Hunter Read online

  “I’m curious over her definition of harping,” Hunter chuckled, an ungentlemanly reminder that she’d just been harassing him herself.

  Annali turned a speaking glance on Hunter that announced her pique that he should make fun at her expense. “I mean it,” she sniffed, her tone like a mother scolding young boys. “Both of you behave and be nice.”

  “Go change, Anna,” Ryce persisted, giving her a gentle shove in the direction of the conservatory exit.

  As she left, Hunter turned to close the exterior doors against the winter cold before it destroyed the hothouse atmosphere and endangered some of Annali’s precious plants. By the time he turned around, Ryce had done the same with the hallway doors. The two men crossed the room, meeting in the middle with an enthusiastic handshake and hug.

  “It’s good to see you, my friend. Blessed be to you,” Ryce greeted with an eagerness no less keen than Annali’s before he stepped back.

  “And you as well,” Hunter said with a grin. “Ryce, Annali is beautiful. And happy. It’s hard to reconcile the woman I just saw with the haunted seventeen-year-old she was when I left. Well done, my friend.”

  “Annali deserves all the credit,” Ryce said dismissively. “I see you’ve picked up a fair bit of Romany in your inflections.” He noted this as a first clue to Hunter’s whereabouts all these years.

  “No doubt,” Hunter chuckled. “Among others. Whereas the Queen’s English is sounding surprisingly bastardized from your tongue. Too much time in New York, I’m thinking.” Hunter released Ryce’s hand and clasped his shoulder briefly. “You look very well. I hope the others are all in good health, too?”

  “As well as ever. As you can see”—he gestured to the workstations sprawled in the center of the conservatory—“Annali is a thriving biochemist and is still the obsessive botanist. With much success, I might add.”

  “I’m not surprised at Annali succeeding at anything,” Hunter remarked, with a visibly strong streak of pride.

  “Agreed,” Ryce said, taking great comfort in the signs he saw in Hunter that told him he’d made the right choice by summoning him home. The only thing he would ever regret was that he hadn’t done so much sooner. “Kaia is buried knee deep in work at the local hospital, as well as a free clinic. She’s presently on a short lecture circuit. Dimitre, the new witch I told you about, is with her.”

  “You mean Annali’s new love?”

  “New and only. Besides you, there was never anyone else.”

  Hunter smiled at that, a whimsical tilting of his lips. “She had a young girl’s crush back then. Hero-worship. It lasted only as long as those things do. She’s thought of me as a big brother ever since, just as she does you.” He raised a brow of inquisition. “I assume you’re going to tell me why Annali’s mate is off with Kaia?”

  “In time,” Ryce agreed. He watched as Hunter turned to inspect some of Annali’s potion bottles. “Lennox is well, but Gracelynne is recovering from a riding accident,” he said casually.

  That brought Hunter’s attention fully back to Ryce, his handsome face folding into concern and consternation. “A riding accident?” Ryce knew there was no getting around the sharp questions in those intuitive eyes. “Forgive me, Ryce, but I am trying to wrap my mind around the concept of Gracie having a riding accident. She’s nearly as good as I am on horseback.”

  “Of course she is. You can just imagine her embarrassment. A spirited horse and a low branch was all it took,” the Englishman said dismissively. “She landed on her rear good and hard, but she’s got nothing worse than a bruised coccyx and a broken wrist to show for it. After dinner we will discuss it in more detail. Annali was unusually disturbed seeing Gracelynne brought down like that, and I’d prefer we not thrash it out in front of her. You know how she can be when someone she loves is hurt. Brings up bad memories.”

  Hunter frowned and nodded. He knew very well why Annali was sensitive to those things. Her parents had been murdered right before her eyes eleven years earlier.

  “In the meantime, I suggest you shower and change for dinner yourself,” Ryce went on to say. “You’re looking a bit the worse for wear from your flight.”

  “I feel worse for wear. Thanks for pointing it out.” Hunter stopped and went still, his mind clicking. He narrowed severe eyes on his friend. “You didn’t mention Asher.”

  Ryce tried not to visibly wince, but there was no avoiding the instant tension that rushed through him at the mention of Asher’s name.

  “Ryce, don’t you dare tell me I’ve been called back because of him.” Hunter’s good humor and congeniality vanished instantly. His entire body coiled tight as he narrowed a cutting indigo stare on Ryce, giving the other man a chill because of the sheer intensity that was put into the look. Ryce was a potent man in his own right, the High Priest of this notoriously powerful coven, but if there was one man he knew not to cross, it was Hunter Finn.

  Hunter was Sentinel of Willow Coven, Spellcaster witch and defender of all his brethren in the coven. Ryce’s personal assassin, if necessary. Or at least he had been at one time. But the whole point of Hunter’s return was to resume that role, and it was almost comforting to see the coldness in him that assured Ryce the man still had the edge it took to be a killer. He would need it before long.

  “Hunter, you don’t understand,” he said at last, releasing a regretful sigh. “You’ve been away a long time and, as requested, I kept from contacting you. Even now I would have honored the request and handled this on my own, but ...” Ryce’s strong hands curled into fists. “Things have changed. I can’t explain everything to you now, and I beg you not to bring anything up at dinner. Please”—Ryce held out a placating palm—“just trust me. We will enjoy a good meal with good friends, and after Annali and the others have retired, you and I will talk.”

  “It isn’t like you to do things behind their backs. This isn’t the way I remember us doing things. Haven’t we always made choices as a united group? Or has that changed since I’ve been gone?”

  “It hasn’t changed as a general rule,” Ryce assured him, his tone a little impatient that Hunter would even ask the question. “But it can’t be that way this time, Hunter. Please, I beg you not to ask any more questions until later.”

  Hunter scowled at his friend for a long moment, and then nodded curtly in agreement. He had sense enough to know how serious things were when Ryce started keeping secrets from the others. The other man had been the leader of this group for as long as Hunter could remember. There were reasons for that, not the least of which was that Ryce was one of the world’s most powerful white witches.

  It was on that merit alone that Hunter acquiesced to his High Priest. After all, it was because of Ryce’s personal request that he’d rousted himself out of his self-imposed exile in the first place ...

  Finally returning to the coven he had once called home.

  Hunter had every intention of respecting Ryce’s request to wait for explanations, but he had no desire to wait to see Gracelynne. After he’d showered and dressed for dinner, he left his suite in the west wing and crossed the mansion to the east wing, where Gracie’s rooms were housed. Willow House, a grand estate in the Catskill Mountains of New York, boggled the mind with its sheer size and appointments. Ryce had even larger holdings in England, but this manse had been built with all the luxuries of modern architecture and convenience.

  Ryce’s taste was everywhere. The mansion was a melding of the modern with timeless classics. He’d pulled it off quite well. The most thoughtful concept the Englishman had incorporated into the design was that each of the members of Willow Coven had his or her own complete living suite, including a sitting room, private bath, and kitchenette along with a bedroom.

  Regardless of these conveniences, household custom dictated that, if one was present in the house, cocktails and dinner were shared together at set times. However, with private kitchenettes, there was always the option for one to be a little anti-social if the mood struck. Hunter suspected
that Ryce still took tea at four o’clock every day as well, and since half the household was native to England, it would be a communal affair, too.

  You could take the Brit out of Britain ...

  That made him smile. He had missed Willow House. He’d missed his companions and their familiar ways. It was an almost surreal feeling to be walking these halls again after such a great gap in time. So much was the same, the basic layout and shapes of the halls and rooms, but furnishings and colors had changed dramatically over time. Familiar paintings had shifted positions or even rooms. Floors once carpeted were now polished wood or marble. This was all Ryce’s doing, he knew. Willow Coven’s leader was a closet decorator. He had a wonderful eye, making it grand and beautiful without tawdriness or ostentatiousness, a distinction that was only made by a fine line at times.

  Witchcraft was a full-time art, and each of them had his specialty, but there was such a thing as over-devotion when it came to magic. It was important for them to find and enjoy pursuits outside of their work. One could only excel at the Craft if one took enjoyment in it. It was sad when witches labored hard at their magic without ever truly learning to enjoy it. Without taking pleasure in magic, witches would never reached their fullest power and potential.

  This truth had been a strong motivator in Hunter’s departure from the coven so many years ago. At the time he’d known he would take no joy in his magic so long as he was weighed down by the sorrow he was feeling. Indeed, he’d thought to forsake his gifts completely for the remainder of his life. It had never once occurred to him that his place wouldn’t be filled in his absence, or that the others would be waiting for his return. He was still trying to wrap his thoughts around the concept even as he reacted emotionally to being home again.

  When he reached Gracelynne’s suite, Hunter didn’t bother to knock. He entered the sitting room, expecting to see her sitting by the fire working on one project or another. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the darkness of the room, and then laughed softly under his breath, reminding himself that not everything would be exactly as he remembered it.

  He crossed to the doors of her bedroom and here he paused to knock gently.

  “Bugger off, Rochelle, I don’t want to eat,” came Gracelynne’s rather petulant reply from within.

  Hunter’s expression altered to bemusement. Gracie, it seemed, was feeling a little cranky and taking it out on their chef. He stifled a grin and knocked again.

  “I said bugger off, goddamn it! Now quit pestering me, you bloody twit!”

  Hunter’s amusement faded under the onslaught of the viciously spoken remark. Surely he’d heard wrong, because the Gracelynne he knew would never be abusive to anyone who didn’t truly deserve it. He reached for the door and pushed it open, ignoring privacy now as a frown marred his features. The bedroom was equally as dark as the sitting room, and with a snap of his fingers, Hunter brought the bedside lamp to life, spilling light into the room.

  Illumination flooded over the woman who awkwardly flung herself up into a sitting position and whipped around to glare at the intruder through a tangled mop of jaw-length, ginger curls. A pair of dull, earthen brown eyes bored into him angrily for several long seconds before recognition occurred. Her small, pointed chin dropped down as her mouth opened in shock.

  “Hunter,” she whispered.

  And then she burst into tears. She covered her mouth and tried to turn away from him, but he was already sitting on her bed and dragging her close into his embrace. He held her securely, rocking her softly as she wept hard and wild, her angry hands fisting around the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders; her body shaking with her emotion. All the while, Hunter was swallowing back fury and shock.

  Beneath the curtain of corkscrew curls, Gracelynne’s face and neck were covered in livid bruises that showed the clear mark of fingerprints. One of her hands was wrapped from palm to elbow in the rough but colorful purple of a fiberglass cast. He thought a hasty detection spell within his mind, allowing him to sense the stiffness in her entire body posture, the soreness in her belly and legs, and the distinctive bruising on the sides of both her hips. There was hardly a spot on her body that hadn’t been abused in some fashion.

  “Gracie,” he murmured softly to her, closing his eyes and concentrating on purging himself of the fury rushing wildly through him. She didn’t need him to be uncontrolled in his emotions right now. She needed his strength and as much comforting peace as he could manage.

  “Oh, Hunter. The Lady has blessed us. You’ve come home to us!” she sobbed, her hands creeping deep into his hair and holding him as if she had no intention of releasing him ever again. It made him smile against her soft cheek and he shifted the smile into a gentle kiss against her bruises.

  “I missed you, Gracie,” he told her on a fierce whisper, but he didn’t squeeze her in hugs as he had Annali, knowing she was too sore to bear such enthusiasm.

  And all the while, all he could think of was that Ryce had lied to him.

  There was no way in hell Gracelynne had gotten her injuries in a riding accident. He’d known it the very instant the light had touched her. As an avid equestrian, he knew what happened when one fell from a horse, or even got swept from horseback by a tree limb, as Ryce had suggested. No. Trees and animals didn’t cause wounds like these.

  Men did.

  A human being had caused these injuries, both interior and exterior. He could feel the damage ran deeper than bruises and broken bones. He didn’t need the wrenching heartache of her tears to sense that, although every salty drop sent the knowledge home all the more. It wasn’t Grace he would be questioning about this, though. Oh no. She wasn’t handling the aftermath of whatever had happened well at all; sitting in the dark, refusing food, and the Goddess only knew what other manifestations of grief and anger she suffered.

  Annali’s sensitivities or no, he wasn’t going to rest until Ryce explained himself. As Willow Coven’s High Priest, Ryce was ultimately responsible for the safety of those who lived within his protection. Plainly he had failed Gracelynne when it came to this duty. Hunter would have him answer for it before the end of the hour, dinner be damned.

  “I’m home now, honey,” he soothed her softly. “And I’m so happy to see you.”

  “So long,” she sniffled, swiping her undamaged hand over her cheeks. “You’ve been gone so long. It hasn’t been the same without you. So much has changed...” She pulled away with that remark, shivering as she turned her body slightly. “I know you felt you had to go. I always understood your reasons. I don’t mean to lay a guilt trip on you.”

  “I know that,” he scolded gently, touching her chin to make her look back into his eyes directly. He wouldn’t have her afraid to speak her mind to him with the boldness she had always used before. “Just as I know it was you who had to pick up the slack I left behind me when I went. I heard no complaints, though. You’ve done extremely well in my absence, and Willow Coven has been blessed to have you. The house is clearly safe and secure, and all, except yourself at the moment, are in extraordinarily good health from what I’ve seen.

  “As for guilt trips, you and Annali are loving in your reproaches. Ryce was a bit more petulant when...” Hunter hesitated, not wanting her to think he’d been called back because of her, even though he now suspected the attack she’d suffered had something to do with it. “Well, you know how he loves to give stern lectures about duty and honor and yaddayaddayadda ...” He rolled his eyes, making her laugh through her tears.

  “Right. That’s our Ryce,” she agreed, reaching to rub his arm, as if she couldn’t believe he was real and solid and there. “Well, you look very handsome and well turned out. Not travel clothes, I’ll warrant. Going out so soon?”

  “Yes. Ryce and Annie are taking me out to dinner. It sounds like you haven’t eaten yet,” he said with a pointed look of reproof for her earlier petulance when he’d knocked on her door. “Why don’t you come with us, honey? A quick shower to get this mop-top under control,” he
said, tousling her curls roughly until she laughed and slapped him away, “and you’ll be good as gold.”

  “Cheeky bugger,” she scolded him. “I can’t possibly go out in public looking this way,” she argued, touching her face self-consciously.

  “Suit yourself,” he said easily, pausing to kiss her on both of her cheeks very slowly and pointedly. “You will eat, however. I’m sending Rochelle up with a tray of your favorites, and I don’t want to hear that you turned it away. I’ll take it as a personal insult.”

  “No, I won’t,” she agreed with a full smile. “I’ve an appetite now that I’ve seen you. I’m so happy you’ve come home!”

  “And I’m happy to be home. I’ll come see you as soon as we get back, okay?”

  “Brilliant,” she agreed, giving him as huge a hug as she could manage.

  Chapter Two

  “You know what I need?” Tatyana asked the frigid night rather sarcastically. “I need a nice snow shower. No, better yet, a thunderstorm. With some icy rain running down the back of my dress. Now that would make this perfect.”

  She sighed through severely chattering teeth and kept walking. She’d traded walking with jogging to warm herself up, but she was at the end of a really long day, which was the end to a really long week, and she was too tired to run anymore. She simply could not understand how she could have gotten into so much trouble so damn quickly. Clouds obscured a great deal of the sky, and she had no stars to guide her, but it wasn’t as though she were trekking the Himalayas. It was the freaking Catskills! How could she not have passed a single house? Farm? Shack!

  The world was conspiring against her. She wasn’t a fatalistic person normally, firmly believing that each person made his or her own providence, but this was really too much after the week she’d had.