Hart and Hunter

Chapter 1

Ch. 1: Julian

My feet pound the pavement and splash through puddles as I run in hot pursuit. Orange-toned streetlamps flicker and cast ominous shadows on the rain-washed streets, and a full moon peeks through the clouds of an unusually wet September sky.

Ahead, my quarry darts to the left, disappearing down an alleyway between two old brick-faced buildings. I fly around the corner, expecting to be within arm's reach of my target, and draw up short.

The alley stretches long, dark, and deserted before me. A streetlamp flickers and goes out, and I curse the outdated infrastructure of this town; it's great for tourism, but sucks when you're chasing a thief at 2 am.

Chest heaving, I scan the blackness and see a dumpster about halfway down: the only place an average-sized person carrying a backpack might hide.

Cautiously, I approach.

Then it occurs to me: what will I do if the guy I'm chasing is actually behind it?

Maybe I could take him; then again, maybe not.

Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, I will myself Unseen.

Being part Fae has its perks.

Cautiously, I approach the dumpster, my senses sharper than a cat's as I draw near: sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch all expanded well beyond human range. Details stand out like the edges of broken glass, sounds ring like bells in my ears, and scents confront me like the flickering images of an old-school film-strip.

Fortunately, the world is fairly quiet at this time of night, but there's still plenty to hear: the thump of music in a nearby nightclub; water dripping in metal drains; the quiet rumble of midnight traffic; a dog barking in the distance somewhere.

Brought to a halt by the almost painful assault, I squinch my eyes shut and do my best to block out everything beyond the confines of the alleyway.

After a few deep breaths, my focus returns, but so does my doubt.

Four hours into the second night of a long stakeout, Dane and I had caught our guy red-handed. Excited by the chase, we'd taken off in pursuit, but the thief proved fleet of foot. We'd split up—Dane circling to cut him off while I drove him on—and now there was no sign of my more combat-ready partner.

It occurs to me that the thief could be armed: being Fae doesn't make me bulletproof, and the super-healing werewolf trick belongs to Dane. On the other hand, I've been itching for some action, and I'm always telling Dane I can handle myself. Time to prove it.

I take another deep breath, steel myself, creep forward, and leap around the side of the dumpster with a somewhat high-pitched shout, hoping to take the thief by surprise.

There's no one there.

Shit.

With my focus broken, my disguise flickers, and I'm visible once more. Swearing under my breath, I scan the alleyway again, but it's definitely deserted. Long and narrow, its walls are the backs of two old buildings housing a number of small businesses. There are several emergency exits and back doors along its length, but I'd bet my last dollar every one of them is locked.

Still, I'd been on the thief's heels; there's no way he could have reached the other end of the alley that fast.

He's being chased by a werewolf and a Fae, Julian, I remind myself. Why shouldn't he be the Flash?

Swearing again, I sprint for the end of the alley—with all the time I've wasted sneaking up on dumpsters, the thief won't have needed superpower to have gotten away—round the corner, and promptly collide with six-and-half-feet of solid muscle.