Hunter Forsaken (Wild Hunt #2) (4 page)

“I know much about you, Ian Callahan.” She dipped the rag in the basin of water, cleaned the arm nearest her, then leaned over his body to wipe his other arm.

His muttered curse pulled her attention back to his face. She found his hungry gaze locked on her cleavage. The reaction pleased her. She turned slightly to give him a better view and continued wiping his muscled bicep.

“Holy fuck.”

The trembling in his voice froze her hand. She glanced at him. No longer centered on her breasts, his gaze focused on her Huntsman’s mark. The black hound’s red eye peeked from the gap of her leather top. She silently berated herself for her carelessness and climbed off the bed. The washcloth fell from her limp hand. It plopped into the bowl, spraying her boots with water.

“You’re a Hunter?” he asked.

The shock in his voice snuffed out the last of her desire. Wariness replaced it. She wiped her hands on her thighs and faced him. A quick peek at his flaccid cock told her everything she needed to know. His interest had been for the woman, not the Hunter. The knowledge cut at her heart. She shoved the weakness deep and drew on the assertive mask she wore for her siblings, all but Rhys anyway.

“Yes. I’m also third in command of the Hunt, and as soon as we leave this cell, you’ll have to obey me”—she stepped next to the bed and stroked her fingertips along his jaw, needing to touch him one last time—“in all things.”

Chapter Three

Ian couldn’t believe his eyes. His fantasy lover was a rider in the Wild Hunt. She’d always appeared fuzzy in his dreams. The imaginary girl he’d become obsessed with paled in comparison to the real woman standing next to him.

Her dark brown hair and eyes looked damn good against her tanned skin. He could easily picture her in a bikini, lounging poolside at the estate. Naked in his bedroom worked too. He could envision her in any number of scenarios. Not one included her in the form of a beast from Hell.

“You’re Calan’s sister?”

She slid her fingers to the column of his neck. “Half sister, yes. All the riders of the Hunt were fathered by Arawn.” She grinned, showing off straight white teeth. “Besides you, of course.”

He swallowed hard. The mention of the Lord of the Underworld put a whole new spin on Tegan’s heritage. “You’re a demigod.”

Not just any lesser god either. She’d been fathered by the black-skinned, winged creature he’d seen when he joined the Hunt. Arawn’s image had appeared inside his head, much like Tegan’s had over the years they’d visited each other. The sight of him hadn’t bothered Ian. Knowing his dream lover carried Arawn’s genes did.

“Yes, I—”

“You knew me before I joined the Hunt, didn’t you?” He had to be sure she’d participated in his dreams, that it wasn’t only his imagination.

Her nostrils flared. “I don’t—”

“Yes or no, Tegan. Have you invaded my dreams for the past three years?”
Making me yearn for you?

She leaned over him. Inches from his face, she leveled a hard glare at him. “Yes. We shared the same dream, but don’t interrupt me. Ever. I don’t like it.”

He filed the information away and dropped his attention from her irritated eyes to her lips. He licked his. No matter what other form she could take or who her parents were, she was still the woman who’d made him question everything. He wanted to know why she’d connected with him. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure how he felt about knowing she was actually alive. He wavered between wanting to fuck her and punishing her for messing with his life.

“I know how you like to be touched. Loved.” He glanced into her eyes. The same look of smoldering desire she’d worn for him whenever he’d connected with her darkened them. More black than brown, they captivated him. They had from the first moment he’d peered into them. “Don’t I?”

“You don’t know anything about me,
Ian
.”

The animosity in her voice didn’t match the scent of her arousal or her quickened heartbeat. He didn’t understand where her anger was coming from.

“But I want to. I want to know every detail.” Then and only then would he decide what to do about her. “Kiss me.”

She bent closer but remained out of reach. Her breath heated his lips. Vanilla, the tempting and addicting scent he’d craved as much as the woman, invaded his lungs. He strained to close the slight distance. She remained out of reach.

He growled.

She pulled back with a grin plastered on her sultry mouth. “Is that
my
warning?”

Although still mainly human, the acceptance of the Huntsman’s mark had altered certain aspects of his body. He acted more animal than man at times. The low rumbling deep in his chest proved it.

“Yes.” He allowed another growl to trickle from his lips. “Kiss. Me. Now.”

She skimmed her parted lips across his cheek. The simple touch rocked him. He froze. At his ear, she caught his earlobe between her teeth and tugged, tearing a rough sound from him.

“We’re going to have to work on your obedience, Hunter Ian. You don’t order me around. That’s my job.”

Her sultry voice tightened his balls. Her words, though, pissed him the fuck off. “Between us, the only power you have over me is what I give you.”

She chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

She straightened and skimmed her heated gaze over him. His skin tingled under her focused perusal. With a single finger, she traced the length of his arm from shoulder to wrist.

She tapped the cuff locking him to the bed. “These turn the tables, don’t you think?” She glanced at him. He held her stare. “I can do anything I want to you, and you can’t stop me.”

Yet, she hadn’t.

“Three years. That’s how long I’ve wanted to fuck you. I’ll take you any way I can get you.” He dropped his gaze to her short skirt. “You want to climb on top of me and take my dick inside you, I won’t mind. Not one little bit.”

She focused on his cock, hidden by his shorts. “I didn’t come here to have my way with you.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

“Yes, really.”

“Then what did you come here for? To torture me? Tease me and walk away. That’s your MO, isn’t it? Get me hot then…poof. Just disappear.”

“You didn’t…” She shook her head. “No matter. I came to pull you back from your rage. That’s it.”

Anger surged and mixed with his frustration. He didn’t buy her excuse. She wanted him. Dammit, he couldn’t have been the only one affected by what they’d done together. If he was, his life had been one big fucking joke. He’d been half in love with a figment of his imagination who hadn’t felt the same.

“Fine. I’m in control. Release me.”
So I can prove to us both that you want me.

She sifted her fingers through the short strands of his hair and used her hold to turn his face toward her. A long moment passed while she held his gaze. Numerous emotions flashed through her eyes. Sadness finally settled over her expression. He didn’t like seeing it on her. The urge to change it into something more pleasant beat at him.

“Your word isn’t enough to go by. Trust me, I know.” She brushed her thumb over his neck. “I occupied this cell once too.”

His heart beat harder. He couldn’t stand to think of her restrained. “What happened?”

Another thought surfaced, pushing back the reason behind her confinement in Arawn’s fortress. For a millennium, the Huntsmen had endured horrendous tortures in order to satisfy some fucked-up living magic that demanded their pain and tears. As a Hunter, Tegan would’ve been one of those imprisoned. It explained the odd clothes she’d worn in their dreamlike encounters.

No. Please let me be wrong.

She narrowed her eyes. “That’s none of—”

“Were you one of them? The riders who were cursed?”

She growled. The sound whipped through him, tightening his body. The desire it stirred would’ve been welcome if the well of rage he’d drowned in didn’t threaten to throw him back to the place where he couldn’t function.

She snapped her teeth at him. “Don’t interrupt me again. You’ll regret it.”

Fire shone in her eyes. He liked the spark of her temper. It helped push back his fury. He dragged in a breath of vanilla-scented air. Tegan’s personal fragrance wrapped around him the same way he wanted her body, not an inch separating them.

“Sorry. Need to know.” His words took on the harsh lilt they had when she’d first entered his cell. He felt his tenuous control slipping. He pushed the destructive emotion deep.

“Hate to think of you”—he dragged in a lungful of vanilla-scented air—“suffering. Dying.” Because that was what would’ve happened.

She sighed and turned away. He yanked on the cuffs locking him to the bed. The manacles stopped him from touching her. His frustration built, and another animalistic sound rumbled in his chest.

“You don’t need to concern yourself over what my life has entailed.” She faced him. “I suffered. So did my siblings. Some are chained in cells such as this one, but they will mostly likely never see the light of day again. Their minds are fragmented beyond repair.”

He wanted to argue with her. Her life did matter. Her closed-off expression stopped him. She hurt for her brothers and sisters. So did he. He might not know them, but he felt the different Huntsmen like shadows in his head. He could pinpoint the ones who’d succumbed to their emotions. If he touched them, all he felt was rage. It spiked his. He’d learned to steer clear of them. Yet not once had he sensed Tegan. At least he didn’t think he had. He pushed the concern over why away for the moment. Her pain demanded his comfort. All he had to offer was words.

“I’m sorry, Tegan. So very sorry for everything you and your siblings have experienced, but I thank you for it. If it hadn’t been for your endurance, my loved ones wouldn’t have been born.”

Instead of a sign of comfort, anger flared in her eyes. She pushed from the bed. Head bent, her hair fell forward. The loose, thick strands caressed her thighs. In their dreams, her locks had been braided and bound with a leather thong. Unwinding her hair had been one of his favorite things he’d been able to do to her. That and kissing her exposed skin. She’d tasted of sweet vanilla.

“You have lost all those you’ve loved, haven’t you?”

Her whispered question brought the memory of his family’s burial to the surface. Four caskets, his parents and twin brothers, had lined the head of the funeral hall.

He glanced at her. “My family died, yes. Harley lived, though. I’m grateful for that. She’s all I have left.” And she was the one family member he loved the most. Part of him felt guilty for that, but he understood the reason why.

For their mother, Harley had been a living reminder of the rape she’d suffered at the hands of Dar, the leader of the Unseelie Fairy Court. For Ian’s father, Harley had been an obligation. And their little brothers? Well, they had feared Harley. In their young minds, she had to be crazy. Why else would she be kept locked in the basement?

The memories stirred Ian’s anger. He’d hated how Harley was treated, but as a kid, even if he had been a few years older, he hadn’t been able to stop it. The best he could do was love her.

“I suppose she is.”

Tegan’s voice pulled Ian from his grim thoughts.

She peered at him from behind the curtain of her hair. A blank mask hid her emotions. “Especially since you just lost the love of your life.”

He frowned. He hadn’t lost her. She sat inches from him, alive and well.

“It’s no wonder you succumbed to your rage. The loss of your fiancée is bad enough. Having been the one to kill the woman you’d promised to love forever is worse.”

Cynthia.
A rock landed in his gut.
I forgot about my damn girlfriend.

He met Tegan’s eyes. The anger had returned to her expression, leaving her lips thinned and eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something. Nothing came to mind. He was an asshole. He’d never even grieved Cynthia’s death before lusting over another woman. Hell, he’d lusted over Tegan while Cynthia was alive. He snapped his mouth closed.

“I will return tomorrow to check on you. If you remain in control, I’ll remove your bindings.” She flung her hair over her shoulder and strode for the door. “Pleasant dreams, Ian.”

The door opened, and she disappeared. The clank of metal and click of the lock resounded in his ears.

“Tegan, come back!”

The click of her heels faded.

He jerked on his bindings and roared his frustration.

She’d left him again when he needed her most.

“Need you, my angel. Need you more than anything.” He did. She was the only person who could fill the hole in his heart.

Chapter Four

Tegan rounded the corner of the hallway, far enough from Ian’s cell that he wouldn’t hear her, and slid down the rock wall. She had to sit. If she didn’t get herself under control, her anger would take over, and she’d attack the first unlucky resident of Hell who looked at her the wrong way. She’d lived among the demons long enough to know one fight led to another. Before she knew it, she’d be in a cell next to Ian.

Not happening. She had too many responsibilities to allow her emotions to get in the way of her duty as a Hunter. Knees pulled into her chest, she focused on her breathing until she calmed. The moment gave her a chance to go over her encounter with Ian.

As much as she wished otherwise, she’d been right. She’d only been a fantasy to him. But…there’d been interest in his eyes. If given the chance, he’d explore their connection. She was sure of it. Did she want that? To risk her heart again?

She dropped her head against the hard rock and groaned.
No. I need to deal with the threats to the humans before I worry about Ian or if there’s a chance for us.

She shoved from her spot on the ground. Determination pushed back her worry over the future. She would take her own advice. One thing she needed to discover first. Why had they walked through each other’s dreams? It shouldn’t have been possible, but she knew who had the answer.

Minerva.

Tegan ground her teeth. The bitch had manipulated them. Tegan would find out the reason why.

She strode through the winding hallways, ignoring the Underworld’s occupants who tried to stop her with feigned words of welcome or outright confrontations. She didn’t have time to play games.

The corridor widened the closer she got to the heart of the castle. Music and laughter drifted to her. The scent of food and wine reached her. The floor under her feet turned from rough-cut slabs of rock to gold-veined granite. Urns and casts lined the walls along with paintings and carvings. The Lord of the Underworld didn’t surround himself with blood and suffering, but with life and the goodness he sought to protect.

The first time she’d met him at the age of seventeen, he’d told her he’d merely been the god chosen to rule over Hell and its inhabitants because he was the most just, not because he was evil.

Gods, humans and everyone in between had free will. According to Arawn, those who chose to cause harm should expect it returned tenfold. He had no problem looking a person in the eye and condemning him or her to an eternity of suffering. Actually, neither did she. They shared that in common.

At the first split in the hallway, she hesitated. The right corridor led to Arawn’s private chambers, the left to the courtyard. From the open area, all sections and levels of the fortress could be accessed, including the Haven. Where would Minerva be? Engaging in sex with her mate or watching others fuck in the demon’s lair?

Tegan caught her lip between her teeth. Arawn loved Minerva, but he had a realm to oversee. He didn’t have the time to meet his mate’s wanton desires whenever she demanded. It had been a long-standing argument between the two of them a millennium ago. Tegan didn’t expect it to have changed.

Most likely the goddess of love would be at the Haven. Tegan took two steps into the hall and stopped. She had no desire to tangle with the horny demons, let alone their king.

A thousand years ago, Lucas had given off enough pheromones to make a celibate person willing to engage in an orgy. He’d left her alone after she’d dismissed his advances. Sara’s words suggested the great king would no longer play nice. The incubus side of Lucas was hungry. He’d devour her. Literally.

Memories of her time spent in the fairies’ prison pushed at her. The death she’d endured had been cruel. It was meant to be, but it was the anticipation of what would happen that had caused her to whimper like a baby. She’d hated the weakness, but she hadn’t been able to stop the fear from gripping her, especially when the ache centered deep in her chest made it hard to breathe.

The telltale sign always triggered the start of her personal hell. She knew what would happen next. Tingles would spread outward, and intense pain would follow. Sheer agony would build upon itself, and she’d thrash in her bonds as her life force was drained from her. A mere shell of her saggy skin and bones would be left.

Then I’d heal and wait for the next round of torture.
She glanced down the hallway where hungry sex demons waited to tap into her life force too. They’d mask their feeding session as erotic bliss, but they’d still steal part of her essence, exactly as the living curse had when it demanded her death. The sex demons didn’t want to hurt her, though. No, they wanted their feeding sources eager and willing to supply them with the energy they needed to live. They’d take a sip. She wouldn’t even notice. All she’d remember was how good they’d made her feel.

But
I’d
know. And if my memories return to torture me? Yeah, wouldn’t that be a mood killer?
She shook her head.
Nope. Not worth it.

She spun on her heel and hurried toward her father’s suite. The door to his office stood open. She stopped and listened. No grunting. No arguing. Only the ticking of a clock reached her ears. She inhaled and caught the familiar scent of smoke. Arawn. It had to be. The only other males who smelled of a campfire were her brothers, and they were all in the human realm.

“Come in, daughter.”

She crossed the threshold. Leather furniture, the fragrance of lemon and oil and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the massive space marked the room as her sire’s retreat. The rest of his private chambers reflected Minerva’s tastes, bright and airy, with endless flowers and artwork.

A quick glance didn’t show his whereabouts. She walked farther into the dimly lit space. The door closed behind her. Arawn’s doing. It meant he wanted their conversation kept private. Worry over why warred with annoyance. She hadn’t planned to talk. She wanted information only.

She pivoted on her heel and scanned the sitting area. She noted his desk, a long table with dozens of empty chairs, and a fully stocked bar in the rear of the room. No Arawn. She made her way to the spiral stairs. At the second level, row upon row of bookshelves lined the floor. She looped the platform and peered down each walkway. Empty. She continued on to the third level.

The breeze from the open balcony brought a faint whiff of sulfur and the low moans of the condemned. She ignored both and strode for the far corner, where Arawn’s familiar outline showed him standing at the railing, his back to her.

Dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a plain white tee, he could’ve been any number of humans she’d seen on the human’s television shows. His deep tan and bare feet added to the image of relaxation the outfit suggested. It looked as if he’d just walked off a beach where he’d spent the morning playing volleyball. It was a lie. There was no time for relaxing in his life. His duties to both the humans and his mate didn’t allow for it.

She took the position next to him. “Father.”

“Daughter.”

Silence stretched. She knew better than to push him. It didn’t matter if she was his child or not, he wouldn’t have closed the door to his office unless he wanted to speak to her privately. He believed in being accessible at all times. His personal guards, a group of humans who’d earned redemption in his eyes, kept watch over all levels of Hell, including the deepest pits where the Sins and the destructive powers of the Underworld could be accessed. They were to inform him of any issues, no matter how small.

She used the time to study the landscape. Little had changed over the years she’d been away. The buildings spanning the valley around the fortress reflected many different styles of architecture, from simple wooden structures to mansions with massive pillars and stonework. Each belonged to a species’ leader or one of Arawn’s personal assistants.

At the base of the mountains in the distance, shimmering portals allowed entry to the Underworld’s many levels, where various chambers held the incarcerated beings damned to spend eternity in suffering. She’d visited each in the years before she matured, as part of her training. All had left a mark on her, reminding her what awaited those she condemned. It had also guaranteed she’d never exact punishment lightly. Only the sinners who deserved to suffer met her wrath.

Arawn turned and leaned a hip against the railing. Dual-color eyes focused on her. Bright silver surrounded the darker gray inner circle that matched Minerva’s piercing eyes and marked him as a mated male. The combined effect, along with his stark-white hair, was striking, to say the least, but cold. Tegan had only ever seen his expression warm completely in his mate’s presence.

“Was your visit successful, child?”

“I believe so. I’ll find out when I return tomorrow.”

“Really? The succubus who’d attempted to engage him reported he was too far gone and recommended he be tossed back into his mortal life.”

She curled her fingers. Sara had lied. Tegan shouldn’t have expected anything less. She blew out a breath. “He recognized me. It was enough to pull him back.”

Arawn’s eyes widened. “That is a pleasant surprise, though not one I expected. All the other Huntsmen have visited him, including Rowan. None had any luck.”

“Ian and I have a connection.” She linked her hands behind her back to hide the tremor in them. “We’ve met in the dream realm for the past three years.”

He straightened. At over seven feet, Arawn towered over her. A stranger would never have guessed he’d fathered her. She resembled her human mother—short, curvy to the point of plumpness, with dark hair and eyes. She stepped back in order to hold his gaze.

He shook his head. “That’s impossible. He’s human.”

“Human, yes. But our visits were not impossible, according to your mate. She claimed to have saved his soul for me. I have no doubt she was behind our unusual meetings too.” She narrowed her eyes at his incredulous expression. “Didn’t Minerva tell you of her manipulation?”

He pivoted on his heel and stormed away without answering. She tracked his retreating back, until he disappeared down the stairs, before following. She found him at a bar on the main floor, with a bottle of whiskey.

He drank the contents, then slammed the decanter down. “I have not spoken to Minerva in months, and she has not shared my bed in years.” He faced her. “Thirty to be exact.”