Free Hunted (Riley Cray) by A.J. Colby

nose tucked beneath the end of my tail. Overhead, the birds were settling into the trees to roost for the night, while below, the various warm-bodied rodents of the forest were nestling into their burrows beneath the frozen ground. The memory of the hunt lingered in my limbs, filling them with a heavy weariness that was almost comforting.
    I shook off the light layer of snow that had settled on my fur as I emerged from the hollow of the tree, tasting dried blood on my snout when I licked my lips. Moving soundlessly through the trees and undergrowth I made my way back towards the spot where I had left the remnants of my kill, the wolf craving more of the deer’s flesh before we gave in and returned to civilization.
    I didn’t sense anything amiss as I tracked my spicy scent back through the trees, but as I got closer a sense of wrongness enveloped me, turning the scents of the forest sour. It took a moment for me to notice the absence of sound, the usual constant hum of creatures rustling and scrabbling gone, smothered by silence. Something was off and every instinct in my body told me to turn back. My curiosity urged me forward, but the wolf resisted, wresting control of our limbs from me, dancing away from the clearing where I had left the deer. We would find nothing good there.
    Relenting, I turned away, and slinking through the gathering shadows made my way back to the motel. All the while I tried to ignore the feeling of wrongness lingering in the back of my mind. It was fully dark by the time I neared the motel, the low hum of traffic on Highway 9 drifting to me on the wind.
    I could smell Holbrook's tension and Johnson's anger before the back of the motel came into view, but their scents were muddled, buried beneath the smells from the hive of activity that our little hideaway had become. The air was layered with the warm rubber stink of hot engines, the electrical sizzle of dozens of bulbs burning away the darkness, the bitter bite of cheap coffee, and the mingled perfumes and colognes of at least a dozen people. Beneath it all, buried almost too deep beneath the overwhelming flood of a hundred different smells, was one I knew all too well – the rich, coppery scent of blood.
    Something was happening in a big way, and I doubted it was anything good.
    Creeping along the back of the building, I crouched in the shadows to peer out over the parking lot and felt my heart sink. Red and blue lights danced in my eyes, blurring with the bright lights of news cameras to form a dizzying kaleidoscope of light. In the center of the crowd was a face that pulled a bubbling growl from the back of my throat.
    Jessica Chrismer.
    She was perfectly polished and styled, the artfully applied makeup and coiffed blonde hair hiding the truth of what she really was. She was cold, cruel, and merciless when it came to getting the story she wanted. She had a talent for making the victim feel like the perpetrator, and had made my life an absolute misery throughout Samson’s trial. The fact that she was a Day Servant, a vampire’s daytime guardian and errand-girl, didn’t help inspire warm, fuzzy feelings towards her either. That she was there didn’t bode well, and dread crept into my veins, chilling me more than the freezing wind.
    As I remained hidden in shadow, watching the crowd, I saw her stiffen almost imperceptibly. The set of her shoulders hardened and her eyes narrowed. Giving her head a seemingly casual toss, she surveyed her surroundings with a sharp gaze, the blazing lights flashing silver in her eyes as she pulled on the strength of her vampire master granted through their bond.
    The bond that existed between their souls and minds lent her the strength and perception of her master, but I didn’t think that outweighed the creep factor of having someone else living in your head. Why anyone would want to have their soul, their life essence, bound to that of a walking corpse, I’d never been able to figure out. My grandmother had