Seducing the Huntress: Nightmix, #3

By Mel Teshco

She wants to kill him. He wants to possess her body and give her ultimate pleasure.

Isabella suffered an unimaginable loss at the teeth and claws of a vicious nightmix. She grew up wanting nothing more than to hunt and kill every last shape shifting black panther in the kingdom.

What she doesn't expect is to go from hunter to hunted. Never expects to be captured by the nightmix monster, Reuben, and taken to his cabin, where he plays her body like a finely tuned instrument. Their erotic connection is explosive, but Reuben is the enemy.

Or is he...?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mel Teshco
• Release date: Nov 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393231295

Mel Teshco

Mel Teshco lives in the beautiful country of QLD Australia, where the open spaces of her acreage, fondly called 'the block', gives her room to breathe. When she isn't writing or dreaming of writing, she is often found gazing out the window at the surrounding mountains and thinking how very lucky she is. With one semi-patient husband, three gorgeous girls, two fat horses, one crazy Belgian shepherd and three cats who run the house, writing has (mostly) kept her sane.

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Cover art by Studioenp

www.studioenp.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

Acknowledgements

Thank you for reading the last book in this series. I truly had a blast writing about royalty and shape shifters in a dystopian world.

Chapter One

Isabella Daycroft reined in her wild-eyed, gray mare, barely keeping the skittish horse under control as her father, Jacob, and his comrades thundered past on their mounts before disappearing into the pine forest.

She shivered with excitement and not a small amount of fear. Didn’t her fellow hunters realize the bloodhounds had picked up a false trail and that the shape shifting, monstrous black panther—nightmix—had been shadowing them the last few minutes?

Obviously not. Hoof beats and baying dogs faded quickly into the distance when she pulled forward the red hood of her shirt. She needed to ensure it concealed her face and freshly cut blonde hair.

It was for her own safety that her father had only recently allowed her on these hunts if she was disguised as a boy. To be attacked and killed by a nightmix was bad enough, but to be first raped by the thing if it turned human...?

Her mouth dried. She’d kill herself before allowing a filthy nightmix near her body.

Eyes narrowing, she searched for any movement through the trees. Despite her small stature, she could more than take care of herself. Her archery skill was unrivalled amongst all her peers, male and female. And that was despite the fact she hated killing wild animals and mostly practiced on clay targets.

Little wonder her father thought she was soft. But deep down she knew he wanted only to protect his last surviving kin, after a nightmix—a rare human and panther shape shifter offspring, cursed with an unnatural appetite for killing people—had murdered her brother fifteen years ago.

But her father had come to realize that nothing would stand in her way of destroying the beast who took pleasure in killing humans.

Her hands clenched the reins, hatred for the thing they hunted burning through her body. The mare tossed her head with a snort, and Isabella leaned forward, stroking Millie’s silky soft neck in an attempt to settle her.

Swiping the sweat from her palm onto her boy-pants, she turned the mare away from the direction of her group, who’d long since disappeared amongst the huge pine trees that made up the Scantia forest. Her comrades sole objective right then was to destroy the hated shape shifter.

Thankfully, Isabella was the least of their concern.

Good. She wanted no one’s help. This kill was hers alone.

She’d prove her worth. And though eradicating the nightmix monster mightn’t end the torment she carried within, it’d sure as hell ease the pain for a short while. Aside from her father, she was certain vengeance wasn’t burned into anyone else’s psyche half as much as it was on hers.

Her face went hot. Yes, destroying the nightmix would come all too easy.

She twitched at the hood of her shirt once again, resenting the distinct clothing of the nightmix dissenters. It was the same attire that’d once been worn by larakyte dissenters—humans who despised those who could shape shift into silver panthers. But the bright color was little more than a beacon to their enemies. Surely it was beyond time they ditched the old ways and wore clothes that blended with their surrounds?

A twig snapped perhaps a hundred yards ahead. A grin twisted her lips, adrenaline for the hunt making her hands unsteady as she reached behind her back to draw an arrow from her quiver.

It was time.

Her mind emptied of all but her goal as she looped Millie’s reins over the pommel of her saddle and allowed the mare to surge back into a gallop. Using leg aids to guide Millie, she braced her bow and elevated it to the mark ahead, where she knew the bastard was hiding.

Waiting for her?

She frowned, her pulse thudding. She’d waited fifteen long years for this. It was her chase. She wouldn’t allow the beast to turn it around on her.

The huge nightmix bounded into plain sight. Millie didn’t slow. But Isabella’s aim wavered when the beast eyeballed her for perhaps a second or two before he swung around and backtracked, zigzagging in and out of the tree trunks ahead. Keeping just out of range.

Isabella’s breaths came short and fast. Damn it! She should have let her arrow loose while she’d had the chance! Her hands shook with the effort not to shoot and make up for her hesitation. But although her aim was nearly always true, she needed a clean shot.

She bit into her bottom lip, tasting blood. But the pain that lanced through her wasn’t physical, not in the least. A sob built in the base of her throat as memories—brutal and horrific—threatened to consume her. She choked them back. She’d give into her emotions later if need be. First she’d avenge the death of her brother, Benjamin. Her murdered kin deserved that much at least.

The nightmix abruptly stopped and looked back, as if waiting; beckoning for her to follow him. Even from a distance she could make out its wide, distinct red eyes that stared at with unblinking intelligence.

Every one of her muscles tensed. Did the beast think she wouldn’t have the nerve to hunt it down? Did it think she’d have second thoughts? She whooped out a war cry, urging the mare faster still before she released the arrow—simultaneously to her horse abruptly pitching forward.

Oh, shit.

She hit the ground hard. A cry burst from her lips. Then she lay dazed and winded for long moments, unable to move. To breathe. And so angry at herself for a moment it hurt even more than her physical injuries.

The nightmix had deliberately led her toward the treacherous bog. And she’d fallen for it. Literally.

The bitter rage she kept just beneath the surface threatened to bubble over. With great effort she repressed the emotion. She needed her wits. She needed to assess the situation. But most of all, she needed to get back into the saddle.

She thrust the shirt’s hood off her head, ensuring nothing would obstruct her vision as she slowly scanned the area. Thank the goddess, the nightmix wasn’t anywhere in sight. She focused on Millie. The mare had managed to pull clear of the bog and stood still as she’d been trained to do, but quivered with fright, ready to gallop home at the slightest provocation.

Easy Millie. Isabella sat gingerly, taking in slow and steady, pine-scented breaths to fill her starved lungs. She squeezed her hands experimentally, relieved to find full range of movement. A slow smile spread across her face at the familiar weight of her smooth, hardwood bow. It would take more than a nasty fall for her to surrender her weapon.

She touched her brow, where a good size lump had already formed. But it was the blood she could see pulsing through her pants from a deep gash on her thigh that worried her most.

She let loose a pained breath as she tried, without success, to lurch to her feet and take hold of the nearby reins dragging on the ground. Without Millie, survival wasn’t likely. Dizziness rushed at her before she crumpled onto her ass with a curse. Knees bent, she clutched at her wound to try and stem its flow.

Fighting for consciousness, she repressed a groan. She was such an idiot to deliberately go off on her own. Even if her people were to somehow stumble across her, she’d probably be long bled out. She wouldn’t last more than two or three hours at most.

Hands sticky with blood, she removed her quiver of arrows before hauling off her shirt to bandage it around her thigh. Dread tightened her throat as crimson washed right through the already red material. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gather her panicked thoughts.

She was in desperate need of the wort moss that thrived in moist areas of the Scantia forest, where it grew on the lower trunks of pines. When pressed onto a wound, the moss adhered and helped stop blood loss. But it was its naturally occurring coagulating agents that could well save her life.

She scanned the closest pine trees. Her belly tightened. Bloody hell, was there any moss growing in this part of the forest?

Millie let loose a nervous snort. All thought receded as the hairs on Isabella’s nape prickled to attention. Goddess help her, the nightmix was behind her.