Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) (21 page)

Rowan stopped walking after a few feet and bared her teeth in a silent snarl. She waved her arm in front of her, then curled her fingers as if pulling on something unseen. A blast of cold wind hit him, and the faintest whiff of sulfur permeated the air. He didn’t notice anything else unusual, but after a couple of heartbeats, several hounds emerged from nowhere, stepping through some wall he couldn’t see.

In unison, almost a dozen pairs of red eyes glanced from him to the basement door. The hounds bared their fangs, and saliva dripped from their mouths. They appeared ready to attack, but they wouldn’t move until Rowan gave them the command to do so.

The reason she held them at bay became apparent a moment later. Her horse trotted from the portal she’d opened. The mare looked sickly with its translucent skin and raw wounds covering its flank. The impressions of its rib cage showed, and its stomach was sunken. All in all, the thing looked as if it should be dead, but the horse was immortal and stronger than any mere mare could be.

“Grief.” Rowan greeted the animal with a tender caress along its neck. “Stay here until I call for you.”

Because if her horse were injured too greatly, it would have to return to the Underworld to heal, and she needed it to collect the sluaghs’ souls. He’d learned that from asking her brothers questions about being a Huntsman. He’d wanted to know everything he could beforehand so when the time came to ride, he wouldn’t flounder with the unknown the way Ian had.

A sword with tendrils of smoke snaking around its blade appeared in her hand. The weapon only a Huntsman could conjure or wield would be the means she used to free the sluaghs from their enslavement to their redcap master.

With a flick of her hand, she motioned for the hounds to follow her. All but three responded to her command. Those dogs left behind turned their unblinking gazes to him. Apparently, they’d be guarding him. He ignored the small part of him that wanted to be annoyed by Rowan’s order to the hounds. The rest of him understood she loved him and didn’t want to lose him. He wouldn’t fault her for it or ruin the emotion behind it by being an ass. If he wanted to be the only tough one in a relationship, falling in love with Arawn’s daughter was not the way to go.

He skimmed his free hand over the dogs’ backs as he ran forward. The first guttural roar reached his ears before he made it to the door. The sound cut off, but another sluagh’s enraged scream replaced the cry of the sluagh Rowan had no doubt killed.

The stench of rotting corpses drifted from the basement. He kicked the heavy padlock lying twisted and broken on the floor out of his way, then flicked the light switch before rushing down the stairs. In her Huntsman’s form, Rowan wouldn’t need the light, but he did. The moment he skidded into the open basement, he regretted the ability to see, even if it were necessary.

Animal carcasses littered the floor, and close to two dozen sluaghs converged on Rowan, while her hounds held another couple dozen cornered in the back of the room. The undead creatures approaching Rowan moved with sluggish, jerking movements. The lumbering approach was probably all they were capable of. They looked in worse condition than Rowan’s horse, with sections of bones showing.

Four sluaghs tackled Rowan from behind, knocking her to the ground. She shoved them off her, but the moment of distraction allowed another three to attack her with their own deadly claws.

The gashes of blood on her pale skin enraged Trevor. He ran toward her, swiping at the sluaghs in his way with his blade or toppling them with a hard push of his free hand. It didn’t matter if she were immortal and couldn’t die. Nobody was allowed to hurt her.

He grabbed the long hair of a female sluagh who was gnawing on Rowan’s shoulder and flung the creature away from her. Then, he slammed his dagger into the back of another sluagh, tearing a shriek from its throat.

Rowan turned, yanked the sluagh from Trevor’s hands, and severed the sluagh’s head with a swipe from her sword. Its body turned to ash before hitting the floor.

They worked their way through the creatures—him disabling the ones trying to attack her from behind and her taking their heads.

Finally, the last one crumbled, breaking apart before his very eyes.

He wiped the blade on his shirt and slid it back into the sheath in his boot. He’d have to start carrying it against his calf the way he had for years before he switched to the holder in his boot. The hilt, at the very least, had to touch his skin for the warning the blade offered to work. Tonight was a lesson learned, and one that would help them in their fight.

He scanned the room, looking for the entrance to the fairy realm, which had to be close. In the far corner, a section of the concrete floor had been dug up, allowing enough space for the circular ring of magical mushrooms to grow. Artificial lights were hung from the beams in the ceiling, providing the sunlight necessary for the fairy ring.

The redcaps were getting smarter. With a setup such as the one here, they’d be able to hide their portals to the fairy realm almost anywhere.

Movement caught his eye before he could give in to the string of curses hovering on his tongue.

Grief moved in a soundless gallop inches above the ground until it stood in the middle of the ashes covering the floor. The mare lifted its head, and flashes of light brightened its face. Trevor had seen the same thing when Calan’s horse, Death, had collected the souls of the sluaghs in a previous battle where Trevor had stood on the sidelines.

The horse lowered its head, and Rowan wrapped her arms around its neck. Trevor hadn’t even noticed her transformation back into her human body. She whispered something in the animal’s ear, then stepped back. The horse and the hounds she’d called forth disappeared as they had appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

She faced him, confusion pinching her brows. “Those sluaghs were locked in here and fed only animals.”

“So they didn’t kill anyone. Craig and his brothers want to earn redemption. That’s why Raul stole Harley’s blood, so they wouldn’t be tied to Dar.” Jen had been right in her assessment of the redcaps’ behavior.

“But Raul is now incarcerated in Hell. His brothers will join him once we find them.”

“And your father offers redemption to sinners. I’m not saying it’ll work, but that’s Jen’s theory.” Trevor swept his gaze over the room that looked as if it were decorated for a horror movie. “And after seeing this, I’d have to agree with her.”

“I can almost guarantee it won’t work, and I’m sure Raul and his brothers know that. For some sins, there is no redemption.”

“Then maybe they think suffering in Hell is better than being tied to Dar. Who knows what they’re thinking.” He shrugged. “But we need to get back. I want Allie to start carrying Ian’s old blade so she has a warning system if the Unseelie creatures are close.”

She fingered his bloody and torn shirt. “You’d better call and ask Ian and Tegan to pick us up. We’ll get arrested if we walk back to the parking lot looking like this.”

“Good idea.”

“I’m full of them.” The warm, contagious smile that had shattered him the first time he saw it brightened her face.

He trailed his fingers down her arm. “We make a great team.”

“Yes, we do. In all things.” Her smile faded. She stepped closer and rested her hand on his chest. “Don’t be mad, but when we get back, I will need to go to the Underworld.”

He tensed and fought his anger at the thought of her exposing herself once again to danger without him. “Why?”

“I have to escort Grief to the resting fields.”

“No. Your horse knows the way. I’m sure it can do that by itself.”

“It’s an honor to the innocent souls we’ve collected. My siblings and I have always shown this respect to them. It’s a way to let them know they are welcome in our private retreat for as long as they wish to remain.”

He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest, and rested his chin on the top of her head. “You’re taking one of your brothers with you, right? You promised.”

“I won’t be leaving our sanctuary. I’ll be safe.”

He didn’t like the idea of her going, but couldn’t deny her reason. He’d have to suck it up. “Come right back to me.”

“I’ll always return to you. Promise.”

A promise from an immortal could’ve been a vow written in blood. They wouldn’t break it for fear of damning themselves. That was why Arawn was so upset with Minerva. Rowan had clued him in to that on the drive into the city. Minerva had vowed to remain faithful to Arawn for eternity, but she’d broken that promise when she’d slept with Lucas.

“I know you will, baby, and I’ll be waiting for you. Always. Promise.”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

The Huntsmen’s home in the Underworld was vacant when Rowan arrived, but the evidence of Arawn’s recent occupation was scattered over the desk in the parlor. An empty decanter of vodka and a shot glass that still reeked of ambrosia sat next to a stack of sinners’ reports. All were stamped—rejected.

She picked the top folder and scanned the details. The male resided in the top level of Hell—the last stop before being released to the angels—and had made excellent progress in terms of redeeming his soul. Had this file landed on Arawn’s desk a few months ago, her father likely would’ve granted the release. The red stamp of disapproval over the cover sheet reflected the hardening of Arawn’s soul without Minerva. Rowan had feared such a thing occurring. There wasn’t a whole lot more she could do about it. Ultimately, Arawn and Minerva had to work out their issues.

Rowan dropped the folder and turned toward the stairs. There was one last thing she had to do before she returned to Trevor—retrieve the present she’d planned to give Kai on the night of their mating. She’d give it to Trevor when she returned to him. It was fitting. Tonight was the anniversary of her greatest mistake.

At the top of the stairs, a long hallway offered access to the bedrooms of her siblings. The seventh on the left had been hers. She pushed open the door and stared at the small space. The simple stuffed feather mattress with its thick quilt and a single pillow was pushed into the corner of the room. A large chest took up much of the remaining space. Piles of clothes had been tossed carelessly on top of its surface, as well as on the bed, and a pair of soft, animal-skin boots lay discarded near a small writing table. The wooden stool in front of it offered the only place to sit other than the bed. She’d rarely used either.

Her room had been a place to keep her belongings, nothing more. She’d hated being alone in it, and by the time she’d last used the space, sleep had been a distant memory. She trailed her fingertips over the desk. Unlike the surfaces in the church, no dust covered it—a benefit of living in the Underworld. She’d forgotten how much the little detail appealed to her. Having to clean the room she’d claimed in the Huntsmen’s new estate was annoying, to say the least.

This section of Hell, the Huntsmen’s private retreat, saw the same cycles of day and night that the human realm did, but it never changed seasons. Spring ruled in the valley of the Hunters.

She moved to the window and opened the shutters. Her room overlooked the stream that cut a meandering path through the resting fields. A couple of their hounds drank from the water, while others chased each other over the grassy meadow. Thousands of glowing balls in a variety of shades from pure white to dark gray undulated in the breeze blowing through the valley. Every one belonged to a victim of the fairies. The sheer number of orbs, representing the souls they’d collected over the years, stirred her anger. Each marked a failure.

Unable to look upon their collective sin a moment longer, she faced the chest. The wooden box was as wide as the bed. Carvings of animals decorated the sides. She’d fallen in love with the piece of furniture when she’d seen a similar one in the human world and had replicated it for her personal use in the Underworld. With a single finger, she traced the depiction of a wolf howling at the moon. It was beautiful and…

She sighed at the realization of what she was doing—delaying the inevitable moment when she retrieved her mating gift. That was the purpose of entering her old room, not allowing her thoughts to wander to meaningless things.

With a swipe of her hand, she knocked the pieces of clothing to the floor and lifted the chest’s heavy lid. Centuries’ worth of memories stared back at her, some from before her time with Kai, some after. She ignored them all and grabbed a small wooden case. Without looking at the contents of the box, she dropped the lid of the chest, allowing it to slam closed, and left her sullen room behind.

She paused at the parlor’s door. Still no Arawn. Hopefully that meant he was with Minerva, but the likelihood of that was slim. Rowan wasn’t about to look for him either. She’d promised Trevor she wouldn’t leave the sanctuary of the Huntsmen’s valley, and she kept her promises. She clutched the box—another promise she planned to fulfill, even if the delivery was a few centuries late.

The hounds greeted her at the door. They never entered the house, even though they could. The dogs enjoyed being outside. They followed her to the winding stone path leading to the rough-cut entrance to the human world. No matter where they opened a portal on the mortal realm, it always led here—home. There was another one waiting for her, though, and his name was Trevor.

The rock surface at the end of the corridor grew opaque with each step she took toward it. Fuzzy shapes formed—the replacement bench for the one Calan had broken months ago, the bushes and small shrubs. Each detail became crisper until the doorway gave way to the human realm. She stepped through, and the portal snapped closed behind her.

Dusk darkened the sky over the butterfly gardens on the Huntsmen’s new estate. No more than an hour had passed, but she hadn’t entered the Underworld immediately upon returning from the city. After the two-hour drive to the estate, Rhys had cornered them to extract every detail of the discovery in the church’s basement.

Trevor would likely be awake, waiting for her. She wanted to go to him. His arms wrapped around her eased her bleeding soul. Instead of taking the path to the house, she walked through the woods, following the worn footpath to the lake.