Hunting Human
Authors: Amanda E. Alvarez
Hunting Human
By Amanda E. Alvarez
For two years, Beth Williams has run from the past—and the beast that dwells inside her. She is haunted by memories of being kidnapped and the savage attack that killed her best friend. Now Beth finally thinks she’s ready to move on…with Braden Edwards, a charming, irresistibly sexy man who tempts Beth to embrace the present.
But the past lurks closer than Beth realizes. Markko Bolvek, one of the werewolves who kidnapped her, has tracked her to Portland, Oregon, his pursuit fueled by a hunger for vengeance. Only Braden, a werewolf himself, senses the danger shadowing her steps. The Edwards and Bolveks have been enemies for centuries—and despite the instant connection he feels with Beth, Braden isn’t sure which side of the war she’s on.
With suspicion at odds with their attraction, Beth and Braden must learn to trust one another to stop Markko for good. Can Beth accept the wolf within—and love a man who embodies everything she fears?
Dear Reader,
A new year always brings with it a sense of expectation and promise (and maybe a vague sense of guilt). Expectation because we don’t know what the year will bring exactly, but promise because we always hope it will be good things. The guilt is due to all of the New Year’s resolutions we make with such good intentions.
This year, Carina Press is making a New Year’s resolution we know we won’t have any reason to feel guilty about: we’re going to bring our readers a year of fantastic editorial and diverse genre content. So far, our plans for 2011 include staff and author appearances at reader-focused conferences such as the RT Booklovers Convention in April, where we’ll be offering up goodies, appearing on panels, giving workshops and hosting a few fun activities for readers. We’re also cooking up several genre-specific release weeks, during which we’ll highlight individual genres. So far we have plans for steampunk week and unusual fantasy week. Readers will have access to free reads, discounts, contests and more as part of our week-long promotions!
But even when we’re not doing special promotions, we’re still offering something special to our readers in the form of the stories authors are delivering to Carina Press that we’re passing on to you. From sweet romance to sexy, and military science fiction to fairy-tale fantasy, from mysteries to romantic suspense, we’re proud to be offering a wide variety of genres and tales of escapism to our customers in this new year. Every week is a new adventure, and we want to bring our readers along on the journey. Be daring, be brave and try something new with Carina Press in 2011!
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I expected that writing my first novel would be a solitary experience. I am very fortunate that I was wrong. At times it felt as though I had an entire army at my back supporting me and guiding me (and sometimes threatening me) toward the finish line. So in no particular order, I want to say thank you to: My parents, for instilling the belief that with work and dedication success will follow. Richard Abshire for his guidance and support in getting started. Larissa and Michelle for all of the last-minute readings and insights. My writer’s group: Keith, Patrick, Larry, Kristen and Amanda (the other one!) for sharing the journey. Suzanne Frank and all of the Professors at the SMU Creative Writing Program, your dedication continues to astound me. My agent, Saritza Hernandez, for getting me started in the publishing world. And finally, my editor, Liz Bass, whose support and insight has ensured that the very best of my story is on the page. Thank you!
“Just pick one. There’s a blonde by the bar, tits that bounce every time she laughs.”
Markko snorted. She was, as Alek said, blonde. Generous tits. American, judging by her clothing. And completely oblivious to the predators in the room.
Boring
.
“She’ll scream,” Alek offered, eyes never leaving the woman. “Probably beg…”
“They all scream.” Markko grunted in frustration, tossed his cigarette to the floor and ground it out. “They all beg.”
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” Alek sighed and shifted, adjusting his crotch, with his gaze still locked on the blonde.
Markko looked away from the girl, his eyes moving over the crowd. “Forget the blonde. We aren’t here to indulge your preferences.”
“Fine,” Alek grumbled.
Markko stalked away from him, shoving through the throng of dancers. He sneered at the smell of them: sex, sweat and alcohol. As remarkable as the rodents that scurried along the forest floor. None of them interesting. None of them challenging.
None of them worthy.
This was for Ivan. A celebration of his baby brother’s birthright.
I’ll find the one that makes it memorable.
Rachel always managed to talk her into these things.
One. I agreed to
one
drink.
Liz sighed. She should have known better; she never seemed to learn her lesson. Now, three and half hours, two pubs and one seedy after-hours club later, bad American ’80s music blared from the speakers and her tennis shoes kept sticking to whatever concoction covered the floor. She was fairly certain her ears were bleeding and so much smoke hung in the air that her eyelids were beginning to feel like sandpaper.
Time to end the evening.
Liz worked her way back to the bar where she had left Rachel with several other hostel residents they’d been hanging out with for most of the night. Rachel’s flirty laugh—the one that signaled she was more than a little tipsy—bubbled out past the circle of guys surrounding her bar stool. Liz maneuvered past and slid through bodies, making her way up to Rachel, who was laughing, flashing perfect white teeth and tossing her straight blonde hair. The pint in her hand, the one that had been nearly empty when Liz went to find the bathroom, was full again. How many did that make? Liz had no idea. It was harder to keep track when Rachel wasn’t paying for them herself.
“Rachel…” Someone shouldered their way to the bar, shoving Liz forward. She made a desperate grab for the countertop, narrowly avoiding crashing into her friend. She didn’t manage to avoid Rachel’s full pint. Grimacing as the liquid soaked into the bottom of her sweater and the top of her jeans, she shot an offended glare over her shoulder.
Cold gray eyes held her gaze. The man’s face was a study in contrasts. His features were angular—sharp cheekbones and a broad forehead, with a nose slightly too large to be ideal. Though young, his skin looked aged and rough, and the two-day-old stubble told her hygiene wasn’t high on his list of priorities. His eyes were unusual, the color of cold steel and every bit as hard. A small scar ran horizontally through his left eyebrow and curved down to form a hook around the outside of his eye. His dark hair was shorn close to his head, a few tiny scars visible where his temple met his hairline. It could have been a handsome face, compelling at least, had he been clean-shaven with longer hair to soften the sharpness of his features. His eyes flashed and his lips thinned under her scrutiny. He straightened from where he lounged against the bar, his body issuing a challenge as he pushed himself to full height, towering over Liz’s five-foot-seven frame.
His gaze raked deliberately down her slender body, leaving Liz with the sensation of a thousand tiny insects crawling over her bare skin. A knot of unease formed in her stomach as his eyes traveled slowly back up, finally coming to rest on her face. His gaze flicked to Rachel, burning across her face and shoulders, resting too long on her neckline, as a slow grin curled his lips.
Disgusted, Liz straightened, angling her body to cut off his view of her best friend. His attention snapped back to her. Liz spread her legs, lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on, refusing to cower under his height or his scrutiny. Surprise flashed across his face, as though he’d expected her to wilt.
Asshole. I’m not that easy to intimidate.
Whatever. She’d just grab Rachel and go. Before she could put her plan into action, the bartender plopped a tepid pint in front of him, the head of the beer sloshing over onto the bar. He reached for his beer, his cold eyes never leaving her. When she didn’t move or otherwise react, his mouth twisted into a feral grin, his teeth flashing under the dancing strobe lights.
Liz took a step to the side, sick of the encounter, but he matched her movements. She couldn’t continue forward and the bar pressing into her back cut off any retreat. Cornering her, he pressed forward, invading her personal space as completely as possible without actually touching her. He hovered above her and then bent his head and drew in a deep breath, inhaling as though he could taste her through the air.
Liz’s patience snapped. She drove her shoulder into his body and muscled her way past him. “Excuse me,” she snarled.
He didn’t move, but allowed her to pass, forcing her to brush up against him. He took a long drink of his beer, eyes piercing her over the rim of his pint, before he turned and sauntered back through the mass of people and smoke.
Liz took a moment to steady her nerves and wipe her damp palms against her jeans before turning to Rachel.
“You ready?” She shouted over the music and conversation. Her tone or expression must have carried her irritation because Rachel paused and then snapped her mouth closed around her standard pleas for more time.
Rachel glanced at the guy she’d been chatting up most of the evening and found him swaying drunkenly into one of his friends and slurring his words. She caved. “Um, yeah. It’s probably getting pretty late anyway.”
She glanced at her watch and her head popped up. “Whoa, did we lose track of time or what? Guess we really should get going, huh?”
Liz reached out and steadied Rachel’s elbow as she wobbled off the barstool. Rachel grinned, turning back to her bar buddy.
“Hey, Luke, we’re heading back. You coming?”
Luke checked the time and grimaced. “Yeah, yeah!” He glanced around wildly and laughed. “You guys go ahead. I’ll round up everyone else and catch up.”
Liz kept her hand on Rachel, pulling her through the thinning crowd; it must be getting close to last call. They climbed their way up the steep set of stairs leading out of the basement, Bon Jovi wailing in the background. The crisp air hit them like a wall as they emerged onto the street. God, the morning was going to suck. Judging by the way Rachel had her head between her knees, hers was going to really suck.
“Alright, champ. Let’s get out of the doorway.”
They waited almost fifteen minutes, Liz bouncing her foot impatiently and Rachel leaning heavily against her shoulder. By the time the third group of drunken partiers emerged, Liz figured Luke and his pals had either decided to stay longer or had somehow slipped past them. Whatever. She was done waiting. A half dozen teenagers were drunkenly weaving their way in the direction of the hostel. Good enough. Liz grabbed Rachel under her elbow and propelled her up the street.
Two slow blocks later, Rachel was benefiting from the fresh air and beginning to move on her own. The group of kids they were walking with made a sudden right, heading up a narrow side street and disappearing into the lobby of a small hotel. The door swung shut behind the last pair, sealing their drunken noise away, plunging the rest of the street into silence.
Liz shivered. Nights in Estonia, even in the height of summer, were cool. As silence settled around them, cold began to creep in, spreading across the cobblestones and seeping through her clothes. Liz looped her arm through Rachel’s and urged her to walk a little faster. “Come on Rach, a couple of blocks and you can be horizontal in no time flat.”
“I’m dreading the morning.” The giggle attached to the statement said Rachel had no idea what she was in for. With any luck, she’d sleep straight through the worst of it.
They rounded the last turn and started the uphill walk, their destination finally in sight. The street, with lots of little shops and cafés, was empty but well lit. A white delivery van sat parked in an alley, nestled between a bakery and a tourist shop. In just a few hours, the street would start to come alive with residents and tourists walking up and down the cobblestone ways. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d be awake to experience it.
Rachel let out a long yawn followed by a groan. “I’m exhausted. Are we there yet?”
Liz shot her an amused grin over a shoulder. “Watch it, missy. Or you could share his fate.” She inclined her head toward the kid slumped on the stoop of a small shop. He was propped up sideways against the brick wall and the store’s blue door. His head hung at an undoubtedly uncomfortable angle, curly brown hair obscuring most of his face, an open bottle of beer next to him.
This was their routine. Rachel partied, Liz studied. Rachel drank, Liz drove. Rachel got them into trouble, Liz got them out of it. It had been that way since they were kids, and as annoying as it was, Liz wouldn’t change it. It was who they were; it just worked.
Up ahead on the other side of the street, someone leaned against the wall, the red embers of a cigarette the only thing distinguishable in the shadows. The small flame arched through the air. A man emerged into the lamplight, crushing out his dying cigarette as he went. Liz’s pulse stuttered into overtime as she recognized him as the man from the bar. She pulled Rachel closer and focused on the hostel up ahead in the distance.
Walking parallel across the street, the man called out, “I figured you for the hostel.”
His words shot through darkness, thick and heavily accented, clearly Eastern European. Increasing her pace, Liz narrowly avoided a collision with a man who stepped out of a shadowed doorway and into her path. He was shorter than the man across the street, but broader in the shoulders. The sleeves of his dingy white shirt were pushed partway up his forearms, revealing angry vines of tattoos that disappeared under his shirt and reappeared at his neck, twisting around his throat like a noose.
“Lizzy?” Fear now, more than alcohol, tinged Rachel’s voice.
“It’s alright,” Liz murmured. “Excuse us.” She focused past the man and stepped off the curb with Rachel clinging to her side. In her peripheral vision, she tracked the other man moving parallel along the street. They were only two hundred yards away from the hostel. It felt like miles.
Liz stumbled as Rachel jerked away from her, letting out a terrified squeal. Refusing to relinquish Rachel’s hand, Liz spun. A third, younger man had grabbed at Rachel’s shoulder. Fear slid down her back. The kid from the café doorstep stood grinning, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking neither drunk nor harmless. Rachel backed up, pressing herself as close to Liz as she could. They took a few steps back in tandem.
Staccato barks sounded next to them, sending Rachel spinning wildly in panic. Liz forced her fingers into an iron grip on her friend’s sweater and yanked, keeping Rachel from bolting from her side. Tears of fear and frustration welled in Rachel’s eyes.
“Shh. Listen to me. Stay with me,” Liz murmured, trying to keep Rachel out of panic’s grasp. The man across the street stepped off the sidewalk, ego lengthening his stride.
“Poor little Americans. Alek, I think you’ve frightened them,” he taunted.
Alek’s face stretched into a wide, pleased grin, his mass of tattoos contracting over the muscles of his neck.
Liz glanced over her shoulder; the kid was still behind them, though he had fallen back a few yards. She and Rachel might be able to rush past him, but to where? Beads of sweat began sliding down the back of her neck, slipping along her spine and eliciting a chill unrelated to the temperature.
An ignition fired, the hum of an engine filled the air; hope sparked in her chest.
Please.
The van parked by the bakery edged onto the street, creeping toward them. Hope twisted and died when the van’s headlights remained dark. They’d have to run.
Decision made, Liz spun back toward Alek, who’d gone from barking to panting, his tongue lolling obscenely in Rachel’s direction in a sick imitation of an animal. There was a small gap between him and the man in the middle of the street. Liz knew she and Rachel could never get past both men. Squaring her shoulders, she threw her foot into Alek’s crotch with enough force to have him choking on his balls. His animal-like pants turned to howls of pain and rage as he doubled over from the blow.
Shoving past him with every ounce of her strength, Liz propelled Rachel forward, placing herself between her friend and the remaining two men.
“Run!” Liz commanded.
Rachel didn’t need to be told twice. She hurtled up the cobblestone street, Liz following close at her heels.
One hundred yards.
White-hot pain erupted in the back of her head—someone had caught hold of her hair and wrenched. The force pulled her off her feet and she hit the street, breath snatched from her lungs and tears of pain burning her eyes. Relief mingled with terror. Rachel hadn’t realized what had happened.
Almost there, almost safe.
Seventy-five yards.
She grasped at the wrist that viciously gripped her hair, pulling her back up to her feet. She didn’t need to see his face to know that the body pressed against hers belonged to the man she had encountered in the bar. “Call her back,” he demanded.
“No,” Liz ground out, proud her voice didn’t waver.
Fifty yards.
“Stop!” The shout startled Rachel enough to glance behind her and slow. “Come back, or I’ll have to hurt your friend.” He shifted his grip, freeing up his right hand. The heavy swish-clink of a butterfly knife opening reached her seconds before the blade bit into her throat. To Liz’s horror, Rachel stopped.