isn’t my only talent,” he murmured. “First rule of the hunt, sweetheart. Always make sure the prey doesn’t know all your ammo. Especially that nifty little trick of lassoing your consciousness.”
Lifting her into his arms, he cradled her tight to his chest. He’d dump her at the Society’s headquarters, collect his bounty and leave. Grayson pushed aside regret. Samantha was no longer his concern.
Much better this way. For all concerned parties.
Three hours later, Grayson was in Denver Colorado, staring across the gleaming mahogany desk at Anderson Stamos, director for The Society for the Elimination of Malevolent Magick. “You’re b.s.ing me.”
Anderson smoothed back his hair between the two green horns sprouting from his head. “Never. Your new assignment is to mate Samantha and absorb her evil powers. Lucien Marcello has already turned her older sister, Mara. Daimon Nelson has been assigned to the youngest triplet. You’re the only other powerful Ancient who can tame her before she turns demon. I’m counting on you to handle her.”
“Handle her? I already did.” Sweat trickled down his spine, pooled in the waistband of his faded jeans. “I don’t need a mate.”
Not with his past. And not with her.
“Samantha has a capacity for good. Her white light was diminished when her demon emerged, but it remains.” Anderson’s eyes darkened, and he steepled his fingers. “She nearly killed an innocent last week, the assistant to a Hunter. Fortunately, the woman was a Fae and healed. But Samantha sawed at her wings until the woman told her Jerome Cabot was last seen in Colorado.”
Grayson went still. His palms became cold and clammy. “Jerome Cabot?”
Anderson nodded, shuffled through a file folder. “The Hunter who killed her parents. She’s vowed to kill him.”
Swearing, he stood, slapping his hat against one thigh. “I’m not taking this assignment.”
“And I was told duty and loyalty to the Society was everything to you, Grayson.” The man sighed. “If you don’t help her, I might as well issue the kill order. We’ve already implanted the thermal detonator inside her, set to go off tomorrow.”
“No!”
His heart kicked hard as he thought of those blue eyes widening as the other Hunters gave chase, ready to rip her to shreds. She would die slowly, painfully.
The director leaned forward, his mouth a tight slash. “Samantha is more dangerous than her sisters right now. She’s already unleashed her demon and nearly killed. Each day her dark powers grow stronger. The Fae she attacked reported that Samantha has venom in her talons that causes excruciating pain. She didn’t have this particular…talent…before the Fae was attacked. We honestly do believe she doesn’t want to hurt others, but acts out of rage and fear.”
Grayson’s heart constricted. “And what if she did enjoy torturing the Fae?”
“You know the answer. A legion of Hunters would be unleashed to destroy her. So, will you accept this assignment?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I take that as a yes?”
Grayson gritted his teeth. “Gods damn it, yes, you horned bastard.”
“I thought so.” Emotion shadowed the director’s face. “Be careful, Grayson. You’re the best Hunter we have, and she’s more than crossed the line. I’d hate to see you hurt.”
“I’m an Ancient. Nothing can dent my tough hide, remember?”
“I wasn’t talking about your hide,” Anderson murmured.
The door slammed behind him so hard, it fell off the hinges. Several office workers looked up, saw his scowl, and bent their heads over their computers. He could smell their fear. He was used to it, just as he’d accustomed himself to being alone. Used to not giving a damn about anyone.
No one ever got inside him. Samantha could never tunnel past his soul into his well-guarded heart.
But gods help him if she found out his dirty little secret.
Then he’d become the hunted, not the hunter.
Chapter Two
The foggy haze slowly lifted as she blinked hard. Willing herself to waken, Samantha fought to claw out of the darkness. The surface beneath her was soft. She was indoors, but where? The acrid tang of smoke teased her senses, along with a masculine scent of leather, horses and wild pine.
And the distinct smell of werewolf.
Not in Kansas anymore, she thought, but damn if there was a Toto around.
Remembering the hardness of the shifter who’d captured her, she kept her eyes shut. Best to pretend unconsciousness until she could assess the threat.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” a deep voice drawled. “Time to kiss the prince.”
Her eyes remained shut.
“If you don’t wake up, you’ll force me to kiss you.” He sounded amused. “And it won’t be PG-rated.”
Samantha opened her eyes, struggled to sit up. Surprised at the lack of restraints, she whipped her head around. She was on a four-poster in an oak-paneled bedroom bigger than her apartment. A fire crackled on a stone hearth while a cold wind shrieked outside.
Wherever she was, a storm brewed. Judging from her internal clock, it was night.
A werewolf sat in the rocking chair before the fire. Not any wolf, but the bastard Hunter who’d captured her.
The worn boots, red-and-black checked shirt and faded jeans gave him a rugged, outdoorsy look. His dark hair was clipped short, but fell in a rebellious wave over his forehead. His gray eyes were sharp and assessing. With the hard edge of his jaw, the blunt cheekbones and straight nose, he would have been remarkably handsome.
Except for the cruel slash of a silver scar that ran from his left temple down his cheek, curving the edge of his mouth upward.
Beneath her intense scrutiny, his expression went blank.
“Finally got a good look at my face? Get used to it. You’ll be staring at it for a long time.”
Samantha pushed back the blanket, swung her legs over the bed’s side. Ignoring him, she reached down for her worn boots. Fear fluttered at the edges of her mind, but she pushed it aside. Had to save her powers and her strength.
“Going somewhere? And we barely know each other. I can be quite a welcoming host, when given the chance.”
The old leather boots had shrunk in the wetness. Samantha struggled to tug on her footwear, hiding a wince as they made contact with blisters. Three weeks on the road, little money, lots of walking.
“I really hate it when women run out on me,” the wolf continued. “We should at least talk. Don’t you enjoy a little chitchat after sex?”
Horror
