Page 1 of Hidden

CHAPTER 1

There.

Scent danced on the breeze, an elusive wisp that beckoned Rafe Devries forward. He traveled in wolf form, a gray shadow gliding under the trees. He pushed through the ferns and low-hanging branches, but that invisible beacon—elusive even to his sensitive nose—vanished like a dancer beneath her veils. With a frustrated growl, he backtracked, enormous paws silent on the forest floor.

The bowl of the valley surrounded him like cupped palms, holding in the soft whisper of stream and lake. He worked alone, using his beast’s senses to tease out what surveillance technology could not. His quarry was somewhere in this wilderness—that much was certain—but no one had caught a glimpse of the fae for weeks.

Rafe tasted the breeze, sifting through the smells. Each had a texture and color in his mind, as unique as faces in a crowd. He would—No, he must find his prey. The search hadn’t started with one lone wolf. The extended kin of the Devries family—bereft and furious—had been part of the hunt. Not many creatures could evade an entire werewolf pack hungry for vengeance.

But this fae could—and did. With every search, they had tracked the vile bastard to this valley, only to lose him like one more needle in the vast carpet of cedar and fir. In the end, the pack had sent for Rafe, their prodigal son, to come home and collect their debt in blood.

There.

This time, the tantalizing hint was stronger. Rafe turned toward it, breathing deeply. At first, the astringent wash of pine and loam drowned it out, but he caught that lingering note of something else—cinnamon on ice, hot and cold as freshly forged steel quenched in snow. The signature was uniquely fae. He’d found the trail once more.

He picked up his pace, moving as fast as stealth would allow. His quarry was directly ahead where the land rose out of the valley, exchanging dark shadows for fitful moonlight. Dense brush gave way to a sketchy path that wound toward still higher ground. Rafe broke into a loping run, unable to rein himself in.

Afigure emerged from between the trees, striding steadily up the path. The broken light traced the silhouette. Graceful. Tall. Slender as a reed. Long, straight hair the shade of palest wheat.

Definitely fae. Definitely female.

He was hunting a male.

Rafe stopped dead, leaves flying as he skidded to a halt. Not even the backpack and loose jacket could hide those curves. A mix of disappointment and interest coursed through him. This creature was not his prey, but she was beautiful, even if she was one of them.

As if hearing his thoughts, she turned to search the darkness. Rafe flattened himself to the ground, silently cursing. He’d been too eager, too noisy. A fae’s hearing missed nothing.

The moonlight caught her features, confirming his suspicions. She was a light fae, with features almost alien in their fine-boned perfection. Rafe’s pulse quickened, the fae’s sheer loveliness demanding a response.

But this wasn’t his first hunt, and he knew better than to roll over for one of them. He remained as still as the twisted roots around him, cool and self-contained. The fae studied the path behind her, head tilted at a haughty angle.

Arrogant, like all the rest.

Eventually, her shoulders relaxed. With a half-shrug, she turned and resumed her climb up the hill, moving a little faster now.

Rafe rose to his feet. She wasn’t the one he wanted, yet he wouldn’t let her slip away. There were only so many reasons a fae—or anyone—would take a stroll through this remote valley. If he tracked this female, surely she’d lead him to his quarry.

He followed, soundless as mist. Where was she going? There were no buildings, no campgrounds, not even a treehouse in these woods.

Rafe paused long enough to scan the direction she’d come from. There was a secondary road on the other side of the valley, used mostly by outdoor enthusiasts on the way to campgrounds another thirty miles to the east. Had she parked on the roadside and walked in?

He returned his attention to the female’s dark-clad form, her long legs and elegantly curved hips. She moved in and out of the scattered moonlight as silently as a dream. Narrowing the gap between them was risky, but it allowed him to catch her scent again—wild, spicy, tantalizing. Now it seemed ludicrous that he ever thought something so attractive might belong to his real quarry.

The foul one. The killer. Memories of grief—his own and the pack’s—focused him.

The fae they sought was popular among the supernatural youth of East Bay—those old enough to attend a club and young enough to enjoy the noise and erratic hours. And wherever there was a hot, sweaty crowd with drink, dancing, and not enough clothes, this fae showed up.

That in itself was curious. Usually fae—especially light fae—kept to their own kind. They were an ancient people and, unlike the vampires, had never known what it was to be mortal. This one, though, he befriended the young—those caught just at the first glimmer of independence.

No one had thought anything about this fae’s influence until their cubs began to die. The only clue that linked the deaths was the fact that they’d recently spoken to that fae. Then the wolves—and vampires and witches—had howled for blood. For the one they called the Magician and whatever foul magic he used.

And for some reason, his trail led here.

Rafe followed the female, struggling to ignore everything but her usefulness as a guide. He kept that concentration at a cost. Without warning, an owl dove from the sky, snatching a vole from the ground. Rafe startled, caught unawares.

The female spun, a sleek pistol in one hand. Rafe dove for the shadows, but not before he heard her intake of breath.

“Who’s there?” she demanded in a voice like chilled velvet.

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