The Hunting Mates

By Alexa Piper

In New Amsterdam, supernaturals and humans live side by side. That doesn’t mean there are no borders or boundaries within supernatural society. Orrin works to save the living as an NA police detective, and Gordon labors to do right by the dead as a medical examiner. Fear and insecurity foiled their first attempt at a potential relationship. Now, they find themselves pulled to one another once more by a string of gruesome murders.

Prejudice and social conventions don’t make life easy for them, and their own insecurities don’t help. Will they dare to allow love between them while they work side by side to stop a violent murderer?

WARNING: This book contains mentions of violence/assault against minors and animal cruelty though neither are graphically portrayed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: Sep 11, 2020

Book preview

murderer?

Introduction

Hundreds of years ago, Werewolves, Fae, and Vampires collectively decided to step out of the murky depths of myth and fairy tale and reveal themselves to human society, preferring to live next to, rather than apart from, humans. Yet, while supernaturals might seem united to those outside their cultures, the reality of coexisting in different supernatural societies, communities, and cultures is far from peaceful. Supernatural minorities, such as lesser deities and household guardians known as Lares, as well as human seers and shamans, remain unseen by humans in a mostly human world, even today.

Chapter One

Gordon looked at the decapitated vampire on his slab in his neatly organized lab. The head was slightly oozing onto the polished steel surface from the jagged cut line. Well, I’ll be damned, Gordon said.

Excuse me? Corinne said. Unlike Gordon, who was a vampire, Corinne was human, one of Gordon’s assistants who had laid out the corpse. She was good at that. Not that laying out a corpse for examination was advanced brain surgery. But she had prepared everything. The instruments and the relevant files were just where Gordon liked them, so Gordon could get straight to work. Or, in this case, to staring at the zigzag decap.

He did do a goddamn zigzag pattern, that pompous hunter. I thought his new wife would teach him humility, but clearly, I was wrong.

Am I supposed to take part in this conversation? Corinne asked. Or are you mostly talking to the corpse again?

The corpse. Thanks, Corinne. Go have a cookie. I can finish up here. It’s pretty cut and dried. No pun.

Corinne sighed. I have samples to take care of, so could you please stop pushing your weed cookies, Dr. Morris?

She is failing to appreciate your zigzag decapitation, friend, Gordon told the corpse. The corpse took it in stride.

Corinne walked off, her dreadlocks shaking as she muttered something about how Gordon was a crazy corpse lover who needed to get out more, or laid, if Gordon heard correctly.

She doesn’t understand, precious, does she? Gordon stated to the corpse, brushing first the oily hair with a gloved hand, then turning the head this way and that which made it ooze more. You are one ugly bloodsucker. And bless your heart, you pissed him off real good in your last minutes if Maxim took the time to zigzag your head off. Gordon sighed, pulled his gloves off. Then he reached for the paperwork Corinne had prepared, ticking all the relevant boxes that marked this as an ordinary execution by hunter, no further inquiry.

He initialed and signed everything before he moved the remains onto a gurney and rolled that gurney out of the lab and to the end of the white hallway outside that he’d recently redecorated with old movie posters, framed beautifully: The Curse of Frankenstein, The Mummy, Dracula. Some of the Fae pencil pushers had told him in no uncertain terms that his choice of decor was in bad taste, but Gordon really didn’t care. And since most of the cases he got were beyond caring, it wasn’t like all that many people would notice Gordon’s excellent taste in silver screen classics, which was really too bad.

At the end of the hallway, Gordon took the elevator down to the basement where the cremation facilities were located. The fluorescent lights were flickering irritatingly. No Fae is complaining about how having a big-ass oven intended for burning people is in bad taste. I have to tell maintenance to change the lights to LEDs already.

Gordon exited the elevator, walked down the basement hallway to the oven, and popped the formerly offending vampire into the cremation unit, a job he could have had one of his assistants do, but he wasn’t going to be that kind of boss. And some of them liked to complain of how scary the subbasement was with the hallways’ low ceilings and eerily greenish linoleum floors. Gordon’s request to lighten up the subbasement had been denied, and he could understand that, given that the only reason to come down here was storage and burning corpses.

Gordon turned on the oven. The program would run its course, and the decapitated vampire’s ashes could then be handed off to a relative or whoever decided they wanted to claim them, and if none did, off to storage a few doors down the hall.

Once the flames filled the basement crematorium with noise, Gordon cracked his knuckles, wondering whether he should call it a day or not.

Would be an easier decision if I had someone to go home to. Gordon, as he had done almost every day over the past month or so -- ever since Maxim’s and Robyn’s wedding -- thought back to the tall, dark, and delicious werewolf detective whom he only knew as Orrin. Perhaps that is his first name. Perhaps I should have asked him that. Perhaps I shouldn’t have pulled away when he tried to kiss me. Perhaps I am a crazy idiot who’s only good with corpses and who has forgotten how to appreciate broad shoulders and a muscular build when he sees it.

Remembering Orrin was like remembering chocolate. Sweet and full of dark flavors, but not something for a vampire like Gordon. He watched as the display on the oven proclaimed the cremation cycle had been initiated, the oven was up to temperature, and everything was running as it should. Bright flames and their warmth filled the basement, and Gordon remembered Orrin, close and warm, his darker skin making Gordon’s own look brighter, just like the flames did, but entirely different.

Gordon would have loved to kick something, but that would help nothing, and, vampire or not, he wasn’t in fact the violent type. So he took the elevator back up and headed for the Forum Cafeteria to see if a blood donor was around, one who wouldn’t want to talk while Gordon drank.

* * *

When Gordon strolled back down to his labs after his snack, his mood was marginally improved. The kindly blood donor had interrupted her dinner so Gordon could eat, and she had shown no interest in distracting him by conversation. He found himself still amused by Maxim’s zigzag decapitation, something Gordon hadn’t expected the hunter would actually do even though he had joked about it.

As Gordon rounded the corner to his department’s hallway, he noticed immediately that someone had left the door to his office open, and no one did that, because while he tempted them with weed cookies, his assistants were aware of boundaries and good at maintaining them.

Maxim, the golden-haired vampire, still wearing his very sexy hunter’s outfit, was in Gordon’s office, eyeing his mint-in-box collectibles. Or a small selection of them. Gordon only had a few items here to impress his assistants. The office, while large, was still too small to house Gordon’s entire collection.

Maxim? What are you doing here? Gordon closed his door. Maxim tended to provide Gordon’s assistants with unnecessary gossip, and Gordon preferred to keep Maxim and the assistants separate, wherever possible.

Maxim turned, his hands on his hips. I was waiting for you. You have my corpse.

That’s almost done. It’s in the oven right this minute. Since when do you care enough about a simple case to drop by here in person?

Maxim crossed his arms. Since my mother abducted my wife for a trip to the French countryside, and my son absconded with his husband for an impromptu wedding voyage. You’d think marrying a Lar would have made sure he never left the house unless something was on fire, but clearly, I was wrong.

Gordon could feel his jaw drop. "Let me get this straight. You are here to hang out? Maxim Vallois, just hanging out. I never thought I’d see the day."

Maxim slumped down on Gordon’s gaming couch across from the large flat screen and console setup. I’m surprised to find you available. Where’s your toaster oven?

My what?

Maxim looked at him evenly. Sometimes I wonder whether you are stubborn or stupid, Gordon. Come now, I have decided to take up gaming while Robyn is being treated to more wine tastings than I will probably ever be made aware of. Teach me.

Fine, Gordon said. I like a challenge.

* * *

Orrin was tired, and he wanted coffee. Or a stiff drink. Both, if he could have his pick. The alley outside the brownstone to which they had been called smelled of forgotten trash and lingering stomach acid. Weeds had cracked the concrete and unfolded their leaves in their search for light. The smell of vinegar and lemons hung heavy in the air.

"‘The Fae, the Vamps, the Wolves are the monsters that will not be blamed for nothing.’ What do you think that is supposed to mean, Detective?" Bachman looked at him, her notepad in hand. The narrow alley between two brownstones was guarded on either side by police. It looked as if the suspect had left the murder scene through the building’s side door, spray-painted their graffito, then vanished.

It’s a piece of Jack the Ripper veneration. Except Jack blamed only the Fae, Orrin said.

Orrin watched Bachman take notes, and he had to suppress the urge to look over her shoulder while she did it. She was a good officer and up for promotion in a little over a year, though Orrin had tried to make that happen sooner.

Do you want me to go door-to-door with the others now, sir? she asked.

Orrin shook his head. No, I think they got that covered. Why don’t you head inside, look the crime scene over, and then later you can let me know what you think. Just don’t get in the way of the crime scene people. I swear they have been more grumpy than normal recently.

Bachman’s face lit up. Thank you, Detective Orrin. I really appreciate that. She bobbed her head and went back into the house, then stopped and turned. Do you get a scent of anyone, by the way?

Orrin grinned at her. Good question. But no. I get very strong citrus and vinegar notes, though. What does that tell you?

That our suspect did their best to avoid werewolf noses. So they have been doing some research on the matter, which would indicate this is a hate crime.

Orrin shrugged. "Too early to say. Don’t forget, a police force as large