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The Hunter

FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE FULL MOON

M y arms are folded across my chest as I lean against the grill of my Landrover. Turning my wrist, I check my watch for at least the dozenth time since I pulled up outside of the Municipal Wildlife Preserve.

The wildlife preserve I own.

Well, officially it’s owned by a trust fund—which also happens to belong to me—but it exists purely as a front so I can hunt the exotic animals I bring in without having to go through the proper legal channels.

Some might call it poaching, but since the animals are technically bought and paid for by me, I prefer the term hunting .

The preserve is closed for winter, but during the spring and summer months it’s a popular public destination, drawing in outdoorsy types with miles of hiking trails and dozens of waterfalls.

Only a fraction of the preserve is available to the public, though.

Hundreds of acres of untouched forest and mountains are strictly off limits to everyone except me.

Where I can do what I want without anyone being the wiser.

I’m impatiently waiting at the unmarked gate leading to the only road in and out of this part of the preserve, where I bring my trophies to hunt. But today I’m bringing something special.

A gust of bitter October wind hits me, sending a chill down the back of my neck as I pull the lapels of my jacket closed and check my watch again.

The consultant was supposed to be here by now.

The sun set hours ago, and the mild autumn temperatures are dropping faster than my excitement turning to irritation.

I let a few more minutes pass and when there is still no sign of him, I push myself off the front of my SUV. Rubbing my hands briskly together. “ Fuck it.”

The consultant can catch up with me .

My heart beats with a giddy anticipation as I circle around to the back, pressing the key fob along the way. As soon as the hatch starts to open the muffled sounds of screaming fills the quiet night.

Curled on his side with his wrists, ankles, and mouth duck taped, is my not so willing victim.

The twenty-something computer hacker’s face is bright red from screaming and his dark eyes are bloodshot and terrified as he looks up at me, pleading for mercy.

Too bad for him I’m lacking that particular emotion.

The psychiatrist my parents forced me to see when I was a child called it an antisocial personality disorder.

“Settle down, Billy.” I tsk, reaching into the back of the SUV.

He barely weighs anything as I sling him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes before slamming the hatch shut and making my way through the gate leading the backside of the preserve.

It’s a ten-minute walk through the dense forest, along the rarely used dirt road that’s mostly uphill.

Forced to listen to Billy’s sobs as he begs through his taped mouth, while he leaks tears and snot down the back of my $9,000 Brunello Cucinelli jacket.

There had better be a good reason the consultant insisted Billy arrive alive and unharmed.

The pre-arranged destination is an ancient oak tree in the center of a wide clearing on the top of a hill.

Except this forest is filled with old oak trees and one looks much the same as another, as far as I can tell.

I’m about to walk past a particularly gnarled looking one when the shadow of a man seemingly steps out of thin air, directly into my path.

I freeze and reach behind me for my Glock. Pulling it free of the holster, my hand is steady as I aim it at the man’s head.

Unbothered that I could end him with a squeeze of the trigger, he lifts a lit cigarette to his lips.

“Took ye long enough,” he drawls with a heavy Irish, or maybe Scottish, accent, then takes a long drag off the smoke. The end flares red, briefly lighting up his round face. “My balls were tryna crawl up my taint.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I demand, keeping the gun on the man and shifting Billy’s sniveling weight on my shoulder.

Canting his head to the side, he arches a fuzzy eyebrow.

This guy is several inches shorter than me and looks like he’s barely old enough to be smoking.

“I’m yer wizard,” he says.

The consultant called himself Wizard, but this fucking kid can’t be him. Except, how else would he know to meet me here?

Wizard takes another drag before stepping out of the shadows, directly into the silvery glow of the nearly full moon.

He’s wearing a worn leather jacket over a faded flannel shirt and dirt-stained baggy jeans.

Bright orange hair sticks out around his head in wild tufts, like he has a habit of constantly running his fingers through it.

His face is round, with full cheeks that are bright red from the cold.

He’s short and stout and looks every bit the stereotyped Irishman he sounds like.

“ You’re Wizard?” I snigger.

He takes another drag and blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Were ye expectin’ some old man with a long beard and silk robes?” When I don’t answer him, he points the end of his cigarette at my shoulder. “That must be yer sacrifice, then.”

Billy has been hanging limp over my shoulder, but at sacrifice he starts screaming and squirming with renewed strength.

I narrow my eyes at the man standing before me. Tonight is the culmination of over a year of planning. Even before, I spent decades searching the darkest parts of the dark web to find someone who could truly give me what I wanted. Someone who could do what no one believed was possible.

“Prove it,” I insist. “Tell me why we’re here.”

Wizard rolls his hazel flecked eyes like a fucking pre-teen. “I’m here to bring somethin’ inta this forest that has never been seen in this plane before. A lycan. Cunning and deadly, a worthy adversary to hunt for the sport ye crave. Does that sound right?”

My pulse flutters with excitement, knowing the thing I desire most in the world is going to happen. I only wish I could tell someone, but they would only think I was crazy. Maybe I am. But we'll see how crazy I look when I have a mounted lycan head to prove what I’ve done.

“Where do you want him?” I ask, tucking my Glock back into its holster and hiking Billy’s writhing body higher up on my shoulder.

Wizard points his cigarette behind me at the gnarled old oak I’d passed. “Over there. Strip him down and then we’ll hang him up.”

Billy is screaming and thrashing with everything he has when I drop him to his feet beside the tree.

He’s putting up a good fight, but it’s not enough to stop what’s happening.

Grabbing the front of his shirt, I rip it down the center and peel it off his arms. Then I go for his pants and do the same.

“Here.” Wizard hands me a wicked-looking hunting knife to cut the rest of Billy’s clothes off. Leaving him huddled on the ground, shivering, bound, and naked.

Taking one last drag before putting his smoke out on the bottom of his boot, Wizard steps in front of Billy and pulls him up by his taped wrists.

Lifting the lankier man over his head with unnatural ease, Wizard hooks his wrist over a short branch and leaves him to dangle as he steps back to examine his work.

Billy isn’t much to look at. His skin is pallid and covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

His dark eyes are feverish, and they dart back and forth between me and Wizard.

He’s skinny enough that I can count every one of his ribs, but his belly is soft, and he has the beginning of a beer-gut.

His unwashed black hair shines under the moonlight, with more wiry strands dusting his chest and between his legs.

With his hands on his hips, Wizard slowly walks around Billy’s writhing body. Eyeing him up and down, like a butcher sizing up where to make the first cut. Billy frantically pleads with us to let him go. Begging for someone, anyone, to help him.

“In the movies, it’s always virgins that are sacrificed, but I’ve always found that te be problematic.

” I’m not sure if the wizard is talking to me or Billy until he stops, and his strange hazel eyes flick up to meet mine.

“First of all, good luck findin’ one under the age of twelve these days.

Once puberty hits, and they get all those urges , it mucks everythin’ up.

” He shakes his head like it’s the biggest of inconveniences.

“Then there is the whole morality issue,” he explains with a heavy sigh before continuing to circle Billy.

“People tend te get their knickers all in a bind when their precious innocents disappear.” When he makes his way around to face Billy, he stops again, and his tone turns serious.

“But in order for a proper sacrifice to work, there must be something pure exchanged.”

Without taking his eyes off Billy, he reaches out to me and curls his fingers in a come here gesture.

I hesitate before stepping closer. The moment I do, Wizard reaches out and grabs my wrist with the hunting knife.

With a strength that surprises me, he stretches my arm up to press the sharp blade to Billy’s throat. Careful, so not to break the skin.

“Look at ‘im. Completely unblemished. Absolutely pure,” Wizard says as he admires the hysterical man like he’s fine art to be appreciated.

He turns to me. “Hunter. Ye wish to hunt something that has never been hunted before, aye?” While Billy squeals like a pig at market, Wizards’ eyes catch the moonlight and flash an eerie silver.

Like an animal caught in headlights. “Te do that, a payment must be made for the portal to be opened. Is this what ye want?”

“Yes, yes. Can we get on with it?” I’m growing tired of his questions and how he keeps drawing this out.