Hunted (Riley Cray)
Read Hunted (Riley Cray) Online
Authors: A.J. Colby
Tags: #Urban fantasy, #paranormal, #horror, #thriller, #mystery
HUNTED
~ A Riley Cray Novel ~
A.J. Colby
Hunted
Copyright © 2014 A.J. Colby
Editorial: Lisa Bingham
Cover Design: A.J. Colby
Ebook production: A.J. Colby
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
THE RILEY CRAY SERIES
Hunted
Bitten (Coming Fall 2014)
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ABOUT HUNTED
Eight years after the attack that changed her life forever, Riley Cray is confronted with something she never thought she’d have to face again: Samson Reed, the werewolf who nearly killed her, has escaped from prison. With the help of Special Agent Darius Holbrook, Riley is racing against time to stay one step ahead of the crazed werewolf. But Reed isn’t the only monster with his eyes on Riley and as the bodies are piling up she’s beginning to wonder how long it will be before she’s one of them.
To my better half, Mr. Awesome Sauce, without whose never-ending support and encouragement this story would have remained a figment of my imagination.
You’ll always be my Grey Knight.
CHAPTER ONE
THE LINGERING SHADOWS of night cloaked me. The tightly woven lattice of pine boughs smothered the misty trail of my breath on the cold air as I looked out over the empty field, watching the first few rays of sunlight creep up to the horizon. Fingers of warmth spread across the undisturbed snow, turning it to a glittering blanket of thousands of tiny diamonds. I stood as a silent sentinel, surveying my domain.
Watching. Waiting.
Impatient, I fought against the urge to fidget, reminding myself that I was a ninja, a cloaked assassin, the cold hand of death and vengeance. All I needed was for my unwitting prey to emerge.
What the hell is taking him so long? I don’t have all damn day.
My heart beat a steady tattoo of anticipation as the shadows retreated, fading from pitch black to purple and then blue. I remained unmoving and silent. He would come eventually, and I was willing to wait to exact justice for his crimes. I just wished he’d hurry the hell up, I had a basket of laundry that needed attention.
It was little more than a faint whisper at first, the shadow of a sound drifting on the breeze, lighting a fire of excitement in my gut. Adrenaline flooded through me, singing in my veins until I felt fit to burst with the need to swoop down like an avenging angel and crush my enemy. Still I waited.
Not yet
, I told myself.
Just a little longer.
I would have missed the first flicker of movement if I hadn’t been watching so intently. A few blades of winter brown grass rustled, frozen stalks creaking against one another as a pale head emerged, obsidian eyes darting to and fro. Raising his twitching nose to the wind he scented the air and my lips split in a wide grin. The dumb beast was upwind, carrying his mouthwatering scent to me while whipping my spicy musk away into the trees.
A bark of vicious laughter burbled up the back of my throat, but I managed to smother it before it had a chance to break free. Licking my lips in eagerness, I watched as he pulled himself into the open, legs scrabbling for purchase on the frozen ground as he struggled for balance. Soon enough he had emerged, his head swiveling on a stubby neck as he listened for the slightest sound that would send him diving for cover.
Holding my breath I sank closer to the ground, the drifts of snow and pine needles painfully cold against my belly and chest. I flinched at the cold leeching into my skin, and cursed at the noise my movement made. Across the open expanse of the field he froze, dark eyes roving back and forth.
God dammit.
Not daring to even breathe for fear of giving myself away, I watched the tension ease out of him as he settled back into the belief that he was safe.
That’s it, nothing to worry about my friend. There’s no threat here.
As the minutes ticked by he became bolder, moving further from the protection of his burrow and closer to the waiting jaws of death. In a way, I almost pitied him, but he had trespassed and his death would serve as a warning for all.
Come on you pudgy bastard. Just one more step...
Another brave step forward and he reached the point of no return.
I burst from the trees like a rocket, my feet kicking up frozen clods of snow and dead grass as I covered the distance in just a few long, loping strides. I watched in delight as he froze for a fraction of a second before turning and sprinting back towards the safety of his hole. He was fast, but I was faster. He would pay for his deeds with blood.
I knew I had him even as his pumping legs carried him across the snow, and before he dove into the darkness I snatched him up with gnashing teeth. The excited thump of my heart echoed the terrified pounding of his, mingling to create a symphony of life and death, the music sublime to my ears. His shriek of fear and pain rose as the crescendo to our masterpiece, piercing the air and sending a flock of birds winging into the sky, dancing as dark spots against the swirled pink and gold of dawn.
The wriggling warmth of his body against my tongue drove my excitement ever higher, lifting me up on wings of joy until I was sure I would never come back down. A low snarl rumbled through my chest, vibrating through my powerful jaws and into his small, fragile body, wringing another ounce of fear from him as if I were squeezing the juice from an overripe tomato. The taste of his fear was almost as intoxicating as the rich coppery flavor of his blood, and together they merged into a heady bouquet that left me drunk with vitality.
One last wail of suffering echoed in my skull before the pressure of my jaws silenced him for good. A final twitch was all he managed before going limp in my jaws, and for a moment I found myself wondering if I had delivered too swift a death. I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he should have suffered more, but as usual the excitement and thrill of the hunt had swept me up and carried me along like the raging currents of a river, and I had been unable to stop myself before it was too late.
Oh well, at least he won’t be eating my cabbages anymore.
Letting out a huff of satisfaction, I turned my eyes on the empty field as my breath drifted away on the breeze as curling filaments of silver. Dozens of eyes watched me, their weight like fingers ghosting through the fur along my spine, but no one dared to make a sound. This was my territory, and they were reminded of that fact with the stark splash of blood on snow. Turning, I trotted back to the edge of the tree line, sparing one last glance for my audience before I slipped into the gloom amongst the trees.
I emerged on the other side, and paused at the bottom of my long and sloping backyard to regard my home. The single story log cabin looked warm and inviting nestled beneath its own layer of glittering white, a thin wisp of smoke trailing from the chimney, while the windows cast golden squares across the snowy garden. Trotting between the raised beds that housed my cabbages and other vegetables in the spring, I made my way to the back door. Stopping on the mat I let the dead rabbit slip from my jaws, landing beside my large tawny paws.
The change flowed through me in a cascading wave of overwhelming pleasure that hovered just on the edge of pain. A thousand tickling fingers stroked over me as the fur drifted from my body, carried away on the chill breeze before dissolving into nothingness.
One moment I loomed as a massive brindled wolf, and the next I stood naked and shivering, my nipples erect as much from the pleasure of the shift as from the cold wind that skittered across my skin. Stooping to retrieve the rabbit from the mat, I pushed open the back door of my cabin and stepped into the warm kitchen.
“We’re having rabbit stew for dinner,” I called out, depositing the rabbit in the large farmhouse sink.
I’ll deal with
you
after breakfast.
Opening his eyes wide enough to reflect the golden light from the fireplace, Loki regarded me with sleepy disinterest, which to be fair, was a pretty permanent fixture on his fuzzy face.
A large and solid Siamese of indeterminable age, he had strolled in through the open door, bold as brass, the day I moved in and staked his claim on my grandmother’s afghan draped over the back of my inherited sofa. That was eight years ago, and he had been my steadfast, albeit lazy, companion ever since.
“Lazy cat.”
I stalked past him to my bedroom to retrieve my big fluffy pink bathrobe, pausing long enough to give his silken ears a scratch.
Wrapped up in the cozy fluffiness of my Pepto-Bismol bathrobe and Killer Bunny slippers, I shuffled back into the kitchen and switched on the ancient coffee pot. Pulling a mug from the old, but well-loved cabinets I trailed my fingers over the familiar wood that my grandfather had carved by hand. I had to marvel at the devotion he must have felt for my grandmother to craft them when he bought the place after they got married. The growl of my stomach roused me from the warmth of my memories, spurring me into motion. After collecting bread and peanut butter to make toast I poured myself a cup of coffee strong enough to strip paint off a door.
Just as I took the first bite of my toast, humming contentedly as the warmed peanut butter coated my tongue and the roof of my mouth with sticky deliciousness, there was a sharp knock on my front door, the unexpected intrusion startling me out of my revelry.
What the fairy fart?
I glared at the peeling turquoise paint on the back of the door as if whoever was on the other side could feel my ire. The last cabin at the end of a long and dusty road that half the year was only accessible with four wheel drive, I rarely had visitors, and rarer still at...glancing at the cuckoo clock hanging next to the fridge I confirmed that, yep, it was indeed seven thirty in the morning.
Every once in a while I got the occasional lost hiker, or couple out for a drive, wanting to know how to get back to town, but couldn’t think who the hell would be knocking on my door in the middle of November. Lingering in the kitchen I waited in silence, hoping that if I ignored them, whoever was out there would just go away. Another, more insistent, knock on the door let me know otherwise.
