Bloodbond #1

Chapter I

Nicolai

It’s not an ideal night for hunting werewolves. Light drizzle that masks the vibrations in the air and a thick fog only make my job harder. Crouching low and brushing my fingers over the dewy grass helps me get my bearings. The tracks are leading right into a nearby cemetery. An interesting choice.

Tilting my head, a drop of water slides down my nose, pearling on the tip.

If any other hunter was on this creature’s tail, the rain might have allowed them to get away.

Unfortunately for them, I’m not just any hunter, and I never lose my prey.

By the end of the night, he’ll either be in chains or dead.

It makes no difference to me either way. There are always more to find.

Notching an arrow in my curved bow, I hold the weapon loosely in my hands.

The smell of the beast is strong here; he’s not far away.

All lycans have a distinct scent: dirt, blood, and something else, like freshly ripe dewberries.

Not exactly an appealing mixture though it does make them easier to track.

The rain falls heavier as I make my way closer, completely drenching me in the cold. It causes an unpleasant shiver to run down my back, signaling that it’s time to finish this. As a vampyre, I can’t get sick with human diseases. That doesn’t mean that I enjoy being wet and miserable.

Slinging my weapon over my shoulder, I lift my chin, closing my eyes and concentrating.

My heart slows down, thumping loudly in my ears and then dropping to nothing, the barely there flicker silent and undetectable.

Red bleeds into my vision as my body essentially turns itself off.

The lack of a heat signature allows me to move without triggering a lycan’s enhanced senses.

When I still myself like this, no regular beast can find me. No one could.

There’s movement in the brush. I tense, coiling, ready to strike.

What emerges isn’t a lycan, it’s an extension of one: a soul shadow.

Only alphas have the ability to push a piece of their soul from their bodies and use it to track, to hunt.

Some of the strongest, oldest ones can even use it to send messages.

This one is searching, darting across the grass and disappearing to my left.

An alpha.

That wasn’t in my orders.

I let out a curse in Romanian. I didn’t come prepared for that kind of strength. This can’t be an accident. Details like hunting an alpha don’t just get missed.

As soon as I move from my hiding place, I shed my cloaking ability. An alpha will see right through it, and I need to conserve my energy. My heartbeat resumes its normal pace, and the color of the world seeps back in. Staying low, I stalk through the dense trees and foliage, using them as cover.

My black leather outfit helps me blend, sinking into the dark of night like a shadow. Every piece of the ensemble was handcrafted for haste and stealth, from the hood and face mask all the way down to my comfortable leather boots. Even the buckles on my corset are designed not to reflect light.

The thin, heavy chains I’ll use to claim my prize hang around my waist, a familiar weight after so many years of hunting. They aren’t the caliber they need to be for an alpha, but I’ll work with them. I’m nothing if not resourceful.

Following the soul shadow takes me deeper into the darkness, right into the heart of the cemetery. Risky to be here on All Hallow’s Eve. There are worse things sleeping in the world than werewolves and vampyres. I’d rather not disturb them while I’m here.

Not to mention that the ghosts and auras surrounding the site like a blanket make it hard for me to triangulate the beast’s position.

Not even his strong scent will help me here.

The soul shadow doesn’t tell me anything; they can be miles away from their master, sometimes farther depending on the strength of the beast.

The sound of a shifting rock echoes nearby.

The underlying smell of rot from the graves grows stronger, and then the soul shadow attacks.

It wraps itself around my ankle and rips me off balance.

Cursing and rolling, I pull myself out of its grasp.

I should know better than to give them the first hit.

I hook my bow fully over my neck and shoulders and reach for the daggers hidden in my leather gauntlets before rolling to my feet.

The soul shadow looms above me, three times my size, with red blood running through the black, swirling and hungry.

The time and energy it would take me to actually kill this thing would be a waste; doing so will only chip away at the beast’s true power, akin to a papercut.

There’s no way I’ll be able to shackle an alpha if I deplete myself before I even catch a glimpse of the thing.

Taking one down generally requires a plan, and I should have been given the opportunity to create one before going out on the hunt.

Doing this on the fly isn’t my idea of a fun time.

Someone will pay dearly for that mistake after I’ve extracted an explanation through whatever means are necessary. First I need to survive the night, preferably with a werewolf in tow. I don’t fail, and tonight won’t be an exception.

Sacrificing a dagger, I bury it deep in the tail end of the soul shadow, securing it to the wet ground. It won’t take long for it to free itself, just long enough for me to get some distance from it. I need to find where the real creature is hiding itself.

I’ve barely made it across a field of graves and the roof of a mausoleum before the soul shadow is on my heels, nipping at me like a rabid dog. It swipes at me, and I jump off the building, landing in the soft grass outside of a stone-crypt entrance.

The second my boots find purchase on the wet ground, I’m knocked off them, flung into the side of the stone wall so hard it cracks and crumbles around me.

Fuck.

I barely manage to dodge the claws coming for my face, ducking under the sharp points, before burying my remaining dagger into the side of the beast. Staying trapped against the wall means certain death, which isn’t my goal, and I use my elbow to create space to avoid it.

It only works to an extent, and I’m forced to twist away and roll forward, out of slashing distance.

When I get to my feet, I get my first good look at the lycan.

He’s bigger than I expected, even for an alpha.

Males grow big, alphas bigger still, but this one is big. I’ve never seen one this size before.

It snarls, large fangs gleaming under the moonlight. They’d have the strength to rip right through my smaller frame if I let them. I don’t plan on becoming beast food tonight. Not on any night but especially tonight.

He swings at me with a massive paw as big as my head, the deadly claws aiming for my jugular. I sidestep and grab a furry arm, using the hold to vault up and over his shaggy head, flipping through the air and out into a more open area. Close quarters aren’t optimum for this kind of fight.

A tail flicks me in the face, momentarily stunning me.

What the fu—a paw slams my head into the wall, breaking my nose as the force of it collapses the foundations of the stone.

Pain lances up between my eyes, water pooling at the corners.

Before I can react, the beast flings me through the hole he just created with my head, right into the sarcophagus in the center of the small room.

The cold stone floor isn’t the most comfortable thing to land on.

Blood drips down my lips, and I wipe it off with the fabric in the crook of my elbow as I get to my feet.

The best thing about this particular leather is just how easy it is to get blood out of it.

My broken nose throbs, healing slowly. Drinking blood might speed it up, but I never drink from the source.

The act is too intimate for me even when it’s merely a means to an end.

Not to mention, I’d rather starve than take from a werewolf.

I can’t imagine their blood would be anything but sour.

Jumping backward over the sarcophagus puts it between us, giving me the illusion of safety. The beast lands on all fours where I was standing. His enormous claws drip blood, my blood. He’ll pay for that.

His soul shadow slinks into the room and merges with him, his already formidable strength bolstered by reconnecting all the pieces of his soul. Just what I need.

My dagger, stuck in his side, doesn’t hinder his movements as he strides across the small space.

Fucking hell, he’s massive. Thick, dark-brown fur, intelligent yellow eyes, claws like steel.

Not just an alpha. He’s more than that. A fucking sentinel, most like, one of the high alphas from the inner circle.

An old and powerful lineage. I’ve never faced one before.

Hell, I’ve never met one in all my three hundred and twenty years. I don’t know of many who have.

I don’t know if I can successfully chain it. Are there chains strong enough to hold any of them? There may not be enough of them for the sentinels to be a real threat, but they’re lethal enough that bringing them in has never been attempted.

The vampyre who gave me this directive—without warning me of the caliber of lycan I’d be hunting—will die a slow, painful death.

Once I get myself out of here. Fighting is too risky, and I don’t deal in that kind of uncertainty.

Not when I’m on the wrong foot and without the right weaponry.

I win my fights because I walk into them with confidence and with a foolproof plan, not from winging it.

I’ll be back for this creature, prepared and ready to make it bend at the knee.

The werewolf is between the entrance and me, so I go for the half-collapsed wall instead. He moves, blocking my path.

“Let me leave, or die. Your choice,” I say, my lilted Romanian accent thick and deep.

If he wants to push the issue, then I’ll do what I have to.

If only one of us is leaving the cemetery, I’ll make sure it’s me.

The priority of capturing him means nothing against my own life.

I won’t hesitate to leave him here in pieces if he forces my hand.

I won’t die in a place that already reeks of death.

The thick fur on the lycan’s back stands on end, and he bares his fangs in a loud snarl, snapping them menacingly. They’re rabid animals, the lot of them. No finesse, no grace, and no manners.

I shrug the bow from my shoulder and pull an arrow from my quiver.

My stubborn insistence on having nothing but the best means they’re still intact.

It’s hardly practical to defend myself with easily broken, useless weapons.

I crafted these myself and paid witches a small fortune to enchant them with extra strength.

They aren’t infallible, but they’re more reliable than most.

“Fine, have it your way.”

He charges at me at the same time I let an arrow loose, hitting his shoulder. I manage to get one more arrow off, slicing a line across the side of his head, before he barrels right into me.

We hit the concrete hard, all the air forced out of my lungs in a burst of pain.

Punching it in the nose results in a satisfying yelp.

There’s a short-lived satisfaction when claws slice across my shoulder in retaliation.

They rip through my cross-body harness and clip one of the buckles on my corset, scratching it.

I jam my knee up into its inner thigh, missing the delicate middle I was aiming for.

Time for a different tactic. The dagger still embedded in the beast’s side comes out easily enough, and I move my arm across to slice its throat.

It won’t be a killing blow for something this strong.

It’s not meant to; I only want to give myself time to run.

I’d rather be labeled a live coward than a dead failure. Revenge tastes sweeter if I’m alive to exact it. I haven’t lived this long by making wrong decisions or acting rashly.

We both freeze when the concrete cracks beneath us. That was more than a fissure crack. Too deep. What the—

Our eyes meet as the floor gives way beneath us.