Harvest Hunting (5 page)

“He went out to the studio,” Iris said.

She nodded. “Okay, so Luke—tell me what’s going down.”

As Luke ran down the info about his missing sister, I stared at the window. Menolly was right. Father ignoring Camille, after all we’d been through in the past year, was worse than a slap in the face.

 

 

So who am I? Some days, I’m not sure myself, not any longer—things have shifted so much over the past year or so. I used to think life and people were relatively good, now I live in a war zone and pretty much have discarded the naïve attitude I first toted Earthside. Most of the FBHs—full-blooded humans—walking down the street don’t realize it, but their lives, their world, is in danger. I’m just one of the very few warriors on the vanguard, trying to prevent disaster.

I never would have described myself as a soldier a year ago. An agent, yes, for the Otherworld Intelligence Agency, but not a soldier. But we’ve all become warriors, my sisters and me and our friends, and we’re fighting a horde of demons intent on breaking through the portals that separate the worlds.

Shadow Wing, the leader of the Subterranean Realms, intends to make both Earth and Otherworld his private stomping ground by gathering the spirit seals—an ancient artifact that was broken into nine sections and scattered to prevent the worlds of Fae and Earth from being accessed by the monsters from the Subterranean Realms. But the seals are surfacing again, and it’s a race as to who can find them first: the demon lord or us. As of right now, we’re standing in the way, trying to keep the floodgates closed.

My name is Delilah D’Artigo, and I’m a werecat. But I’ve also discovered another side to my shifting nature. A black panther self emerges when coaxed by my master—the Autumn Lord, one of the Harvestmen. He marked me as his only living Death Maiden, and someday, I’m destined to bear his child. My panther side is feral, fierce, and I’m beginning to love rather than fear her. She’s becoming a part of me in a way that I never thought possible. I’m owning my predator nature—both in housecat and big cat. I have a twin—Arial—who died at birth, and she comes, a ghost leopard by nature, to help me at times. I can feel her near; she’s a guardian and watches over me. I only wish that someday, we could really sit down and talk.

My sisters—Menolly, a vampire, and Camille, a Moon Witch recently promoted to priestess—and I are half-human, half-Fae, and our heritage short-circuits our powers at all the wrong times. Let’s just say we’ve never won any employee-of-the-month awards, and not for lack of trying.

Our mother, Maria D’Artigo, a human, fell in love with our father, who is one of the Sidhe. She followed him back to Otherworld during the tail end of World War II. They married, had an exquisite romance, and she gave birth to us. Camille first, then a couple years later me, then another couple years, Menolly. We look in our early twenties to humans. Maturity wise, we’re right about there, too, though we’ve grown up fast the past couple of years. But we’re all around sixty-some Earthside years old.

When we were fairly young, Mother died. She fell from a horse. Camille took over and tried to fill her shoes, a daunting task for any young girl. And around thirteen years ago, ES time, Menolly was transformed into a vampire. But we always were sure of our father. Until this past month, he was a rock, and we were certain of his support. Now, things are changing, the Wheel is turning, and nothing is what it seems anymore.

And we’ve run out of time to adjust. The cards have been dealt, and we’re in a life-and-death tournament from which there’s no exit.

 

 

Menolly sat back, staring at Luke. “We’ll do everything we can to find her. And if her fucking jerk of a husband is after her, we’ll make certain he doesn’t try it again.” Abusive men didn’t last long around her, often becoming her dinner. She fed on the lowlifes and violent criminals of the world.

Luke gave her a thin smile. “Thanks, boss. I don’t want to seem like an overprotective brother, but the fact is that Amber’s never been in a big city before, and I can’t help but be worried.”

Menolly leaned forward, the ivory beads in her cornrows clicking. Her hair was the color of burnished copper, and she was as petite as I was tall.

“Luke, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what?”

“Why didn’t the Pack do something about her husband, if he was abusing her?” Menolly frowned, tapping her nails on the arm of the chair.

He sighed. “That was one of the reasons I left. Well, actually, I was excommunicated. I don’t talk about it much. The males of the Zone Red Pack are extreme alphas—in a bad way. I couldn’t take it.”

“What happened?” I asked, suddenly thinking that there was a whole lot more depth to Luke than I’d assumed.

“I was in love with a girl—Marla. We wanted to get married, but the Packmaster gave her to someone who beat the crap out of her and passed her around to his buddies. I tried to sneak out, take her with me, and they caught us. There was a big fight . . . it was a bad scene. She’s dead now, and I’m a pariah. I can never go back. I defied the law of the Packmaster.”

Neither Menolly nor I said a word, just waited. His eyes echoed the pain in his voice, and I felt like I’d overstepped my boundaries.

He pushed himself to his feet. “I gave Delilah all the information about Amber that I could think of. Tomorrow I’ll bring the skunk scent remover to the bar. Delilah, you can pick it up there.”

He nodded, again tapping his hat, and I flushed, looking at him. It had been over a month since I’d had sex, and he was lean, lanky, and all male. But he didn’t even blink an eye my way, and truthfully, I was relieved. I was so confused over Chase. And Zach, the werepuma I’d slept with twice and who had saved Chase’s life, was taking far longer to heal up from his injuries than anybody had first thought. Last time I’d gone to visit him at the rehabilitation center where he was staying, he’d refused to see me, and we hadn’t spoken in over a month, even though I’d tried calling every week.

Menolly saw Luke out while I sorted through the notes. When she came back, I looked up, and she smiled softly at me. Her eyes had once been a gorgeous blue, but the further she sank into her new life as a vampire, the grayer they became and now—now they were almost silver.

“You’re horny, aren’t you?” She let out a sigh. “That’s the trouble with getting involved with somebody. You begin to need them . . . and then . . .” With a glance over at Nerissa, she shrugged. “And then you can’t imagine them not being in your life.”

It was then I noticed a gold band on her right index finger. I pointed to it. “That’s new. Just when and where did you get it?” I held her gaze, and she narrowed her eyes and gave a little huff. If she was voluntarily breathing, I knew I’d gotten under her skin.
Go, me!

“Oh, all right. Nerissa gave it to me. It’s . . . a promise ring. It symbolizes that we’re off the market, at least as far as other women go. Guys—eh, they come and go, but . . . with women? We’re exclusive. I bought her one to match.” She gently reached over and lifted the werepuma’s hand, and I saw a duplicate band. Both were engraved with Celtic knot work. I caught my breath and looked into my sister’s eyes.

Menolly had come so far from the torture and rape she’d undergone before being killed and thrust into life as a vampire. She was happy now, for the most part, and she’d actually opened herself up to love—of whatever sort she could handle at this point.

I reached out and took her other hand and brought it to my cheek, and for the first time I didn’t flinch at the coldness. As I pressed my lips to her fingers, I glanced up and saw bloody tears sliding down Menolly’s cheeks. She silently opened her arms, and I slid inside them as she enfolded me to her chest.

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry. I tried for so long to just accept you like Camille did without reservations, but I was afraid . . . And now . . .”

“And now you’re not,” she whispered.

“And now . . . I’m not,” I said, realizing it was true. The fear of her death and rebirth had fallen away like a shroud, leaving only Menolly standing in front of me. My sister, unveiled in her new life, happy and radiant and no longer the monster Dredge had turned her into—the monster I still remembered when she was sent home to kill us, when Camille chased me out the window to protect me.

As she slowly released me and I sat back, Menolly grimaced. “I’m so happy. But Kitten, you have to promise to do something for me.”

“What?” I asked, breathless, wondering if she wanted a better apology for my hesitance all those years.

“Do something about that mop.” She pointed to my hair.

Iris meandered in, clad in a silk kimono. Her hair was tousled, loose and falling to her ankles in a golden rain of silk strands. And her cheeks were rosy, with an afterglow impossible to hide.

Milkmaids gone wild,
I thought impulsively. Grinning, I waggled my finger at her. “You and Bruce been busy?”

“Hush you,” she said, scolding me. “None of your business, girl. But I will tell you that I did some checking. I’m not comfortable using hair dye, at least not right now. After the peroxide, it would fry your hair and probably muck it up worse than it is.”

“Well, I don’t want that.” I frowned, not at all happy. “Hell.” I glanced over at Menolly. “You’re right, I need to do
something
—I can’t just leave it like this. Maybe it’s time for a change.” I motioned to Iris. “Get your scissors.”

“What? You’re kidding.” She stared at me like I was crazy.

“Just do it. I want it short and edgy. If I’m going to have punk hair, I’m going all the way. And this way it will grow out my normal color, and I can just trim the ends a little bit till all the mismatched patches are gone.”

Menolly giggled. “You’re really going to do it, Kitten? I bet you won’t go through with it.”

I snorted. “Watch me. Fire up
Jerry Springer
, haul out the Cheetos; we’re having a party.”

Menolly obligingly brought me a bowl of the orange crispy puffs I loved so much, along with a glass of milk, and then, after cajoling Nerissa to sprawl out on the sofa where the gorgeous golden-haired Amazon promptly passed out, she folded her legs and hovered up toward the ceiling, tossing me the remote.

As I channel-surfed, Iris brought out her kit and bade me sit on the hassock in front of her. She still had to stand on a stepstool since I was so tall.

“Can you make it stylish?”

“I know what you want, girl. Just hold still.”

The first cut was torture—I heard the clip of the scissors and shuddered as Iris handed me a fistful of blotched hair. But as I stared at it, it occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t a bad idea at all. I would have looked hideous; the hair was frizzed from the peroxide and baking soda.

As she snipped her way across my head, razoring in some parts, I began to look forward to the difference. Hell, I
felt
different—something about losing my fear of Menolly’s vampirism had opened the desire to make big changes, to sacrifice the parts of myself that made me uncertain and frightened. I was tired of being timid, of being hesitant.

“Almost done,” Iris said, whisking off my neck.

My head felt so much lighter, and my neck felt oddly exposed, now that I had nothing to cover it up. “Can I see?”

“Give me a moment.” She vanished for a moment, hurrying back with a tube of hair gel, a spritzer bottle, and a blow dryer. She misted my hair and rubbed a little of the gel on her hands, then began teasing it, then brought the blow dryer to bear for a few moments, after which she stood back. “Okay, take a look.”

I stood up slowly and approached the mirror over the fireplace. As I stared at my reflection, I almost didn’t recognize myself. I was six one, and the new haircut made me look even taller. It was so different—still a patchwork of color, but now it was cute, sassy, bitchy—even a little badass.

“I like it,” I said, tilting my head this way and that. The tattoo in the middle of my forehead glimmered from beneath the bangs sweeping to the side. The black crescent-sickle marked me as belonging to the Autumn Lord. I slowly reached up and felt it. The pulsing energy never left me, and over the past few months it had begun to grow stronger. I had the feeling something was coming my way, something big and scary, but strangely, I felt comforted.

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I began to phase out—my face flashing between myself and my panther self. I steeled myself, knowing what was coming.

And then, Hi’ran was there. The Autumn Lord stood behind me. Menolly and Iris couldn’t see him, but he was there for me, smiling with those pale full lips, his long dark hair cascading down his shoulders in a trail of frost and silver.

He put his hands on my shoulders, and I leaned back against him. The energy running through his fingers made me want to fall into his arms.

“I was thinking about you tonight. I sensed you needed me.”

Hi’ran leaned down—he was so very, very tall, and his cloak was black, covered with a wash of fiery autumn leaves that continually fell from the wreath around his head. As his face neared mine, I stared at my reflection in his unblinking eyes, surrounded by the sparkle of stars echoed through the abyss.

I inhaled his scent. Bonfires and graveyard dust, old musty books, ink long dried and yellowed paper, the scent of mold and decay and toadstools and moss . . . it all swirled around me, an intoxicating blend that set my heart to racing.

“I’m sad,” I whispered. “I’m losing my love. So much is happening, and I don’t think he and I can make it through the approaching storms.”

“You aren’t losing your love,” Hi’ran whispered, his breath a gust of chilly autumn air on my skin. “You’re making room. Keep your eyes open, my sweet. Keep your mind open. Remember the curve of my lips, the scent of old leather and autumn carnivals, the frost that lingers on my breath. Listen for the song your mark sings when I’m near.”