Darkness already claims the shadows. Isn’t
Alaska wonderful? I wasn’t meant for these harsh
winters and dark days. If there is a god in heaven,
he (or she) didn’t create me for this icy hell.
I deserve sunshine and warmth.
If I have to kill everything in my way, I will.
Kill. Yesss.
No, not kill. I don’t want to kill anyone. Well,
maybe Cyndi.
The alley is empty. No doors or windows.
Nothing but three blank walls, the bitter cold air
whistling in my ears, the damned snow that never
ends,
and the voices whispering
whispering
always whispering.
A hundred times I decided not to do this, but
each time, the voices clamored louder. They won’t
leave me alone.
With a sigh, I rotate slowly in a circle, searching
for the entrance to Brogg’s Bar. There’s nothing
here. Three brick walls, dumpsters, wooden crates,
and snow, but no doors, no neon signs, no drunk
patrons stumbling out the door. Nothing.
If I’m going to have illusions—voices whispering
in my head, talking cats trying to sell me curses,
love potions—the least I could do is create an
imaginary bar.
Chapter 10
~ HUNTER ~
Whiskey burns on the way down. The pain
reminds me I’m alive. I stare at the empty bottle,
my reflection glares back accusingly. Rage flares in
me; I want to smash the bottle. Instead, I gently
place it back on the table. Dammit, I can already
feel the buzz receding.
The infernal druids, with their rune tattoos and
their peace symbols tied around their necks, party
in front of the stage. I can smell the traces of fae
blood flowing through their human veins. Their
ancestry gives them an affinity to nature.
I wish they’d take their celebration of mead and
nature someplace else.
Riley moves deftly from table to table, bringing
drinks, bending over to show a little cleavage as she
scoops up her gold coins, smiling as she swipes
their empty bottles and replaces them with full
ones. One man tries to grab her ass, but she ducks
out of reach with a small smile.
“Nuh-uh,” she says, “you know the rules, Brenn.
No touching.”
Every time I see this girl, she wears a different
face, size, race, gender, but I always know it’s her
because she smells like nothing but magic and clay.
She reminds of the Siren trapped in her cage. No
matter how much she smiles or how she changes
her appearance, her eyes are always filled with
longing. I wonder if she wishes she were real.
“Barkeep!” I hold up the bottle.
“You know the rules, Hunter. Pay first.” The scar
on the ogre’s right cheek turns his mouth into a
grimace.
I dig out a gold coin and flip it onto the bar. It
spins for a moment before rattling to a stop. I’d
already spent most of the gold Jezebarra had paid
me. Most of it tracking down the circus, the ticket,
the gadgets ...
I’ll need most of the remaining gold to raid her
lair and take those swords. I’m not certain it’s
worth the effort, but if I let this insult go
unchallenged, word will get around. Jezebarra
needs to be made an example of. No one betrays
me and gets away with it.
But I need some more money to go after her.
Jasper’s equipment is not cheap, and although he
owes me for screwing up on the coin and for selling
me the crappy shield. The kind of equipment I have
in mind he probably doesn’t have the talent for, but
I don’t know how much Spyder would charge.
“I have a name.” Brogg sets an open whiskey
bottle in front of me and scoops up the coin with
his long sausage-like fingers. His bulky frame fills
the space behind the bar, but somehow he moves
without knocking over the glasses and bottles lining
the shelves. Surprisingly graceful for a half-ogre.
Tattoos and scars crisscross his bark-like, olive-
moss sprouting over the damp earth.
“Whatever you say, barkeep.” I take another
swig. Sighing, I close my eyes as the numbness
spreads back through my body.
As usual, my thoughts return to her. I can still
hear her voice, rich and warm. My Sammi, my wife.
Her soft gray fur beneath my paw. Her wing
stretched over me at night. The curve of her hip,
her soft breasts pressed against me, and that
sweet, warm spot between her legs. The way she
nuzzled me, how she moved against me in the dark
of night.
I can still smell her blood dripping from the
walls, her naked, broken body spread out on the
bed I had built for our first anniversary. Her dead
eyes stare at me through the refracted glass.
The stench of her terror clung to her body, and I
memorized the stink of the semen burning my
nostrils. Ten soldiers to molest one lone woman. If I
ever meet them, I will tear their hearts from their
bodies and eat them. I will rip their guts out and
strew them across Drakon.
My fault, I should have been there. Husband.
Father. Failure. I didn’t protect them.
I take another numbing swig of whiskey, but it
doesn’t drown out the pain.
I wasn’t there to save her.
I should have known he would do something like
this. The murdering, backstabbing, whoreson is
guilty of fratricide. What’s a little rape and murder
to someone like that?
I should have taken the family and ran when I
knew he wanted me for a job. But where could I go
to hide from the Dragon Emperor? Usurper or not,
he still has the full backing of the Allied council.
When I turned the job down, he didn’t get upset, or
so it seemed.
He said in a mild voice “I understand your
concerns. I’m sorry we couldn’t come to a mutual
agreement.”
The sick bastard shook my hand and everything.
I stayed close to the house for a week afterward,
just in case he wasn’t as understanding as he
seemed. One does not thwart the will of a dragon
mildly. He waited two months.
I remember seeing them before setting out to
hunt that last summer morning, Lissie fighting with
Blaze over breakfast. If I’d only known it would be
the last time I would see them…
His Royal Highness wanted me to know who did
this to them. Their room was scorched, one wall
ripped out—the obvious signs of a dragon attack.
The only things left of them were bloody scraps of
her dress and his foot.
The sound of shattering glass draws me back to
the present. Blood on my hand—how did that get
there?
“Dammit, Hunter that’s it. You’re out of here.”
Brogg crosses the room toward me.
I look around the bar. The druids have left. The
musicians are packing up. Riley’s counting her tips
for the night.
I watch my hand as it heals up, the glass pushing
out as the wounds seal. How many times did she
heal up before he was done playing with her? Did
he make his guards watch? Did they join in? How
often did you need to cut a chimera to make them
bleed that much?
“But I’m finally numb feelin’ nothing.”
“You can’t even speak straight. Get a real meal
before you come back, and get some sleep.” Same
height as me but nearly twice as wide, Brogg seizes
by the scruff of my neck in one hand as if I weigh
nothing.
“And watch the arm. I just healed it this
morning. One more swig?” The relief from my pain
won’t last long.
He tosses me out the front door. “And don’t
come back until you’re sober.”
Chapter 11
~ ANGELINA ~
Rotating once more, I take in the empty alley—
nothing here except bare walls and trash. I turn to
leave. Hey, at least I tried. The voices should be
satisfied with that, right?
Something creaks behind me, and a voice yells,
“And don’t come back until you’re sober!”
I whip around to see a man flying out of a door,
crashing into the opposite wall. A door that hadn’t
been there a moment ago.
Tall, grizzly beard, he reminds me of Hagrid.
Except his eyes aren’t kind and gentle. He slips on a
patch of ice and stumbles back to his knees on the
cement floor.
A pang of sympathy rings through my heart. I
used to look down on some of the lushes on the
cheerleading squad. Now I longed to get drunk, if it
would only drown out the voices for a few
moments.
“Hey, mister, are you all right?”
“Go away, kid. I’m fine,” he slurs.
“No, you’re not. But you will be. Let me help you
up.” I reach out a hand, and he grabs my arm
halfway to my elbow. Pulling himself up, he almost
yanks me off my feet. My arm still in his grasp, he
looms over me, drawing in a deep breath like
someone sniffing flowers. I turn my face away from
the stench of him—alcohol, sweat, and old
cigarettes—and try not to vomit. How can he smell
anything over his own body odor?
His hand still clamped to my forearm, he leers
down at me. My head doesn’t even come to his
shoulder, and his massive chest is wide enough for
three of me.
I take a tentative step back, but he drags me
closer.
“Darling, is that you? You smell divine. Are you
my guardian angel now?” He looks at me, really
studying me. His eyes are amber, flecked with
golden flames.
“No. I’m just a girl.” A nervous laugh escapes my
throat. Is he going to let go of me? What was I
thinking? Let’s help the poor, defenseless, drunken
mountain of a man.
“I could just eat you up.” He licks his lips. He
sniffs again and stiffens. No longer slurring, he now
stands without wobbling. His grip tightens on my
arm, his hands trembling. “Who are you? Who are
you working for? Where is the bracelet? Did he
send you?”
“I—um—” I glance around the alley, wondering
if I can find a way to escape. His emotions—desire,
rage, agony, distrust, and loneliness–hammer at me
in rapid succession, making me sag in his grip.
“Please—you’re hurting me—”
He growls and pushes me away; I stumble and
have to reach out to the grimy wall to keep from
falling over. He leans against the other wall his back
to me, breathing like he had been running.
“I—I’m looking for—for the Hunter. An old
woman in a bookshop told me I could find him
here. Is he—is he inside?”
“What would you need with that bastard?” He
turns to look at me, his amber eyes narrowing.
“That’s none of your business.” I lift my chin and
glare at him, letting my voice go steely the way my
sister’s does when she gets stubborn. It might have
sounded more convincing if it hadn’t come out as a
panicked squeak at the end.
“True enough.” But he makes no move to
answer my question. Leaning his head back down,
he continues to stare at the wall. “Better be careful,
working with the Hunter. His prices are steep, and
if you can’t pay, he’ll find other ways for you to get
it from you.”
I shudder, but crossing my arms, I lift my chin
higher. “I can decide for myself.”
“Then wait here and I will fetch him.” Pushing
off the wall, he removes his Stetson, his long coat,
made of fur patches, billows around him in the
wind. His image shimmers, changing and warping,
as if I’m seeing it through the bottom of a thick
glass mug.
Fur spreads across his body and over his face;
his nose lengthens into a snout. Then stands before
me is a wolf, with back haunches ending in bird
legs, arms folded across his chest like a human
would. White wings, specked with brown feathers,
stretch wide from his back like an angels. I can’t
help myself; I reach out and touch the velvet of his
feathers. The wing twitches.
“What are you?” I gasp.
“Dangerous.” He snarls, and his white teeth,
long and sharp, glisten in the streetlight.
“You’re the Hunter?”
He nods briefly, then leans forward, closes his
eyes, and inhales deeply. “You smell like heaven.”
Taking a step back, I cross my arms protectively
across my chest. “I thought you were drunk.”
“I was. Fast metabolism.”
“I—I want to hire you.”
“My fees aren’t cheap. And if you try to stiff me,
I will hunt you down.” Now seven feet tall, he
towers over me—a mountain leering down at me.
He’s naked, save for a feather piercing his pointed
ear, a twisted band around his neck, and a loincloth
barely covering … other parts.
I quickly look away, more than a little disturbed.
“Fine.”
“What do you want tracked down?”
“A siren. I want to kidnap a siren.”
He tilts his head lifting a furry eyebrow. “A
sweet, little vanilla mortal like you, kidnapping a
siren? What kind of trouble are you stirring up,
angel?”
I grit my teeth.
“There are only three sirens in this world.
Something that rare isn’t going to be cheap, say ten
grand.” The way his eyes flash golden makes me
take another step back; a chill runs through me. I
feel like a mouse staring into the eyes of a cat.
I swallow back the lump of fear in my throat.
“Ten-thousand dollars? How am I suppose
d to
come up with that kind of money?”
“Not my problem, princess. You figure it out,
you know where to find me.” He steps in close,
backing me into the wall. His muzzle turns to my
throat. Is he going to rip it out?
I can feel his breath on my skin. My knees feel
weak. He sniffs at my neck like a dog. A great big,
scary dog.
“And now I know how to find you. Take care,
sweet thing.” He turns back to the bar and I run.
Chapter 12
~ HUNTER ~
I sneer at my reflection, loathing everything
about myself. My teeth are sharp, ready to tear
into my prey, and yet I can’t sink them into the one
who deserves to be torn apart. An army stands
between me and him, and I’d be dead before I get
close enough.
What is wrong with me? Why did I go after that
little human in the alley? Why did she smell of fae
and half-dragon? Too faint for it to be her blood,
but strong enough to be a recent encounter.
So many questions. It’s just been soooo long,
and she smelled so much like my Sammi. Cinnamon
and sugar, and the musky scent of her sex. If I
hadn’t caught scent of the bracelet on her, who
knows what would have happened. It was all I
could do not to take her right there.
The mirror sneers back at me. I’m no better than
that abomination sitting on the throne. I almost
raped her.
No.
I’m not like them.
The mirror explodes into a thousand pieces—a
thousand eyes all accusing me. I hate myself.
I’m glad Sammi can’t see what I’ve become.
She’s the one who convinced me not to use my
talents to track down people for the Emperor. Said
it would be immoral to hunt sentient creatures for
money. She believed I was a better man than that; I
guess she was wrong.
For her, I refused the Emperor’s gold. She died
for that choice and yet here I am, a bounty hunter,
doing what the Emperor wanted me to do after all.
That bastard always seems to get his way in the
end, one way or another.
I should have been home that day, rather than
out hunting. When Sammi needed me most, I
wasn’t there. Worse, we had argued that morning.
She wanted me to stay, saying she had a bad
feeling about the hunt, that I would be hurt. But