Page 5 of Blood of a Huntsman

Daughter of Storm

Cat smiled on her way down from Night Hill at ten that evening. She might reprimand Chloe's every mistake and keep a stern brow during their lesson, but that was because pushing the woman was effective. In three months, Chloe had greatly improved; she could no doubt hold her own against most common vampires now.

The slayers, the ancients, and those who owned a house on this hill were another matter. Cat didn’t think she would have a chance against any of them, so she was ill-suited for teaching Chloe how to fight them. For that, Levi would have to take charge of Chloe’s training.

Cat idly wondered if they’d let her sit in on their lessons. She could learn a great deal from the ancient.

If she was still in Oldcrest by then.

She wasn’t naïve enough to think that she’d be allowed to remain here indefinitely.

Cat headed to her right, instinctively holding herself a little straighter, stiffer, as she passed a white house built like the Pantheon, with columns, a flat roof, and walls sculpted with symbols from an ancient, bygone world. Everything about this house was familiar, though she'd never entered it. The third house on the hill was but a miniature Stormhall, built to look just like their residence in Rome.

Cat sighed. She’d been foolish to hope that the shadow of her family would not reach her here.

She sped along the path, greeting the keeper of the gates as she left, then rushed down the road leading to the ancient fortress where the Institute of Paranormal Studies had been built.

Long ago, the castle had harbored a witches’ coven. Seven families on the hill and dozens of witches in the valley—that had been Oldcrest at the very start. Together, they'd sworn to keep Eirikr locked in his tomb, his prison. For centuries, this hill was seen as the seat of immortal powers, where most of the world's politics were decided in the shadows. Despite her efficient memory, Cat couldn’t remember the name of the witch clan, which meant that no one had told her. She filed the question in one corner of her mind, intending to bring it up when she had the opportunity.

Now the witches were long gone and only a few outcasts lived on Night Hill, though members of each family did occasionally pop by.

For Cat, Oldcrest was the perfect hideout. She'd had enough of her family, enough of Rome, enough of suffocating under their rules, their demands, their punishments, but one doesn't simply leave the Stormhales. Abandoning the family without orders was grounds for banishment, if the head of the family was feeling kind.

Or worse.

More than likely worse, in her case. Aunt Dru rarely felt kindness toward Catherine.

So instead, Cat had been clever, planting seeds and biding her time.

She’d started to correspond with the Beaufort heiress, Anika, a professor at the Institute. She'd mentioned Anika's station, the respect the other families had for her, and, of course, she'd also said a thing or two about Levi being single and highly eligible, until she was finally ordered to go to the Institute. Further her education. Fuck a prince.

Even before meeting him, Cat never had any interest in Levi. She had no interest in anyone who'd want to boss her around. Besides, the stories she’d heard about him were horrific. But it wouldn't do to let anyone think that she didn't intend on seducing him. Cat knew she wouldn't have been sent here otherwise.

Now that it was common knowledge that the Leviathan was with the Eirikrson heir, she expected a letter to come any time, ordering her back home. Each passing week without one was a surprise; she wasn’t sure why her aunt hadn’t gotten in touch yet, though it didn’t bode well. But as long as no word came, Cat would enjoy her freedom.

Hearing a clock chime in the distance, she rushed into the night class moments before Fin Varra, their delectable ancient fae professor, entered the room.

In the middle of winter, Fin often showed up shirtless—a pleasure like no other on Earth—but now, in mid-May, when everyone else struggled with the heat, he walked in wearing a dark cloak that flowed to the floor like it was made of mist. The creature was unable to look anything but fabulous.

"You think he’s wearing anything under that?" the woman seated on Cat's left asked.

Cat grinned, admiring Greer Vespian's courage.

Greer, an ochre-skinned, freckled, redheaded beauty with pale green eyes, was the second woman Cat had ever considered a friend. Perhaps not a close friend—she had no reason to trust her—but they had an easy relationship. Greer never asked personal questions, and never revealed anything about herself. Instead, they joked, gossiped, helped each other in class, and practiced yoga together. Their superficial arrangement was perfect for Cat.

Fin had undoubtedly heard every word; vampires’ good hearing was nothing compared to the senses of an Aos Si.

Should the professor not be in the mood to be ogled and objectified, he might spell Greer for months, years, centuries, cursing her entire bloodline with nothing more than a few words.

And Greer just didn't care. Which made her incredibly brave. Or insane.

Cat was wiser; she remained silent, though she did wonder. She couldn't see the hem of any clothing under the cloak.

For a long moment, Fin fixed Greer with a heated gaze.

"I just came out of my bath, Miss Vespian. My skin doesn't tolerate the rough fabric of this world well. This"—he touched his collar—"came from my world. It’s like wearing a cloud of softness."

The witch bit her lip and swallowed a strangled laugh.

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