Hunted (Riley Cray) Read online

  Snarling, I turned in the direction of the shot to see Tim still slumped against the side of the truck, fumbling to work the bolt on his rifle, tears hanging in his rheumy eyes. A well placed paw left Dale clutching at the ruin of his throat, blood bubbling up between his grasping fingers as he fought for breath that wouldn’t come.

  I stalked towards the older man, letting the sound of each languorous step seep into his brain, ratcheting up his fear until the air was perfumed with it, and I was all but drunk on its intoxicating aroma. The sound of his scream was music to my ears, full of agony and terror. His death was the sweetest, the wide arc of blood splattering down around us like scarlet rain, painting the snow crimson. His scream continued on, echoing amongst the trees as it drifted up to the wide open sky, fading into a bright melodic trill...

  The insistent, high pitched jingle of a phone on the nightstand cut through the silence, rousing me from dark and violent dreams before it fell silent again. Swimming up into consciousness, I drew a deep breath, drawing in the scent of warm molasses and bare skin. The steady thump of Holbrook’s heart was a comforting beat against my ear as I nestled deeper into the crook of his shoulder, seeking out his warmth to chase away the ugly remnants of my dreams.

  Cracking my eyes open, I squinted against the pale early morning light slanting in through the thin curtains. The first few golden tendrils of dawn crept across the other bed before landing on the man sleeping beside me, caressing his bare skin just as I had done the night before. His dark stubble shone red and gold where the sunlight touched him, revealing a small white scar on the underside of his chin.

  The jaunty tune rang out again, demanding attention, and promising nothing good at such an early hour. Finally stirring, Holbrook reached out, lifting the cell phone to his ear.

  “Agent Holbrook,” he answered, not at all sounding as though he had just been awoken from a dead sleep. It was a skill that I was instantly jealous of.

  Rather than listening to whoever was on the other end of the line I burrowed deeper into the curve of his arm, relishing the soft touch of his fingers trailing along my spine. I refused to let the outside world intrude on the small piece of normalcy I had managed to carve out for myself.

  Fate, it seemed, had other ideas.

  I was drifting on the edge of sleep when Holbrook tensed beside me, the sourness of anxiety overriding the sugary scent of his skin. His movements were stiff as he set the phone back on the bedside table with controlled gentleness.

  “Don’t say it,” I whispered.

  “Riley...”

  Dread settled as a cold weight in my stomach, my eyes warming with the threat of tears.

  “How many?”

  He didn’t answer at first, the tremors echoing through the mattress letting me know that he was wearily running a hand over his face.

  “How many?” I asked again.

  “Three,” he answered with a sigh, his voice tinged with remorse, and also something else I had hoped to never hear in his voice. Pity.

  Choking back the bitter anger that flared in my throat at the sound of it I said, “Tell me.” I barely recognized the roughness of my voice.

  “Riley...” The soul-deep weariness in his voice forced my eyes open.

  I sat up and angled my body to face him, giving little thought to my nakedness as the sheets piled in my lap. “Please Darius, I have to know.”

  Sighing, he sat up, scooting back to lean against the headboard, where sunlight angled across his bare chest. The tense muscles in his shoulders flexed as he ran a hand through his hair before slumping in resignation.

  “Three victims. A group of hunters in Rio Grande National Forest,” he said, watching me closely.

  Tears welled heavy and unbidden, stinging my eyes as I fought against the fear smothering the breath in my throat. Instead I focused on the anger that was blooming white hot in my chest.

  “There’s more. Riley, he–”

  “I need to get out,” I said, cutting him off.

  Throwing back the covers I rose from the bed to pace back forth in front of the TV. Loki watched me through slit eyes from his spot on the other bed, his violet eyes tracking my frantic footsteps.

  “I can’t stay here,” I muttered, more to myself than the room’s other occupants. Ignoring my lack of clothes I stalked towards the door.

  “Riley, wait,” he said, rising from the bed and quickly pulling on his Jockeys and jeans. “You can’t leave. It’s not safe.”

  “No, I need to get out. I can’t be here right now,” I panted as tremors rippled through my body. I could feel the wolf already rising, my anger and fear fueling her need to run free.

  “Don’t,” Holbrook pleaded, the sudden vulnerability in his voice making me pause with my hand on the door handle.

  Unable to meet his eyes I could only whisper, “I’m sorry.”

  Yanking the door open, I was momentarily blinded by the bright morning sun, and then I was running, the cold air rushing over me, whipping against my bare skin as the change came on, fast and full of ecstasy. I heard the sound of Holbrook’s bare feet slapping on the sidewalk as he tried to chase me, tried to draw me back to the safety of the room, but it was too late. The wolf was emerging, and she wasn’t going to be pushed down again.

  I was fully wolf when I hit the edge of the forest behind our chalet, slipping into the shadows with ease. It wasn’t my forest, but the tangle of scents that filled my nose were familiar and comforting. The sweetness of pine surrounded me, overlaying the crisp scent of fresh snow and a clear, cloudless sky. Beneath it all was the dark, musty scent of damp earth and rotting leaves, and deeper still the mouthwatering aroma of small furry bodies filled with blood that would pulse hot and coppery against my tongue.

  My paws flew over the ground, kicking up snow and dirt, as I moved through the trees in a flash of fur, letting the wolf override everything, pushing away my fear and fury. The wolf wanted to hunt, but I just wanted to run, to have the ground slide by beneath my feet. I cut through the trees, moving over rocks and downed trees as if they didn’t exist, the wolf’s acute senses letting me fly.

  I ran until the sounds of civilization were just a memory, until the stink of humanity no longer invaded my nose, and the worries of my human life had been stripped away by the cool wind rippling through my fur.

  When I came to a stop, my heart was hammering in my chest, and my heaving breaths curling on the air. Lifting my nose to the sky, I closed my eyes, letting the sounds and the scents of the forest surround me. They flowed over and through me as if I were as much a piece of the land as the rocks and trees that stood as silent sentinels.

  I caught a scent, first as a faint whisper on the breeze, growing stronger as I focused on it. It was the scent of living flesh, hot blood flowing beneath warm fur, a strong heart beating with vitality. The smell of deer flooded my mouth with saliva, stirring my need to hunt. Hunger burned through me, savage and fierce, clawing at my gut, fueling my muscles into motion.

  I moved through the trees, the silent ghost of death, closing in on my prey. By the time the poor beast realized that its death was looming, it was too late.

  My jaws snapped shut like a steel trap, closing over the pulsing thump of the deer’s heartbeat in its broad neck. Corded muscles moved against my teeth and tongue, flexing with frantic spasms. The weight of my body crashed into the deer, my momentum taking us both down to the frozen ground where it kicked and thrashed in a futile attempt to dislodge me. The creature’s breath whistled desperately beneath the crushing force of my jaws.

  The thrill of the deer struggling beneath me was almost orgasmic, my heart pounding faster, harder, until it felt like it might explode in my chest. And then it went still, its legs ceasing their desperate kicks as its heart beat one last time.

  Releasing my hold I stepped back to regard my kill, red mingling with the dirt and snow churned up by the deer’s fearful kicks. Somewhere deep inside the human part of me lamented the poor animal’s death and admired
its majestic beauty. The wolf, however, simply wanted to revel in its victory and sate its hunger.

  I tore into the belly of the deer with unbridled hunger, hot juices covering my snout, filling my mouth with the nectar of life. I lapped voraciously at the fount of blood, slaking my thirst on the deer’s life force. All thought of my human life was gone as I feasted on hot wet flesh, gorging myself on all that the deer had to offer. As always, the human part of me was disgusted by the act of devouring a fresh kill, the meat still hot and juicy between my rending teeth, but the wolf reveled in it.

  Once my hunger was sated I found a dark hollow beneath a downed tree, its overhang sheltering a nest of leaves from the elements. Crawling into the small space I curled up, tucking my nose underneath my tail, and let the excitement of the hunt fade away. Bone deep weariness crept over me, drawing me down into the darkness of the wolf’s dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE SHADOWS WERE lengthening and fading to blue when I awoke in the hollow of the fallen tree, my nose tucked beneath the end of my tail. Overhead, the birds were settling into the trees to roost for the night, while below, the various warm-bodied rodents of the forest were nestling into their burrows beneath the frozen ground. The memory of the hunt lingered in my limbs, filling them with a heavy weariness that was almost comforting.

  I shook off the light layer of snow that had settled on my fur as I emerged from the hollow of the tree, tasting dried blood on my snout when I licked my lips. Moving soundlessly through the trees and undergrowth I made my way back towards the spot where I had left the remnants of my kill, the wolf craving more of the deer’s flesh before we gave in and returned to civilization.

  I didn’t sense anything amiss as I tracked my spicy scent back through the trees, but as I got closer a sense of wrongness enveloped me, turning the scents of the forest sour. It took a moment for me to notice the absence of sound, the usual constant hum of creatures rustling and scrabbling gone, smothered by silence. Something was off and every instinct in my body told me to turn back. My curiosity urged me forward, but the wolf resisted, wresting control of our limbs from me, dancing away from the clearing where I had left the deer. We would find nothing good there.

  Relenting, I turned away, and slinking through the gathering shadows made my way back to the motel. All the while I tried to ignore the feeling of wrongness lingering in the back of my mind. It was fully dark by the time I neared the motel, the low hum of traffic on Highway 9 drifting to me on the wind.

  I could smell Holbrook's tension and Johnson's anger before the back of the motel came into view, but their scents were muddled, buried beneath the smells from the hive of activity that our little hideaway had become. The air was layered with the warm rubber stink of hot engines, the electrical sizzle of dozens of bulbs burning away the darkness, the bitter bite of cheap coffee, and the mingled perfumes and colognes of at least a dozen people. Beneath it all, buried almost too deep beneath the overwhelming flood of a hundred different smells, was one I knew all too well – the rich, coppery scent of blood.

  Something was happening in a big way, and I doubted it was anything good.

  Creeping along the back of the building, I crouched in the shadows to peer out over the parking lot and felt my heart sink. Red and blue lights danced in my eyes, blurring with the bright lights of news cameras to form a dizzying kaleidoscope of light. In the center of the crowd was a face that pulled a bubbling growl from the back of my throat.

  Jessica Chrismer.

  She was perfectly polished and styled, the artfully applied makeup and coiffed blonde hair hiding the truth of what she really was. She was cold, cruel, and merciless when it came to getting the story she wanted. She had a talent for making the victim feel like the perpetrator, and had made my life an absolute misery throughout Samson’s trial. The fact that she was a Day Servant, a vampire’s daytime guardian and errand-girl, didn’t help inspire warm, fuzzy feelings towards her either. That she was there didn’t bode well, and dread crept into my veins, chilling me more than the freezing wind.

  As I remained hidden in shadow, watching the crowd, I saw her stiffen almost imperceptibly. The set of her shoulders hardened and her eyes narrowed. Giving her head a seemingly casual toss, she surveyed her surroundings with a sharp gaze, the blazing lights flashing silver in her eyes as she pulled on the strength of her vampire master granted through their bond.

  The bond that existed between their souls and minds lent her the strength and perception of her master, but I didn’t think that outweighed the creep factor of having someone else living in your head. Why anyone would want to have their soul, their life essence, bound to that of a walking corpse, I’d never been able to figure out. My grandmother had always said “to each their own,” but I don’t think that sentiment had extended to the undead and their daytime watchers.

  Chrismer’s gaze inched closer to my hiding spot before eventually sliding away. She had sensed my presence, but thankfully wasn’t able to pinpoint my location.

  I waited until her searching gaze moved in the opposite direction before quietly slipping back from the corner and circling around to the back of the building, all the while cursing my craptastic luck.

  Shit. What is that undead cock-holster doing here?

  Pacing back and forth in a tight circle I huffed in frustration, my breath curling into the sky in a plume of shimmering mist. Watching its ascent I felt a flicker of hope as I spied the small bathroom window on the wall. It wasn’t very big, but the thought of trying to wedge myself through the small opening was a lot more appealing than facing the media frenzy out front.

  Crouching low to the ground, I closed my eyes and focused on making the shift back to human form, gritting my teeth against the pain. Shifting from wolf to human always seemed to be comprised of less pleasure and more pain as if the wolf didn’t want to be pushed back down and fought against the change just enough to make it unpleasant. Changing under duress didn’t help make the transition any smoother.

  Biting down on my tongue to keep from crying out, my mouth was filled with the familiar sweetness of blood before all conscious thought fled. I hovered somewhere in the ether, in the crystalline moment between wolf and human, some horrifying mix of woman and beast.

  A bone rattling shudder rippled through me as I shook off the last traces of the wolf, and immediately cursed the absence of fur as the wind rained dozens of tiny icy shards down on me from the roof, each one stinging my skin like tiny biting insects. Goose bumps rose along the length of my arms and my thighs, my knees shaking as much from the cold as from the last tremors of the change.

  Glancing around, I found a broken tree branch that looked like it might be sturdy enough to use as a pry bar on the window. Armed with my make-shift crow bar, I paused beneath the unlit window, funneling all of my focus down to my hearing, listening for any sounds within the room. After hearing nothing for the count of ten, I reached up on my tiptoes and wedged the end of the stick into the window frame.

  My heart lurched at the sharp sound of groaning metal, the noise seeming to ring out in the darkness like a bullhorn. When no one shouted an alarm, or came running around the building with an arsenal of guns pointed at my head, I figured that the sound had gone unnoticed and I was safe to proceed with my first foray into breaking and entering.

  Biting my lip, because that totally helps with concentration, I wiggled the stick back and forth, trying to lever the small pane of frosted glass out of its metal housing. A second later the glass popped out of the frame so easily I almost didn’t catch it before it hit the ground.

  Wow, it’s oh-so reassuring to know we’ve got such foolproof security measures in place, I thought with a scowl as I set the window pane aside, leaning it against the wall.

  Tossing my handy crow bar away into the darkness, I backed up a couple steps and took a running jump at the window, my bare feet scraping against the rough stucco finish of the wall as I scrambled up to the window. Being a werewolf may make
me stronger, faster, and all that other cool shit, but it doesn’t, unfortunately, compensate for my lack of athletic prowess or short stature. Thankfully I managed to get enough height in my jump to hook my fingers over the edge of the window frame.

  I was part way through the window when I realized that I might have made a slight miscalculation between the relative size of my ass compared to that of the window. The desire to scream a litany of curses was a bitter and cloying taste on the back of my tongue.

  “Fucking shit fuck ass-wrangler!” I hissed, cursing my stupidity as I hung half in and half out of the small bathroom window, my naked ass wiggling helplessly in the cold air. At least from my vantage point I saw that the bathroom door was shut, hopefully keeping my verbal explosion to myself.

  Knowing my luck, this will be when Samson attacks, killing me ass first, I told myself and then instantly wished I hadn’t as a freezing wind blew across my bare cheeks and sent tremors of paranoia galloping up my spine.

  “Shit, shit, shit!” I wriggled with more enthusiasm, determined to squeeze my hips through the cheap metal frame.

  Sweet Jesus, if I make it through this, I swear I’ll lay off the donuts, I thought, desperately sucking in my gut. And the Oreo’s, the wolf added, her lips spread in a wide doggy grin.

  “Can it, bitch,” I huffed, almost whooping in relief when I felt the flimsy metal of the window frame give just enough for me to squeeze through. Before I could cry out in exultant joy I heard voices from the other room and went still.

  “Did you hear something?” Holbrook asked, his voice muffled by the closed door.

  “What?” Johnson replied, his voice sounding impatient and tinged with all-around grumpy asshole-ness that I was beginning to believe was a permanent state of being for the older agent.