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 pulsed through her. Dropping a lace, she swiveled. “You did not have sex with me while I was unconscious.”
He gave her a steady look. “Did I?”
Drawing on her waning powers, she examined flashes of the past. Images sailed by like a slide show. He’d taken her here (where?) removed her boots and let her sleep. Nothing more.
“What a lying tongue you have, wolf.”
“The better to eat you with, my dear.” He flashed a cocky grin, made lopsided by the scar. The smile disarmed her. It was a charming smile that gave her heart a little tug, made it beat faster.
But experience had taught Samantha that men were all the same. They just wanted one thing, like the cowboy and the werewolf shifters in the bar. She wanted one thing, too, and it had nothing to do with getting naked.
Then he stalked into another room. When he returned, he clutched a big bowl. Tendrils of steam curled upwards. Her stomach grumbled.
The wolf set it down on a tray and brought it to her side. “It’s not poison. Just homemade venison stew.”
“I don’t eat meat.”
He raised one finely arched brow. “I’ve never heard of a demon who wasn’t a carnivore. You will eat this. Your body needs the protein.”
“Screw you.”
That slow, sexy grin glided over his face again. “In good time, sweetheart. We will be lovers, but first, you need your strength. I can be very … demanding.”
“I’m not a demon.” Feeling woozy and out of her element, she dug into the stew. Forget pride. Four days with little food stripped her of energy. Once she regained her strength, her powers would return.
“A Darklighter. There’s enough demon in you to call out a contract for your pretty little hide.”
Fear rippled through her. Samantha set down the spoon, wiping her mouth with the paper napkin as she sought to disguise her emotions. The venison was delicious, but she had no appetite.
“I can sense your fear. It smells like old ashes.” He returned to the rocking chair and sighed. “Eat your stew. I won’t harm you.”
“No, you’ll leave me for others in the Society to kill.” Her stomach knotted as she remembered what happened to those deemed malevolent.
Eating poisoned stew would be a merciful death.
“You’re not going to die.”
“Taking me in for the bounty?” She frowned, studying the cabin. It made no sense. Hunters always returned their quarry to lockup first, collected their pay and left.
Or dumped the bodies at the Society…
“I’ve been given a different assignment.”