate what kind of reaction she was hiding beneath those crossed arms.

  Annali sensed the unexpected shift in tension in the room. Pressing her lips together to control an amused smile, she glanced at Hunter from beneath her lashes. Each witch in the coven could sense all of the other witches living there: where they were, sometimes what they were doing, and they could even feel some of what they were feeling if the emotions were strong enough.

  Hunter had always been an unexpected mix of personality, his emotions fluctuating between a deeply serious sense of nobility, honor, and loyalty ... and an equally intense animal drive for hardcore killing and ruthlessness in achieving his goals. Of all the males in the Willow Coven, Hunter was known to be the least likely to lack impulse control.

  Well, at present, impulses were definitely being indulged. Hunter was captivated by Dimitre’s lovely younger sister. And the feeling was apparently mutual. Annali didn’t need a magical connection to figure that out, only a feminine one. Tatyana Petrova was acting like a woman who was trying hard not to look too long at someone when she very much wanted to do exactly that. Tatyana turned her back toward Hunter, but her chin kept dipping toward her shoulder as if she wanted to glance over it. Annali was impressed whenever the other woman caught herself in time to keep from looking back at him.

  Annali slid over on her love seat and patted the vacancy she’d made next to herself. “Tatyana, come and sit. Let Ryce get you a cocktail.”

  “Thank you,” she said as she came to take a seat, “but I don’t really drink.”

  “Don’t be shy,” Ryce said warmly, obviously already forgiving her for casting aspersions on his manhood. “I’m quite the bartender,” he assured her, moving to the wet bar in a corner of the room. “Annali, vodka cranberry?”

  She nodded, smiling at him. He raised a brow at Tatyana.

  “Same, please,” she relented. A drink suddenly sounded like heaven. She was still feeling an unshakable chill in her bones in spite of being physically warmed ... not to mentioned scorched by the contemplative looks of one Hunter Finn.

  When Ryce came to Hunter he raised a brow. It was such a simple gesture, but Tatyana read a wealth of information in it. Why was it that he knew Annali’s tastes so well, but not Hunter’s?

  “My tastes haven’t changed, Ryce.”

  “Vodka, neat,” Ryce announced.

  Tatyana narrowed curious jade eyes on Hunter and then Ryce. If they lived together as closely as she’d been led to believe, why would Hunter have to make that strange distinction?

  “So tell us about yourself,” Annali invited her pleasantly, reaching with a warm hand to cover one of hers where it rested on her thigh. “Dimitre has been very stingy with details about your family. I think all we really know is that there are thirteen children and that your parents are still alive.”

  “Yes, but are they sane?” Hunter countered, shaking his head in awe. “Thirteen kids. That’s astounding.”

  “I want to know how the bedroom to bathroom quotient worked,” Ryce chuckled.

  “Well, we definitely could have used this house,” Tatyana remarked. “But we did well enough. There’s really not much to tell. I’m an architect. I work out of Manhattan. I live in Queens with only two roommates.” She made the distinction with a grin and an excited dance of two fingers as though having only two roommates was the best thing since the electric lightbulb.

  “Why aren’t you out at a party somewhere?” Hunter asked. “You look like you’re dressed for it.”

  “Oh, I’m not much of a party girl really. I’m either a homebody or a workaholic. I swing both ways,” she said with a slow, broad wink at Hunter that made him fall back against the cushions of his chair and bark out a laugh of stunned amusement.

  The little minx took her drink from Ryce and quickly hid a mischievous grin against the rim of the glass. She didn’t realize he’d share
d her speculations on his sexual orientation, so she turned sharply when Annali nearly choked to death on a poorly timed sip of her drink. Tatyana spared him a dirty look when she comprehended that she’d been ratted out. She began to pound Annali on her back firmly but gently. “And what about you, Hunter?” she asked with pointed wickedness and a smile innocent enough to sell angel’s wings. “Which way do you swing?”

  “Yes, do tell,” Ryce encouraged with a troublesome grin as he handed Hunter his glass, then took a seat for himself.

  “I’d say Hunter is a workaholic.” Annali rescued him with a wheeze of recovering breath. “Only recently has he rediscovered the values of home and hearth.”

  Tatyana’s merry jade eyes danced with mischief as they met Hunter’s. “And where do your talents lie? What can you do?” she asked, her voice a low suggestion that, to Hunter, was just shy of a rich purr. There was no mistaking the taunting double entendre to what she said. So much for those girlish blushes, Hunter thought, his gaze narrowing on her darkly. Tatyana Petrova was hiding a vixen beneath that delicious auburn hair and those innocent freckles.

  Smoldering. That was the perfect word to describe the look Hunter Finn was drilling into her. Tatyana had no idea why she was being so openly flirtatious and daring with someone she barely knew. One of her brother’s housemates no less. But with pure feminine power and satisfaction, she noted that the look Hunter was giving her practically sizzled. She rather liked the idea of the blatant thoughts that must be going through his head. The man was crammed full of natural sensuality. His eyes packed the most devastating punch, but it could also be seen in his every effortless movement, from his easy stride to the turn of his head. It could be felt in the lightest of his touches. Shivers skipped over the back of her scalp as she recalled the drift of his fingertips against her cheek ... her temple. Brushing back her hair so simply.

  As their eyes met and held across the width of the room, Tatyana was suddenly sure he knew everything she was thinking, and how it was making her feel. Her bravado failed her and color flooded her cheeks. She lowered her eyes to the liquid in her glass.

  “I’m an anthropologist,” Hunter responded to her query, a sly smile tugging at one corner of his lips as he watched a myriad thoughts and emotions skim across her expressive face. She’d make a terrible poker player, he thought as he kept his eyes firmly on her. He marveled at how brave and sassy she was one moment, and then shy and colored with blushes the next. “I study living human cultures. Most recently that of the—”

  “Romany,” she finished for him suddenly, looking up at him once more as her eyes lit with a bright spark of fascination. “That’s why you have that cadence in your speech. Very like my parents’ accents when they speak English, only much more muted.”

  “A little different,” he stipulated, “but similar enough.”

  “You must have spent years there for it to alter your natural speech,” she noted.

  “Nearly eight years in the eastern European countries. I followed many tribes all over Europe, but mostly the Rom clans in and around Romania.” Hunter paused briefly to watch the clear alcohol in his glass as he swirled it around. The life of the Romany was a hard one. One full of mysticism and tradition and a sense of family that had made him increasingly miss what he’d left behind in the States. All the while wars had swept around them, close and closer still, depending on where Hunter had been at the time. There’d been times when the only thing that had saved himself and his friends from certain death was magic. Not just his. The Romany had taught him things he’d never thought possible. Beautiful spells that had nothing to do with defense or offense. Powerful ways of amplifying magic when it was necessary. How to discern the difference between needing to use magic ... and only wanting to use it.

  “It wasn’t the amount of time, so much as the intensity of my immersion into the Romany culture,” he told her, only mildly aware that he had Ryce and Annali’s full attention as well. “When you meet the Romany, one of two things will happen. Either you will corrupt them, or they will corrupt you. And corruption in that case isn’t necessarily a negative thing. I only mean that the culture is so powerful and so beautiful that it draws you into it until you begin to feel like you don’t know how you ever lived any other way. You start to wonder how so many people live together in this world, and yet they never truly understand what it means to be a part of a community. An entire village will raise, love, and protect every child within a Romany clan, the elderly are respected and revered. The devotion is ... breathtaking.”

  “And the other corruption,” Tatyana prompted, her voice barely above a whisper as her nerves tingled right to their roots from the passion of his words. A passion that glowed deeply in his cobalt eyes.

  “The same corruption that happens to African tribes who have never seen anything of civilization, and then Westerners come with their conveniences and religions and ruin the sanctity of the tribe. The Romany can be taken over just as easily as they can take you over. I see romance and beauty in the way they live, and just as assuredly, they see it in the way we live. The life of a Gypsy is a hard one. It’s easy to see how Western ways and comforts can be alluring. But it’s a case of the grass being greener. Neither knows what they will be missing by walking in the other’s shoes until they are already halfway into the journey.”

  There was nothing any of them could say to that. Tatyana couldn’t imagine what life would be like without her enormous family. Extended family aside, just the gathering of her siblings and parents made for a full and boisterous experience. Perhaps it was because her parents had come from such poverty that they had learned how to appreciate every moment of life, to celebrate it, and to thrive on traditions. Each of the thirteen Petrova children had been instilled with the sense of loyalty to family that Hunter spoke of. That was what had driven her here, despite her brother’s ridiculous wishes otherwise.

  Tatyana realized then, as her gaze remained locked to Hunter’s eyes, that this stranger wasn’t so strange after all. In the span of a single conversation she understood that in this key matter they were kindred spirits. His yearning was palpable. His need for the unwavering devotion of familial allegiance could be felt like an actual weight hanging on her heart. There was unbelievable loneliness in the depths of his eyes. She saw it and felt it so keenly that she imagined for a moment she could actually read his emotions with utter precision. The sadness of his solitude took her breath away and her hands curled tightly around the glass in her hands.

  “You’ve been away from home for a long time,” she said softly, barely realizing the uncensored words were passing her lips until she heard Annali make a low sound of agreement ... or scolding ... Tatyana wasn’t certain which.

  “Actually, I’ve only just returned. This very night.”

  How strange, Tatyana thought. And how fortunate. That meant that Dimitre had never even met this man. There was a feeling of kismet to her being in this room with him, she realized. How many things had to go exactly right, or in her case exactly wrong, for them to have come to this point, this room, in this very moment? A chill walked up her spine, an excited sensation of anticipation. Fate was playing a very specific hand, and Tatyana had best be paying attention.

  Tatyana had always had an unusual sense of fate and the future. Her instincts had been called uncanny by some. Whether it was ESP or psychic ability or whatever term was preferred, she and Dimitre had learned long ago not to ignore it. For Tatyana, it always seemed to creep up on her in increments, letting itself be known little by little. Her brother was just the opposite. His visions hit with power, sometimes bordering on violence. As a child, he’d been diagnosed as an epileptic. When he’d become older, he had learned that what he experienced wasn’t seizures, even though they mimicked them in outward appearance. Dimitre didn’t ignore his visions, but he had come to despise them. They weakened and embarrassed him, the seizures even threatening his life at times as they attacked his brain.

  Tatyana had dealt wit
h a different sort of difficulty. It had taken experience to learn that not everyone could see things before they happened. She would make offhand observations that then came to pass, or her expression and eyes would be blank for minutes at a time, leaving the real world behind while she dwelled in the past or future in her mind. It had been when the children in school began to call her a witch and a freak that she’d learned to keep silent about certain things, and to filter what she said. It was a habit that, to this very day, she had never quite broken free of. She always censored what she said with extraordinary care. What she thought in her mind very rarely found voice. Only she and Dimitre were fully honest with each other about their ability and visions, as well as everything else.

  She looked at Hunter thoughtfully and wondered how far his open mind and fascination with the differences in people would extend. As an anthropologist actively traveling the world and immersing himself in obscure cultures, surely he’d seen more than his share of odd things. Maybe he’d even met others like Dimitre and herself. She would never think of asking, of course, but it was nice to wonder and imagine just the same. Invariably, when she did confide in the rare outsider, they wanted her to perform some feat as proof. They never understood that hers was an unreliable gift at best, an ironic one at worst. For instance, she hadn’t been given a clue about all that would happen to her tonight. Then again, it was rare for her sight to turn onto herself. It was usually others who benefited.

  Tatyana wondered then if her insight into Hunter was a prelude to something yet to come. The uncanny sharpness of senses and empathy with another sometimes preceded her sight. She was feeling the connection between Hunter and herself keenly even now. She nervously licked her lips, hoping the vision wouldn’t be anything too dramatic or worrisome. She didn’t know these people well enough for her usual tricks of dropping helpful suggestions to be of any use.