Scarlet Huntress (Tales of Grimm Hollow Book 1)

  SCARLET HUNTRESS

  A TALE OF GRIMM HOLLOW

  LEANN MASON

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  OTHER BOOKS BY LEANN MASON

  FOLLOW LINKS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For Amanda, without your musings this story would not exist.

  You spawned a series… you better like it.

  CHAPTER 1

  I ’d always hated the woods. Watching your grandmother be torn apart by wolves would do that to a girl. It didn’t matter that the horror had happened over ten years ago. Walking through the spooky trees by the light of the full moon was foreboding. Clothed in a gauzy white dress overlaid with a hooded cloak the color of blood—neither of which I had chosen—while being literally pushed toward some unknown wooded spot. The situation had my hackles up.

  “I knew this day would come. Did you?” Griffin sneered jovially as he shoved a hand roughly into my shoulder, throwing my weight forward enough to make me stumble. Stumbling was inevitable even without the abuse, since the only available light was from the moon shining through the thick trees. “Stop there,” the overgrown bully demanded as we came to a small clearing. The clearing, an unnaturally perfect circle free of tree trunks or debris, spanned about twenty feet across. “Manere,” he intoned while flipping his hand a bit in the direction of my feet. My slippered feet suddenly suctioned to the earth like they had high-powered magnets attached.

  I shivered but not from the cold. No, my skin pebbling was a physical response to the ill feeling bubbling under the surface. There could be no good reason that I was out of the house. Add the odd hour, the creepy-ass forest, the ceremonial attire, and the fact that I was now glued to the ground… I scrambled to figure out just how to get out of this, whatever this was.

  “What are we doing out here?” I ventured to ask, even though I didn’t really expect an answer. I never got answers. Not in ten years. In many ways, I still felt like the lost and shattered seven-year-old girl I’d been when I was ripped away from my grandmother as her flesh was rent from the bone by the biggest wolf a girl had ever seen.

  I jumped a little when Griff’s deep voice actually responded. “Claiming my birthright.”

  He continued to create intricate patterns on the litter-free earth—with what, I didn’t know—moving to a different point once satisfied with his design at each of the pentagram’s tips. My heart thundered even harder in my chest as I realized he prepared for a ritual of some sort.

  I’d never been able to see him, or any of those in my makeshift “family," perform one of their coveted rituals. The only times I saw them work spells were when they used them on me to hone their skills. I’d endured a lot. If Griffin was to perform a ritual within my proximity, I’d bet every penny I had that it would not end well for me. Griff correctly thought I was a flight risk, hence the immobility.

  A glint caught my eye, moonlight reflecting off the surface of something in Griffin’s hand. A knife. Silver, it looked like. Not a fold-away but a large dagger, which he drew across something I hadn’t noticed until now—a rabbit. Shit. He’d just killed a freaking bunny for his ritual. I wouldn’t be far behind; I could feel it. Luckily, the cocky bastard hadn’t paid me any attention since he’d spelled my feet to the ground, fully confident in his ability to keep me on lockdown.

  Looking around, I searched for anything within reach that I could use to defend myself. The area where Griffin worked was clean, but my location at the outer edge of the clearing wasn’t quite as bare. I lunged forward, extending my arms to catch my body before I smashed into the dirt, in some kind of yoga pose with my ass in the air. I’d take it, as it got me close enough to inch my fingers through some fallen leaves. Any other time, I'd find them quite pretty, but not when their vibrant colors crunched under my grasp a moment before I was going to die.

  The rabbit’s once-gray fur became a gruesome crimson as the remainder of the life force drained from its frail body. The death throes signaled the very last of my moments to arm myself before I was once again on Griffin’s radar. Searching wildly with my outstretched arms, I finally grasped something that would possibly aid me. Just in time, too, because not only was my time running out with Griff, but my legs and back were starting to protest my position.

  With the last of the rabbit’s blood collected into a small bowl at the final point of the elaborate symbol, my captor turned his attention back to me as I wriggled back to standing. “You really thought you’d be able to leave? You should know that my magic is strong, Pocahontas. You’ve helped make me stronger over the years, after all. So many times I practiced my spells on you. Used you to hone my skills, so to speak.” He pulled a swath of my nearly black hair through his fingers as he pontificated his greatness… and my torment.

  Griffin was a large guy who reveled in what his appearance did to people. Whether the prom queen swooned at his too-large feet or I cut my eyes away from the cruelty that gleamed in the depths of his hazel eyes, Griff got off on it. Fed on it. Wanted it all. The black aura that encircled him wasn’t something everyone could see. I could, though. The oily, smarmy film had degraded to its pitch color as the years passed and Griffin followed in his father’s wake.

  His father, Seth, was evil incarnate.

  “Mecum,” Griffin intoned. I gasped as the hold on my feet evaporated, pitching me forward once again, this time to be saved by the item I’d dragged back to where I stood… a stick. A broken and fairly thick piece of wood seeming to have been sheared off to a point—but still, a stick.

  “Shit,” I mumbled at the realization that my self-defense was probably going to be wholly ineffective, but it wouldn’t stop me from trying to beat him with it.

  “Come on, Pocahontas. Let’s get this show on the road. The moon is nearly at its apex, the perfect time to complete the ritual and become the man I was meant to be.” The asshole called me “Pocahontas” because my mother’s side was Native. I knew nothing of my father, so I didn’t know just how much Native blood ran through my veins. I did know that I seemed to favor my mother’s side of the family. Darker skin, dark hair, and dark eyes made me oddly exotic, or so I’d been told. Not by Griffin.

  “And what kind of man is that? One who finally steps away from his father’s shadow?” I couldn’t help but goad him. After so many malicious encounters, I didn’t dwell on pleasantries. I hated him, the feeling more than mutual. At least we both knew where we stood. It didn’t matter that I was older. He towered over me, both physically and psychologically.

  Flinty, cold eyes bore down on me as we settled into the middle of his witchy design. “My father is a great man, and you should show some respect, for both him and me.” Seeing the telltale excitement, I tensed, knowing that pain would be coming soon. That seemed to be near the top of the “Gets Griffin Off” list. Hurting me was
his pleasure.

  I gripped the twisted and knotted bark of my stick just a little tighter, not allowing for my grip to go slack lest I lost my hold. I needed to be on guard. The time for action was coming, but whose actions, and what the outcome would be, were yet to be determined. My skin still pebbled, the pre-cognizant alarm system screaming its warning.

  My gaze shifted upward to where silvery light shone from directly overhead. The moon had moved to hover over the break in the forest canopy this unholy clearing provided. All part of the ritual, no doubt. My attention snapped back to Griffin when the sound of metal leaving leather alerted me that he again held the dagger. It was beautiful in its deadly glory, the silver seeming to almost glow under the moonlight.

  “Offero te, meum sanguinem, ut accipiam donum lupi,” Griffin chanted vehemently in what sounded like Latin as the blade rose above our heads in his outstretched arms.

  Shit just got real. I was out of time. “Griffin, what are you doing with the knife? Wasn’t the rabbit enough to appease your gods?”

  As Griff chanted, his timbre becoming more and more fevered with every repetition, so did my own attempts at cajoling him. It didn’t faze him. Like every other time, my panic and fear only fed the monster in him.

  Tightening my hands into fists, I was again reminded of my prize. As the knife jerked in Griffin’s twisted grip, I reacted, my right arm swinging up in an arc while my left lifted to cover my face and head. How had I let this happen? No fight? Really?

  Two things brought my attention back to my stick. One, a gasp and bit of gurgling that escaped Griff. And two, the realization that my right arm met with severe resistance pushing against my momentum. Dropping my shield arm, I realized the reason for both was that my makeshift weapon lodged in Griffin’s side between a couple of ribs, it looked like. In shock, I opened my hand. The stick remained in his side as if I still gripped it tightly.

  My stomach threatened to revolt. I had done that, driven a stick deep enough into a man’s side that it freaking stayed there, as if it had been a knife.

  The ornate blade fell to the forest floor with a heavy thud, somehow passing me without harm, as Griff lost his hold on the weapon. “Omigod, omigod,” I jabbered, holding my hands out shakily before me as he gurgled and sputtered. Torn between feeling horrified that I’d somehow injured a man and feeling like I should accept the win and break free from my tormentors. What would the looming threat of death matter if they were actively trying to kill me?

  Griffin’s knees buckled, and he folded to the ground, a hand wrapping around the rough wood. I couldn’t tear my eyes from where the timber protruded from his body. A wetness began seeping through his dark shirt. With an anguished, spluttering shout, Griffin pulled the stick from between his ribs. It seemed to take forever for the wood to leave his body, nearly half the length of the implement now coated in sticky blood. Griffin’s menacing eyes fell closed as his body wavered, almost as if he was drunk. Slowly, they flitted open, pinning me once again with their cold depths as he spoke laboriously. “You… cannot…” A quick pant was followed by a pained grimace. “Take my…” Another set of heavy breaths, his face screwing up in pain, “… birthright.” He really seemed to be having a hard time breathing. Maybe I had nicked a lung.

  I couldn’t focus on the words. They meant nothing to me. I was much more worried about his health. I was going to ask if he was okay. I was going to ask if there was something I could do, but the words wouldn’t come. My mouth only opened and closed like a fish gulping toxic air, no sounds escaping its confines.

  Now is your chance. Run! my mind screamed at me, and as Griffin collapsed forward, losing his fight to stay upright, I made up my mind.

  If I stayed, who knew what horrors I'd be in for after tonight? Seth would find new and inventive ways to make me pay for injuring his beloved son. A shiver raced down my spine, and my heart rate galloped toward “runaway train” status as I got lost in fear. As I stepped back, my eyes swept the ground for the discarded knife. It could only help to take it along. I was sure my time was running out. Seth would start to wonder about Griffin’s whereabouts. I couldn’t be here when he showed up, or when—by some miracle—Griff managed to make it back to the house at the edge of town.

  I bent to retrieve the dagger from the bare ground it had come to rest upon. The knife looked wickedly sharp, its blade reflecting the moonlight. I realized I had nowhere to tuck the knife safely in my ridiculous outfit as I tried to put it in various places. Every single one would have me slicing or impaling myself on the blade if I tripped or fell. Both had a fairly high probability. I’d be running for my life in the middle of a dense forest in the middle of the night, with only the moon for light and guidance.

  “Sheath, sheath,” I mumbled, spinning in a circle, searching for the leather casement I’d seen Griffin draw the weapon from. “There!” I kept the knife pointed in a safe direction until I scooped up the dark casing and plunged the weapon inside as quickly as I dared.

  I cast a quick, worried glance to where Griffin’s body lay. His breathing was shallow and growing weaker.

  Then, I ran.

  CHAPTER 2

  I ran deeper into the dark, foreboding forest after apparently stabbing someone who readied to stab me. Shit, how had this become my life? It was the middle of the night, so I couldn’t see the monsters that wanted to eat me. I’d avoided this whole wooded area since the day I’d been brought to the house at the edge of town. Where my rescuers became my tormentors and I discovered that the wolf who’d killed my grandmother was none other than the man who had stood falsely benevolent before me. That day I’d truly realized my gift.

  My grandmother had talked about how I came from a long line of Shaman magic wielders. We hadn’t known just how my spirit magic would manifest, but that day, I’d learned. Maybe it had taken my last remaining family member dying before my eyes to kickstart my sight.

  I’d been brought kicking and screaming to the shabby living room of a house I’d never seen before, belonging to a man I’d never met. A dark shape overlaid his head, almost like a costume. Reminiscent of a hologram, I saw a wolf’s face, dark gray with a spattering of rusty red, surround his head. I could still see the man underneath, but I saw the wolf, too. They were one and the same. Both dark eyes and amber ones stared at me as my jaw dropped. That was the day I’d realized the duality of people—and that I could see it.

  I tried to make my feet move faster, but they ached as my adrenaline crashed. I’d become extremely sensitive as I fought my way through the tangled mass of winding vines. Some had long, nasty thorns that pulled at my hair, dress, and skin without discrimination. The stretch of woods I now found myself in was heavy with tall, thin trunks topped by too many green leaves to count. Some fluttered to the ground around the trailing crimson cloak in my wake.

  Why was I still running? At first, I'd been scared, running like a rabbit to escape a wolf. And a wolf would come, that I knew. Seth would come for me sooner rather than later. Maybe I’d catch a break and he’d hold off until Griffin recovered. That would take at least a few days, even with magic. At least, I hoped.

  I needed to get as far from the old house as possible to give myself the highest chance to outmaneuver, if not outrun, my trailing wolf-warlock. The sky began to lighten minutely, but a damp mist still surrounded me. I’d been out here for hours. How did I know that I hadn’t been running around in circles in my fear-fueled marathon? All I could do was keep trudging through the underbrush and thick trees. The trunks around me were a different thickness and leaves were a different shape, so I knew this was a new area, at least.

  A twig snapped in the trees to my right, forcing me to pause my flight. Squinting into the still-shadowed depths, I scanned the area. In the new light, I saw green eyes reflecting at me, a dark outline hard to make out from my vantage. Reflective green eyes meant predator. I didn’t think running would do anything more than ignite its predatory instincts. So, I just… stood. My chest heaved. My formerly w
hite ritual-wear now torn at the sleeves, hem, and neckline where thin lines of red seeped through.

  That had most likely been what had drawn the animal in. Now, I definitely couldn’t run. That’d just be waving a red flag at the bull. As we stood in opposition, I unsheathed the silver blade, slowly readying to defend myself if needed. I couldn't bring myself to yell at him, to make myself seem bigger than I was, to be a threat to him. Not to mention that I wasn't sure what affect that would have and, in this predawn hour, I couldn't see well enough to know if it was strictly an animal I faced off with. Before my tenure with the coven, I’d have never asked the question, but now? With all that I knew, I would always wonder what lay behind the mask.

  I couldn’t always see the other face, only when the animal was close to the surface, pushing for dominance, only when its mind and instincts rose to gain control of the man. I was always able to see the aura, or spirit, of a person. I didn’t know how many variations there were or what each said about the person they were attached to, just that black and murky red seemed to be indicative of evil and blood, respectively. I’d seen those colors often.

  My stalker and I stood immobile, each watching, waiting. The longer I watched, the more I noticed. Not just about him—I assumed it to be a him—but about this place. Life thrived and hummed a constant tune around us. Even if it changed in tempo and melody, it never ceased completely. Symphonic nature sounds filtered in through our silent standoff. Seeing as morning approached, the insects and frogs scuttled endlessly around the forest floor beneath my now threadbare soles. It was this natural song that lulled me, causing me to release the tension in my shoulders which had them creeping toward my ears. My free hand uncurled from the fist it'd been in since I made a break for it, nearly sending the dagger to the ground.

  I felt tears escape my eyes in a warm, wet track down my flushed cheeks. I burned with the need to explain myself to the animal, one I could see was a wolf in the predawn glow. A huge wolf. I still didn’t know if this was one of Seth’s coven, come to retrieve me, but it wasn’t Seth himself. That power-hungry narcissist would never stand back and watch me after I’d wounded his heir.