The Dark Huntsman: A Fantasy Romance of The Black Court (Tales of The Black Court Book 1) (21 page)

“She’s not far. I can send someone after her. She won’t be alive for long.”

“No, Vanora. I can’t violate the peace of the meet.” She stared out the window. “MacElvys still alive, damn it! This affects what I was hoping to accomplish in the council meeting tonight. And I think she’s not the only one. She tried to cover it up, but the stupid slut slipped. There are at least a few more survivors.”

“She won’t be at the meet for much longer, sister.” Vanora’s eyes darted back and forth from her sister’s to the darkened window.

“Hmm? Oh yes. You’re right. Yes, send someone after her. But only after she’s left the meet and our protection. Don’t want any loose ends, now do we?”

Vanora pulled out a cell phone and punched a button, her gentle aging face marred by a small, sly smile.

Logan slipped past the edge of the parking lot, easily skirting the sentries shirking their duties at the corner of the entrance. He hit the open space and his muscles relaxed into long even strides as he took his first easy breath of the night, dropped the rigid aura shield, and became only a shadow under the setting moon.

He sensed, long before arriving at the rendezvous point, that Trina wasn’t there and his frayed nerves tightened. As he backtracked, he fretted over what could have gone wrong. She should have arrived long before him. She’d only had one person to contact. He never should have let her talk him into the plan. It was asinine to be so beguiled by a woman that he’d ignore his instincts.

At the edge of the open space he lifted his head, scenting the night air like one of his hounds. There! A whiff of her essence, masked by the fading glamour and camp smoke, but it was Trina, talking to one of the sentries. He crept closer to eavesdrop.

“I know where I’m going. Don’t worry about me.” The nervous, high-pitched voice and girlish giggle had him reaching for his hidden sword, tucked deep into his pocket. He inhaled and forced himself to stillness. Despite the stress in her voice, she wasn’t in any danger. If that changed he could instantly charge forward and kill the boy with his bare hands.

“No, I’m not going to tell you who I’m meeting. It’s none of your business.” She moved farther out of the cluster of trailers, giving him a better view of her and the young blustering sentry. Trina circled back, attempting to circumvent the boy, but he reached forward and grabbed her arm.

Fire rolled through Logan’s veins. Instinct hammered at him to kill the man who pawed his woman. Logic made him stay put. One more minute, he’d give her one more minute. Then he would intervene. It would be better if they left tonight without shedding any blood.

Trina threw off the boy’s hand, turning on him with flashing green eyes. “You’d better not leave your post just to chase me. Mariella will have your head.”

Thirty seconds, that was all he could give her before he let his anger slip and took the threat out. He’d begun to move, when the young man let her go.

“Fucking bitch. See if I care if you get hurt,” the boy said, jerking his head and heading back to his friends drinking at their post. He didn’t even turn to watch as she made her way alone into the dark.

Logan melted back, following Trina until he was sure they were out of the sentry’s view before he emerged from the shadows.

Trina jumped.

“Logan!”

His bloodlust coalesced into fear, and then anger. “You should never have come, he almost wouldn’t let you leave.” He kept his hands locked at his side, when all he wanted to do was grab her and shake her until she begged for mercy. “Your glamour’s fading. Where have you been? You were supposed to be out of there an hour ago!”

Trina’s stunned features had a soft haziness as the glamour dissipated and he kicked himself for his lack of self-discipline. It wasn’t her fault he was acting like a jealous fool.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Unclenched his hands one finger at a time.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m tense from moving among so many people. I haven’t been in a social situation like that for a long time.”

She smiled. A rush of relief coursed through him.

“It’s okay. Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said. He returned her radiant smile and reached out his hand.

She slipped her small, warm hand into his and joy flowed into him. Damn. He had no shame. He didn’t even care that she unmanned him with a single look, stealing his fire and anger and replacing it with the puppyish need to please.

“Wait until you hear what I found out,” she said. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to figure this thing out!” Logan kept a tight hold on Trina’s hand, and moved in front, to keep her from being slapped by branches as they moved deeper into the open space. He kept turning his head back to see her face lit up with the joy of starting down a path that might lead to her family’s salvation.

He was distracted, listening to her and ensuring she could find the trail in the dark, when behind them, he heard the snap of a branch breaking.

“What was that?” Trina paused and cocked her head.

“Just keep moving.” He tugged her along and opened his tracking Gift, sifting through the woods around them. When he realized what was behind them, his blood froze.

At least there were only two. Shit! Where were the hounds when he needed them? Why hadn’t he brought at least one? Or the insolent puca? He pulled Trina to a stop and held a finger to her lips to forestall the words about to tumble out.

“Shh,” he whispered.

She strained, listening. They both heard a small movement in the woods to their right. He moved in, close to her ear and spoke in a quiet voice. “When I tell you, run for the entrance to the pipe.” She started to open her lips. “Shh, don’t look back. Just go as fast as you can. Rinnal’s stone should open the tunnel for you.” He gripped her arm and held her gaze, tried to put as much of a command spell as he was capable of into the order.

“Run.”

In the dark, her eyes were glazed with fear as she struggled with his power.

“But…”

“No time. Run!” He gave her a push and reached into his pocket for his sword and scabbard. She stumbled, tripped, then picked herself up, running through the dark brush in earnest, but it was too late. She would never make it as far as the tunnel. He cast his senses out and chose the animal on the right, the one racing after Trina.

He threw a quick prayer to the Goddess that the other one would be slow, then turned, drew his sword, and confronted the enemy.

Chapter Thirteen

Five feet at the shoulder, it was one of the largest wild boars Logan had ever seen, and not one that should exist here in the human’s world. He jumped in front of it and faced it head on, sword at the ready, his tension over Trina transferring into something he knew how to deal with; the hunt. The beast slowed, giving him a good look at its maddened red eyes, slavering sharp tusks, and a good whiff of its rank stench.

Someone must have brought the animals through a portal, because boars of this size only existed Underhill. Someone was out for blood.

He had time enough to wish again for the hounds. They would have relished the opportunity to take down one of the beasts. And then any time for wishing was over. The boar charged.

Logan crouched, slashing at the creature’s throat with his weapon. The blade slid on the thick skin, barely scratching the surface and skittering off the side with a whine. He whipped around as the boar rotated on its haunches, eyes rolling, and backed up for another charge.

Even with the trampled brush, there wasn’t much room to swing a long sword on the stony slope. Logan ducked a branch and scratched his face on another. The boar, with his tough skin and small eyes, had the advantage here under the trees. Luckily, Singer was a magical blade, one of the few items he’d kept from his son-of-a-bitch father.

He’d barely thought the request before Singer remade itself into a short-sword designed for close quarters, sharp thrusts, and boars. The beast squealed, lowered its head, and charged. Squatting down, Logan braced for impact, and shoved Singer up into the tough hide of the boar’s throat. The thrust slowed as the magical blade slid deep into the resistant flesh of the gullet.

Blood spurted into Logan’s face and the continued charge of the boar brought the beast up and over him, pushing him to the ground. Hanging on with all of his strength to Singer’s blood soaked hilt, Logan rolled out from under the sharp, pounding hooves, pulled his weapon out, and landed hard on a sharp stone.

He gasped for breath. Struggling to his feet, he licked the metallic taste of blood off his lips. Savoring the rush of life energy from his prey, he rolled his neck and got ready for the killing stroke.

The boar lowered its head. Its injured lungs wheezed frothy, gurgling breaths of blood and air as it pawed the ground. It wavered, raised its head and, oblivious to its imminent death, it charged again.

Logan weaved out of its way. It ran past, huffing blood-spraying last breaths, its cloven hooves churning up the dry grass. He raised his sword for the death blow and Trina’s scream rang out into the night.

He missed, his blade barely nicking the tough hide and bouncing off the shoulder. The boar charged again, gushing blood and screaming its rage. Logan turned. Making a huge effort, he leapt over the beast’s wide back, his movement carrying him past it and into the dark woods. Leaving the mortally wounded boar to die, he raced toward Trina’s screams.

Thick pine branches slapped him in the face and arms as he ran, tearing his bloody clothes and slashing his skin. He burst into a clearing lit by the last of the night’s moon. Trina hung wedged in a tree, desperation in every line of her body as each slamming impact of the boar on the trunk loosened her grip. Bark and saliva flying, the grunting beast tore into the tree, its six-inch razor-sharp tusks skimming the bottom of Trina’s high heeled boots.

Logan waved his sword, but the beast ignored him and backed up for another lunge, intent on taking Trina and the tree down.

The boar’s muscles bunched. It pushed off, hooves churning, dirt flying. Logan threw himself between the beast and the tree, but it came on. He braced his back against the trunk and gripped Singer in both hands. The ground shook with each pounding of the boar’s charging hooves. Logan pushed the point of the sword into one maddened red eye, piercing it with a soft gush as the boar’s charge carried it into Logan. Its tusk dug deep into his shoulder as his sword arm went numb and his blade sank deep into the resistance of the brain.

The boar screamed, spittle and snot spraying into Logan’s face and chest. It wavered on its feet then fell to the ground, its skin twitching. Logan pulled his sword out, getting drenched in a stinking flood of blood and brains. And the other boar stumbled into the clearing.

Blinking through the fluid, Logan crouched, exhausted, and wiped his face on his sleeve. The wounded boar slowed. Bubbles of blood and air oozed from its mouth with each wheezing breath.

Logan yelled, raised Singer, and brought the sword slashing down in the death blow.

The boar took a slow step, then another, before falling on its side. It sucked in one last, loud labored gasp of air and as the life drained out of its beady eyes, energy flowed into Logan.

“Blessed Goddess, take the sacrifice of these creatures lives and thank you for a successful hunt.”

“Damn, I can’t believe how big they grow pigs in Denver.” Trina’s whisper was hoarse. Logan closed his eyes, extending his senses as far as he could into the woods around them. Straining his Gift to the limit he tried to sense anyone or anything else. There was a faint energy buzz, as if someone nearby was cloaked in power.

And then it was gone.

Trina trudged after Logan into the pre-dawn shadows of the cottage and stopped. The tin tub still sat in the center of the cottage, but it had doubled in size and become a steaming bubble bath for two. She eyed the cottage’s latest attempt to push her into Logan’s bed and sank down into a chair.

She was worn out. The earlier fight with Logan, the tension of meeting with Mariella, the encounter with nightmare hogs chasing her up a tree. But most of all, she was tired from jumping at every dark shadow on the long walk home. She tugged off a boot and massaged her aching toes.

“Mmmmm,” she moaned, digging her fingers into the sole of her foot.

Logan arched a bloody brow.

“What? I’m exhausted.”

Shaking his head he barred the door, lowering a solid wood beam into cast iron brackets. Trina’s shoulders relaxed at the heavy thunk. For the first time, she was thankful for the hedge of thorny brambles that surrounded them. If she’d had trouble getting out, other things would have trouble getting in. He circled the room and checked the windows, coating each shuttered and barred opening in the blue glow of his magic. Nothing would catch them unaware today.

She tugged off her other high boot and wiggled her bare-feet, eyeing the steaming water in the tub. “I’m wiped. You must be, too,” she said.

“Ready to clean up and get some sleep, no doubt,” he said, removing his cloak and placing his sword on the table within easy reach of the tub.

He stood in front of her bare feet and took her chin in a gentle grip, tilting it until she had no choice but to look up.