The Gathering Read online

  Leda hugged her arms across her body, curling her fingers to her palms. “Tell me your story,” she said. “How did you get here?”

  “I was feeding a cat in Minnesota,” Hunter said. “Next thing I knew, I had a lion licking my face, and you pointing a rifle at me.”

  “You don’t know what happened?”

  “Something ripped me from Minnesota and deposited me here. I figured it was you. Did you perform a Calling?”

  “A calling?” She had a feeling he didn’t mean on his cell phone. “A summoning, you mean? People can summon you?”

  “Witches can. But that hasn’t happened in a long, long while. I saw a flash of my oldest brother at the same time. Maybe he was being Called too.”

  “So, why don’t you ask him what happened?”

  “Because I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen Adrian in . . . Oh, must be seven centuries now.”

  Leda went silent as she digested all he’d said. I’m powerfully magical, but someone summoned me here. I don’t look a day over thirty, but my brother and I haven’t spoken in seven hundred years. I’m dangerous and I’ve trapped you here, but don’t worry, I mean you no harm.

  “You’re not a vampire, are you?” she asked. “One with a really good glam spell?” A vampire excellent at seduction could mask his death magic.

  Hunter started to laugh. He yanked open the door and sprinted outside, down the steps of the veranda and straight into the bright light of the morning.

  It was the first day of May, Beltane, and the sun shone with all its might. Hunter spun around in the sand below the house and spread his arms. “There. Not a vamp. Believe me?”

  The sun kissed tanned, broad shoulders and sinewy arms. Wind blew his wet hair back, the sun burnishing red and gold highlights. He was no vampire. Even a very powerful Old One would have been a pile of dust by now.

  Then, before her startled eyes, Hunter whipped the towel from around his waist and tossed it onto the sand. The first thing Leda noticed: no tan lines. Just strong muscular legs drawing to taut hips, and a long, thick cock that made her wonder breathlessly how large he’d be when erect.

  Right now he was laughing at her. “Nice day for a swim,” he said. “Join me, Leda.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he turned and jogged down the beach, giving her full view of his tight, compact backside. He was a beautiful man and his body in motion was incredible. So incredible Leda had to sink into the nearest veranda chair and watch him, her heart beating hard and fast.

  Chapter Three

  Hunter knew Leda hadn’t followed him. She was fighting feelings of should not some humans had. She didn’t understand the concept of live life now, but Hunter could work on that. He’d learned his hard lesson as an Immortal—suck the juice from every glorious hour, because darkness would always come.

  Hunter had his own code: Don’t harm innocents. Do kill evil beings. That was pretty much it. An easy existence, one that let him survive and forget. Hunter needed to forget so much.

  He ran out into the waves and whooped as the cold water closed over him. The tide picked him up off his feet and ran out with him, and he let it. Inside their cages, Mukasa and the bear Taro grunted and growled. They wanted to play in the sunshine too.

  Hunter used his magic to open the cage doors. Leda, watching him, didn’t notice what he’d done until Taro came bounding down to the beach. Mukasa followed more slowly, still hurt from his wounds and not as thrilled about water as the Japanese bear.

  He heard Leda shriek. “Hunter, what have you—” But her words were cut off when Taro barreled him under the water.

  He came up again to see Leda standing on the sand outside the tidal pool, barefoot but still in shorts and T-shirt. Her hands rested on her curved hips, wind whipping her golden hair, the sun shining through her clothes. A beautiful, beautiful woman.

  “There are sharks out there,” she shouted.

  “They won’t bother us.”

  Mukasa lay down on the sand and proceeded to groom his huge front paws. Taro wanted to play. Released from confinement, the bear rediscovered his wildness along with joy in finding a playmate. Hunter and Taro wrestled and swam, raced and tussled until finally Hunter crawled up on the beach and flopped on his back, breathing hard.

  Taro played in the water a while longer, then trundled out of the waves and shook himself all over Hunter and Mukasa. Mukasa growled and heaved himself up, giving Taro a look of disgust. Leda had already retreated to the veranda, but Hunter heard her laugh. Sweet music.

  He projected thoughts to the two animals, not words, but images they’d understand. Give us a little privacy, will you?

  Both animals retreated into their enclosures. Leda stared after them in surprise, but she made no move to lock the gates. Good for her. The creatures needed to roam, or their healing would never be complete.

  Hunter retrieved the towel and used it to brush the sand from his body, then he wrapped it around his shoulders and approached the veranda. Leda met him at the top of the steps with an armful of clothes, her gaze carefully avoiding the region of his lower body.

  “What are those?” he asked.

  “Your jeans and a couple of shirts Douglas left behind.”

  Hunter lifted the plain T-shirts. They’d fit but be a little tight across his shoulders. “Why does he have clothes here?” he asked in suspicion.

  “He always brings clean ones,” Leda said. “Taking care of the animals is messy business, and big cats like to spray.”

  Hunter pictured Douglas drenched in odiferous cat fluids, and let out a gleeful laugh. “And you’re sure you and he aren’t lovers?”

  She regarded him in amazement. “Of course I’m sure. Why do you think so?”

  “Because you’re beautiful, and this island is remote, exotic.” Hunter traced her cheek. “How could any man resist you?”

  Leda blushed under his touch, which made her eyes starry. “Trust me, they resist.”

  “No.” He thought he understood the measure of her. “You give them no encouragement, and so far, they’ve been polite enough not to take what isn’t offered.”

  Leda hugged the clothes to her. “You’re wrong. They’re not remotely interested in a divorced woman with a PhD in animal behavior.”

  “Bet me. Douglas wants you. I saw it in his eyes and heard it in the way he spoke to you. He’s furious now that I’m here, and he isn’t.”

  Hunter blew softly on Leda’s cheek. He could weave a spell to make her surrender, but that wouldn’t be as satisfying as her coming to him on her own.

  “Are you married?” she asked, eyes flickering in challenge.

  “I used to be.” He felt a stab of sadness, but he wanted her to know. “I had a wife called Kayla and two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. My wife came from what is now Hungary.”

  “Oh.” Leda blinked, clearly surprised at his answer. “What happened?”

  “They died. A demon killed them. Even my two babies.”

  Hunter didn’t like grief, and he’d done his best to bury it deep. Everything he’d done since their deaths—every wild act, every kill, every sexual hijinks—had been to make himself forget. And here he was sharing his pain, something Hunter had never done with another living being. His brothers knew what had happened to Kayla and the kids, but they’d never, ever talked about it with Hunter. They knew better.

  Leda put her hand on his cheek, which was wet with tears. “Goddess, Hunter, I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.”

  He kissed her palm, tears dropping unheeded from his eyes. “It was a long time ago.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Nine hundred and forty-eight years.” Hunter met her gaze, stunned to see her eyes moist as well. “I still miss them.”

  She stared at him, then softened. “Good. You keep on missing them. Who was this demon?”

  She had the look. Hunter recognized it from spying himself in mirrors throughout the centuries, from polished bronze on up through silver gilt. It
was the look of vengeance, the need to right the wrong.

  “Leave it alone,” Hunter said. “I’m looking for him, believe me, but I don’t want him taking you away too.”

  Leda’s eyes were alight. “Hunter, I used to belong to a very powerful, worldwide group of witches called the Coven of Light. Some of the strongest witches on the planet are members. I quit for personal reasons, but there are one or two I could contact and ask to help find him.”

  “No,” Hunter growled, shaking his head. “This demon is an Old One who escaped eons ago, I don’t know how. I fought him and lost. I lost.” He stepped closer to her, needing her to understand. “Witches, even great ones, can’t defeat what I can’t.”

  “That sure of yourself, are you?”

  He gave her a nod. “It’s only the truth.”

  Leda stared up at him, undaunted. Perhaps Hunter should go away and leave her alone, leaving his protection firmly over this place. She didn’t need to know about him and this demon. He started to brush the tears from his eyes and found his arm gritty with sand.

  “I need to shower again.”

  Hunter walked past her into the house, and Leda followed. As soon as Leda closed the door behind them, she said, “Wait.”

  Hunter turned around to find her against him. She’d dropped the extra clothes and now put her hands on his bare chest. Her face turned up to his, her eyes dark and her invitation clear.

  The lips she offered were sweet and cool. Hunter kissed her lightly at first, wanting to get to know her.

  She had the finest-smelling hair, soft as gossamer. Hunter knew part of the scent came from the shampoo he’d found in the bathroom, a spicy, instead of flowery scent. He laced his fingers through her sloppy braid, loosening it.

  Leda seemed fascinated by his tattoo, which he’d gotten when he’d come of age to show the world he was one of the Immortals. That was back when the world had cared. Leda traced it with curious fingers, which was fine with him, because it put her touch right above his rising cock.

  He slid hands under the T-shirt, finding apple-firm breasts to fit his hands. Pulling the shirt off over her head allowed him to feast on her neck, lick her collarbone, kiss his way down to her aureoles, dark and tight for him.

  He would get sand on her sheets, he thought as he unbuttoned her shorts and dipped his fingers inside. He found the heat between her legs, slick and hot.

  But that’s all right, his thoughts continued as he and Leda drifted to the sofa. I’ll wash them.

  Leda kissed him hungrily—as though she’d wanted to kiss someone for a long time, to abandon herself to longing but feared to. She could abandon herself now, fine with Hunter. Any frustration she needed to slake, he was happy to slake it for her.

  He swiped his tongue into her mouth, loving her sweet-hot taste. Not much longer now, and he’d be buried inside her, ready to forget his past one more time . . .

  And someone touched his wards. Hunter felt the warning tingle through his body, and Leda sensed it too, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

  The sound of a man’s voice down at the water lifted to them. Hunter began to raise his head to look out the window, but Leda dragged him down.

  “What?” Hunter whispered.

  “I didn’t hear a boat, and that’s not Douglas.”

  Hunter hadn’t heard the throbbing sound of helicopter blades nor the putter of an outboard engine on a boat coasting in to moor. Listening hard, he could make out a scraping sound he knew by experience was oars in oar locks. Then came the sound of an aluminum boat scraping on sand.

  Voices again. Both the men spoke Spanish, one with an American accent. Hunter understood them, and Leda seemed to also. They weren’t magical—Hunter would’ve felt that.

  “They’ve come for Mukasa,” Leda whispered. “Bastards. Haven’t they hurt him enough?”

  Hunter gave her a grim nod. “Let me teach them to leave Mukasa alone.”

  Hunter tried to rise, but Leda dug into his arms again. “They work for one of the nastiest drug cartels in Mexico. They probably brought an arsenal with them.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Hunter.”

  Hunter disengaged Leda’s hands and slid from the couch to the floor. Quietly he pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and moved in a half crawl, half crouch across the room to the bathroom. The bathroom was dense with shadow, less chance of them seeing him when he peered out its window.

  He spotted their boat, resting half on the sand, a large, strong cage nestled in its stern. Out to sea a yacht drifted, tiny figures moving on it. Two men walked up the beach, one carrying a long tranq rifle. They didn’t speak much, but it was clear they planned to grab Mukasa, dump him in the cage, and row back to the yacht. The second man’s jacket flapped open, revealing the butt of a pistol in a shoulder holster.

  Hunter left the bathroom and crawled swiftly back to the sofa. “Two of them,” he said to Leda. “They’re armed with pistols, but they have no magic. This will be easy.”

  Leda had put on her shirt, but her shorts were still undone, showing an enticing strip of red panties beneath. “I’ve only got the tranquilizer rifle.”

  Hunter grinned, his fighting instincts rising. “And I have my sword.”

  “Against guns? Are you crazy?”

  Hunter dragged her to him for a hard kiss, enjoying her taste of adrenaline and anger. “You lie low. I’ll take care of this.”

  Hunter gave her another kiss, grabbed his sword, yanked open the door, and slipped out into sunshine.

  Leda watched Hunter’s shadow cross the living room window as he moved in catlike silence to the beach. She had the radio to call Douglas, but feared to turn it on in case the static and chatter sounded across the quietness. If the men heard the noise, they might turn around and see Hunter, and she had no doubt they’d shoot him without hesitation.

  Leda slid to the floor and made her quick way to the bathroom so she could peer out its window. The animals, at least, stayed put. They distrusted humans and usually kept to the far edges of their enclosures when Douglas came around. In fact, the only human they’d responded to besides Leda so far was Hunter.

  From the bathroom window, she saw Hunter leap soundlessly, barefoot, from the rocks around the house to the beach. He stepped over the rivulet of water that cut a groove through the sand near the house and drew his sword from its leather scabbard. The blade was not straight but serpentine, like a writhing snake.

  Dropping the scabbard, Hunter whirled the sword and called out, “Hey, assholes!”

  The two men swung around, wide-eyed, but they reacted swiftly. They grabbed black pistols out of their holsters, and without waiting, fired.

  Slam, slam. Two bullets hit Hunter in the chest, right over his heart. Hunter stared at the men, eyes wide, as blood blossomed in ragged circles on his white T-shirt.

  He took a step back, staggered, and then fell onto the sand. He landed full length on his back, his head in the rivulet. Hunter’s eyes went blank with death, and the ends of his hair floated silently in the water.

  No! Leda screamed inside her head. No, no! Her vision blurred, but she couldn’t take her gaze from Hunter’s body, lying limply in the sand, the breeze blowing stray grains over his skin.

  The beautiful, primal man, who’d been so alive, was dead like so much meat. Leda’s throat squeezed with sobs, but she fought them back. If she ran out of the house, yelling and swearing as she longed to, Valdez’s men would shoot her too.

  But Hunter didn’t deserve to die this way. She had to get to the radio, no matter about the noise. Douglas was quick and resourceful—he’d have someone out here as fast as he could. Even if Valdez’s men got Mukasa to the yacht, the Coast Guard or DEA would hunt them down and arrest them. Leda would testify she’d witnessed them murder Hunter and steal Mukasa. They wouldn’t get away with it.

  But Hunter would still be dead.

  Leda dashed the tears from her eyes. The radio was in the kitchen, on the table with the unwashed coffee cups.
Her best opportunity to call would be when they entered the enclosure to drug Mukasa and drag him out. She’d have to wait.

  Poor Mukasa. Leda hoped he’d understand. She was dimly surprised Mukasa hadn’t come bounding out of his open enclosure to Hunter’s defense, but perhaps the lion had sensed it was best to hide.

  As Leda watched, the two men stepped over Hunter’s body and continued toward the enclosures. She kept her eye on them as they went, waiting until she could brave it to run across the kitchen.

  When she thought them far enough away, she glanced back at Hunter . . . and nearly screamed as he unfolded himself to his feet and picked up his sword. He walked—no stalked—to the men, blood trickling from his mouth and staining his shirt.

  “Hey,” he yelled.

  They jerked around, pistols out. Both visibly started when they saw Hunter facing them, standing upright and very much alive.

  Hunter swung his sword slowly over his head, the blade making a whistling sound. “Now you’ve pissed me off.”

  The two men opened fire. Hunter laughed and brought the sword straight down. The air before him shimmered like thick glass, and the bullets struck plink, plink, plink against it.

  The men unloaded everything they had at him, shooting in blind panic until their pistols clicked on empty clips.

  The glittering shield dissolved as Hunter walked through it. He laughed again and tossed his sword from hand to hand. “Now we’ll have some fun. You want me to do this with or without the sword?”

  Hunter raised the sword above his head, and the blade burst into flames, the yellow-orange fire pale in the sunlight. The two men gaped, eyes wide. “Shit,” one said loudly, then they both ran for the boat.

  Hunter chased them. He let out a mad, feral cry, made more terrible by the sword of flame he kept swinging around him. He whooped with crazed laughter, and the men redoubled their speed.

  The two men were in good shape, but Hunter stayed on their heels. They reached the boat, flinging themselves against it to push it into the water.

  Hunter stopped and watched as the little boat hit the waves, and lowered his sword. His choice to let them go.