Huntbound (Moonfate Serial Book 2) (7 page)

I shake my head, trying to dislodge a curl that’s blown over my face from the breeze sneaking in through the cracked window. Orion got in trouble with the law — that much wasn’t hard to believe. But how did he go from being in trouble with the law to becoming it? His story doesn’t gel with my experience with the FBSI, either. The agents who came to my house had all worn suits, stiff expressions, and seemed to regurgitate the same ‘classified’ speech anytime they opened their mouths, like mass-manufactured animatronic robots.

I glance over at Orion and uncross my arms. The wind is tousling his hair back too, revealing the strong line of his jaw. I can’t look away from him. Not because he’s not wearing a shirt, although his toned body doesn’t hurt, but because every time I look at him I see something new. One moment he’s a monster, the next a man hurt by his father, by me. He’s like one of those pictures where when you turn it upside down it becomes something else entirely.

And none of that fits with this car.

“Why do you drive a Camry?”

“Being unseen is just as important to a hunter as being fast. Sometimes even more important. Fancy means visible. And I had Stephania add some modifications to this one.”

“Okay, well… Don’t you need to wear a uniform or something?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’m supposed to, yes. Black suit. But I wasn’t on duty when I was looking for you last night.”

In the light of late afternoon, last night feels almost as unreal as the dream. Here we are, sitting in a car having a causal conversation. It’s almost like he never pushed me up against a wall and made me scream that I was his. It’s almost like I never wanted him to.

“My turn to ask questions now, I think,” he says darkly.

Almost.

Chapter Eleven

My mouth goes dry. In the last twenty minutes or so we’ve hopped onto the highway, and the suburbs have been supplanted by wide-open fields and an endless gray sky. Not that I can see much of that. We’re hurtling along at a 90 mile an hour blur, and it’s all I can do not to push open the door and throw myself out of the car.

Orion’s touch I can take. His sympathy, I can appreciate. But him learning about me? Knowing my secrets? They’re the only shields I have against other people. And no matter how compelling Orion’s mysterious beauty may be, he is definitely an
other
.

Orion raps his fingers on the back of my neck the same way I did on the dashboard. It sends a thrill of arousal through me and is a reminder. He owns this body.
My
body. Or at least he thinks he does.

“What…” He trails off. “Hmm, so many choices, Little Mate.”

I glare at him.

He smiles, clearly reveling in the suspense.

What an annoying, arrogant bastard. So why am I biting back a smile?

“What is your favorite color?”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Really?”

He gives gas to the accelerator, sending me slamming back into the seat. Those are some modifications.

“I could start with something else if you’d like,” Orion says.

“No. Color is fine.”

“Good,” he says.

I’m beginning to get the sense that he didn’t gun the engine because of my incredulity, but something else. His eyes are glued to the road now, and his other hand retreats from my neck to grip the wheel.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing immediate. Answer the question.”

I sit up; the seatbelt bites against my skin as I survey the road. But with my puny human senses I don’t see anything weird. So after a moment, I say, “Black.”

He snorts. “Of course.”

“What?”

“You wore all black the first time I caught you, and you’ve barely decorated your house. Do you always look like you’re going to a funeral?”

I stiffen at the word
funeral
, because of all the hidden threads of subtext that link to that one ceremony. I’ve never thought it of it like that. Even though my favorite color changed after my parents’ death, I’ve always thought it was just because I was growing up and black seemed sophisticated. Looking at it his way, I’ve been in one long bout of mourning.

“Your turn again, Little Mate,” Orion says softly. “If you make it a good one, maybe I’ll sate your desire tonight.”

Just as I’m about to say something, about how I’m not his mate, how this will all end when we find Lawrence, or perhaps spit out the truth that werebeasts killed my parents, I risk a glance toward him out of the corner of my eye. To my surprise Orion’s not smirking knowingly, or worse looking at me with that kindly, contrived brand of pity most people reserve for a grown-up orphan girl. No. He’s hunched over the wheel, knuckles snow-white.

My stomach sinks, all my petty fears crystallizing into a single urgent anxiety. Lawrence.

“What’s going on?” Again I look forward, but there’s nothing there that I can see. Although that may be because we’re going even faster now. The arrow on the speedometer trembles around 95.

“Lean back,” Orion commands.

Before I can obey he’s gunned the engine and I’m plastered back against the seat from the G-force. “What the hell?”

“I’ve spotted them.”

“I don’t see anything.” I fight against the seatbelt, trying to peer beyond the horizon, but I can’t. The whole dashboard is starting to shake now and the speedometer is pushing 120.

“Orion!”

He only guns it harder, speeds around a rickety old station wagon so tightly that I swear we almost snap off their rear view mirror. “We’re getting close.”

But then I see it. A couple of exits ahead, just where the highway starts to curve into a more forested area, a large white van is weaving around traffic at close to the same speed as us. That must be them.

I press my foot against the floor of the car, as if pressing on an imaginary brake will slow us, but then I let up. I think of Lawrence. Lawrence is in that van. Who knows what they’ve done to him already?

“Hold on,” says Orion as he darts around a minivan, getting dangerously close to the divider.

I grit my teeth. While we were gaining on the white van, they must have noticed us. We’re not exactly inconspicuous. I guess they have sped up, because we’re not overtaking them yet, but it’s hard to tell with everything moving so fast.

The car jolts as we hit a pothole.

Damn.

I’m going to die out here. I just know it. I close my eyes, waiting for the eventual impact or for the car to give out.

“Artemis.”

Orion’s voice startles me, but I keep my eyes closed.

“Artemis!”

“What?”

“I need you to open your eyes for me.”

“Why?”

“This is not the time to argue.”

My eyes fly open. My breathing is heavy, my heart still galloping in my chest. But only for a moment. The trembling in the car has calmed, and now the speedometer sits at seventy. All that and traffic’s thinned out, leaving us with a straight shot to the van.

“I need you to look behind us and tell me what you see.”

“Behind us? But—” The words die in my mouth the moment I look in the rearview mirror. There, shooting down the freeway like an ebony bullet, is a motorcycle, and much like we were, it’s dodging around the station wagon and then the mini-van. Heading straight towards us.

“M-motorcycle,” I splutter out. “There’s a motorcycle following us.”

But before Orion can respond I notice something else. The white van is slowing down. “Orion, look!” Oh fuck — soon we’ll be right up against them, and the motorcycle at the same time. How are we going to handle both of them, let alone save Lawrence?

“I’m going to get my gun.” With my other hand I pop open the glove compartment just as Orion decelerates. The gun comes flying out of the compartment and into my lap.
Please say I left the safety on.

When after a second it doesn’t discharge, I feel sure that I did. Thank God. Its cool metal vibrates against my leg from the force of our speed. Or maybe that’s me. Either way, I pick it up. I have to.

“Artemis, put the gun away,” Orion growls with all the force at his command.

Maybe it’s the adrenalin pumping up my resistance, or maybe I’m finally getting strong enough, but his werecall slides right off me. I am not going to sit idly by this time. I am going to protect myself. “No. We have to do this together. I can do this.”

The motorcyclist swerves into the lane next to us. He’s close enough that in a few more seconds we’ll be side by side. Fuck! I swallow and flip off the safety. What am I even thinking of doing?

“Artemis. The motorcyclist is—”

But whatever Orion was going to say is cut off because the white van flies off the highway in the one spot where there isn’t a divider and into a nearby field.

I can see what Orion’s going to do before it happens, before he wrenches the wheel to the right and we go flying off the highway. In that split second all I can do is watch with a gaping mouth as we hurtle off of the road and towards the white van at what must be at the very least 60 miles an hour.

A white van that’s now smoking. A white van that probably holds Lawrence.

Please.

It’s the one word I can think as we remain suspended.

Please just give me this one thing. Let me make it this once.

I’m not sure who I’m asking. Lawrence, myself, the universe.

But someone is listening.

By some miracle we don’t roll over when we land on solid ground. My neck cracks with the whiplash, but other than that, we’re intact. I even still have the gun in my hands. We zip a few more hundred yards before Orion finally brings us to a stop.

He undoes his seatbelt and says, “For all that is holy and profane, stay in the car.”

“But—”

He slams the door behind me.

A wash of a thousand feelings fills my throat. Drowning me. This is just like my parents all over again. Am I going to sit inside this car just like I sat inside the tent, helpless, useless, letting someone else fight my battles?

No.

No, I’m fucking not.

Clutching the gun, I yank off my seatbelt and tear open the door, screaming, not caring. “Lawrence! Are you okay? Are you in there, Lawrence?”

The white van landed on its side, but other than a cracked windshield and a smoking engine, it doesn’t look too damaged. Still, what if it explodes? That’s what always happens in the movies.

Orion is three steps ahead of me, already bounding towards the smoking car. It’s twilight now, so at first I think the light is playing a trick on me, but after a moment it can’t be denied. He’s shifting as he runs, shedding his humanity with each step. His naked torso sprouts fur, and stride by stride he gets closer to the ground, until where there once was Orion there is nothing but pure wolf. He leaves a storm of denim in his wake.

Risking a quick glance over my shoulder, I check for the bike, but it’s gone. Then with one deep breath, I follow Orion and head toward the burning disaster in front of us, screaming, “Lawrence! Lawrence!”

My neck aches with pain, but I press forward, my sneakers digging into soil still moist from last night’s rain. I’ve never been a fast runner, and now is no exception. No matter how much I want it to be.

Orion’s reached the van now. But he’s not the only figure in the distance. Someone’s emerging from the smoke.

“Lawrence!” I cry.

But I know it’s not him.

In fact, I know it’s not anything human at all.

Because the silhouette is changing.

It’s turning into a coyote.
 

Chapter Twelve

I never realized how huge werewolves were until I saw Orion sprinting across the field toward the car wreck. He’s more the size of a lion, hunched low to the ground instead of prancing the way I’ve seen wolves move on nature documentaries.

The werecoyote isn’t small either, more the size of a regular wolf than a coyote. Still, I expect it to run the other direction when it notices Orion, but it doesn’t. Instead, it gives a high yip and starts trotting toward him. Nonchalant as you please.

Orion growls and his ears flatten. He is going to rip that coyote apart. A cough builds in my lungs from the smoking wreck. The stench of burning rubber hits my nose. Lawrence. I have to find Lawrence.

Not caring that it’s probably suicidal, I make my way through the grassy field, following the deep skid marks left by the van. I have to do something. I won’t let people suffer because of me anymore. Orion is circling the coyote now, but still the other werebeast doesn’t seem all that concerned.

I squint toward the van. None of its doors move. If Lawrence is in there he’s either tied up or not conscious.