Huntress

  Huntress

  A Royal States Novel

  Susan Copperfield

  Copyright © 2017 by Susan Copperfield

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Jen L. Weil

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Also by Susan Copperfield

  By RJ Blain: Magical Romantic Comedies (with a body count)

  From Witch & Wolf World

  Other Stories by RJ Blain

  Chapter One

  A long time ago, someone I wished I could’ve loved dubbed me Rose because I smelled too nice to be an onion. My closest friends and family still called me Rose to tease me, but they didn't know the truth.

  Gail had loved the idea of marrying a prince.

  She hadn't loved the prince.

  I would’ve given her the spring wedding she had desired. I would’ve given her everything.

  Had she loved me, my family’s curse wouldn’t have stolen my humanity on the first day of spring as always.

  I waited for summer deep in the forest, avoiding man and beast alike. I terrified other turkeys; at almost double their size, they had reason to fear me. The persistent hens had learned to run from me; I drove them away with warning pecks whenever they came too close. On rare occasion, I was forced to use my claws and spurs, which I always regretted.

  It wasn't their fault I was human. One day, I would find someone who loved me more than my rank. Until I did, the family curse would take hold every spring, proving once again I hadn't earned a woman's love.

  If I’d inherited my father's animal, I would've enjoyed spring at the castle.

  My father became a lynx.

  My grandfather became a lion.

  My great-grandpa became a bear, a mean old grizzly who refused to do us all a favor and die.

  My uncles turned into wolves, and all four of them loved harassing His Royal Majesty, the King of Illinois.

  I became a turkey, a white one with silver barring on my feathers, which meant my entire family, assorted cousins included, viewed me as dinner. If they ever learned what I became, I'd be grateful if they kept their teasing to calling me Rose.

  None of them knew what I became in the spring, and I meant to keep it that way. As the only prey species in a long line of proud predators and scavengers, I’d become the family shame the instant anyone learned the truth. My father would toy with me because he was a cat, and that’s what cats did. My great-grandpa would solve the shame problem by eating me and leaving the few bones he didn’t devour for my uncles. I had no idea who would inherit the throne; none of my sisters suffered from the family curse, eliminating them as possible heirs. None of the women in the family line had ever suffered from the family curse.

  Had my father been wise, he would’ve named Grégoire his successor instead of me.

  In a few days, the cycle would begin again, and I wondered if anything would change. Miracles could happen. One had when Montana’s king had found a queen. I gave it a few years before that woman ruled the world with an iron fist. She’d humanized the world’s most feared monarch. A woman like her existed for a man like him.

  She gave me hope someone existed for me, too. I just had to find her before I ended up a trophy on someone’s wall.

  No matter how I looked at it, I was doomed.

  A huntress stalked me through the woods, leather-clad and armed with a bow. A pair of swords hung from her back, their hilts sticking up over her shoulders. If she moved the wrong way, they’d smack into the back of her head. I’d never seen someone like her before, and I’d risk life, limb, and feather for a chance to meet her while human.

  She glided through the forest, her steps quiet.

  Her confidence worried me. That the swords glowed a ghostly blue and fire-bright orange licked at the arrowhead transformed my worry into dread, especially since the bow was pointed in my direction.

  “Aren’t you a pretty one,” she drawled, exposing her as having come from somewhere in the south although she lacked the flair I associated with Texas and other south-eastern kingdoms.

  Great. I’d found a trophy hunter. My family would be expecting me to drag my ass home tomorrow, but I’d be decorating someone’s mantle.

  I gobbled my disgust.

  Running would earn me an arrow in the back. Not running would earn me an arrow in the chest. Of the two, I’d rather face death with dignity.

  An Averett fought to the bitter end.

  Most Averett men had flesh-rending claws and fangs.

  Fighting was a lot easier with claws and fangs. I’d have to make do with my wings, which could break bones if I landed a lucky hit. My beak could do damage. My claws weren’t a match for a real predator's, but I could draw blood with them if I worked at it.

  I’d give the huntress a fight she wouldn’t forget, and if my luck turned in the right direction for a change, I’d escape with my life. Shit odds annoyed me. Assuming I wasn’t killed by the huntress who’d dared to invade my forest dressed in an outfit I wanted to strip her out of, my sisters would cackle over my misfortune until I died from embarrassment.

  I blamed my family for my interest in women who looked like they could kick my ass if given an excuse and five minutes. My grizzly great-grandpa, in particular, held the most responsibility. The harder my great-grandmother beat him for his stubborn stupidity, the happier he got.

  It was no surprise, really, why I had so many relatives. My great-grandpa’s genes had corrupted my grandfather and father into loving feisty women. Unlike my great-grandpa, who’d limited the number of children to a reasonable number, the rest of my family bred like rabbits.

  Charging the woman and beating her with my wings was rude, especially when I didn’t bother with any of the warning signs natural animals offered before attacking. I needed to spare my breath for my run for the hills.

  The woman yelped, and the burning arrow left the bow with a twang. Heat seared across my side below my wing.

  I screamed because it hurt. I had no idea why she screamed; while I managed to smack her with a wing, I hadn’t hit her that hard.

  Since shooting me hadn’t been bad enough, she adjusted her grip on her bow and clubbed me with it. In good news, the bow’s string broke. In bad news, the murderous gleam in her eyes was familiar. When I’d been thirteen, someone had tried to kidnap me, and my grizzly of a great-grandpa had taken offense to that.

  The palace staff had used a mop and bucket to clean most of the mess up after my great-grandpa had finished working his temper out on the man.

  Averett men were often brave and stupid, but we weren’t suicidal. I ran like I meant it, and should my sisters ask, I’d tell them the truth: I’d pissed off a woman and valued my life.

  My attack bought me enough time to get a head start, and years of living in the forest every spring gave me the knowledge I needed to make distance. Despite my pale feathers serving as a distinct disadvantage, there were many ways a white turkey could disappear without a trace.

  The waterfall where the river branched in
to two streams offered the ideal hiding place. The cascades ran white and mist rose from the stones surrounding a deep pool. Most never realized there were ledges behind the falls large enough for an industrious—or desperate—animal to hide. The water would beat me black and blue, but I’d become invisible.

  Best of all, the shores were of weathered stone, which would minimize my tracks and keep her from hunting me easily. A plunge through thickets too dense for her to pass through bought me enough time to clean my feet in the stream before running to the falls.

  Fortunately for me, she hadn’t found me far from the waterfall, and I hoped going around the thicket would slow her down enough for me to pull off my disappearing act. A ten-foot block of pale granite formed the foundation of the falls, and I dove into the spray, pressed against the rock, and waited.

  Within minutes of hiding, the gash across my side flared, reminding me I’d barely dodged becoming a trophy. The water helped numb the injury, plastered my feathers to me, and ensured I’d spend the first days of summer sick and miserable on top of bruised, battered, and bleeding. In the worst-case scenario, I’d have to wait until I involuntarily transformed to leave, resulting in a naked hike to my nearest stash of clothes several miles away. From the stash, I’d have another five-mile adventure to reach my wallet, phone, and its solar charger, which I’d use to either call a cab or contact the RPS for pickup.

  My family really hated when I called a cab for a lift home after an entire spring out in the woods.

  Maybe if I didn’t have to put up with new RPS agents every summer, I’d be more willing to call them. My spring disappearances drove my agents off each and every time. Runaway royals didn’t bother them—not usually.

  Runaway royals they couldn’t recover drove them to the brink of insanity. Most quit and found saner jobs. Others requested transfers to a different kingdom. A rare few stayed in Illinois, transferring to a different sector of the RPS.

  The day I found even a single agent capable of dealing with me, I’d do everything in my power to keep him—or her—from quitting my detail.

  None of it mattered if I didn’t evade the woman hunting me. I hunched in my spot, kept quiet, and mourned for the loss of my typically quiet turkey life, which involved foraging for food and convincing the local wildlife to leave me alone.

  I was in for a long, miserable wait, but it beat becoming a trophy on a huntress’s wall.

  The woman found the waterfall, but judging from her cursing, she’d lost my trail. I’d seen plenty of temper tantrums from my sisters, but they’d done theirs in the prettiest fashion possible, as princesses couldn’t allow themselves to be anything other than picture perfect. I found that mentality ridiculous, but the first—and last—time I’d mentioned that, the entire lot of them had gone on a rampage aimed in my general direction.

  Had the women of my line been cursed, too, I would’ve had at least a quartet of grizzlies, a pair of wolves, and a lioness hot on my heels ready to separate my head from my shoulders. I’d earned my beating, accepting what they’d refused to believe since the day they’d learned to talk.

  My sisters weren’t very good at being princesses.

  The huntress spewing profanities along the shore wouldn’t make a very good princess, either. Maybe that’s what I liked about her. Few would accept her based on appearances alone. She didn’t need beauty; she wore leather like she’d been born in it, something I found too appealing for my good.

  Had I been wise, I wouldn’t have found her awe-inspiring or attractive. Her vocabulary alone would offend every elite in the kingdom, something I didn’t mind in the slightest. If I let her loose in the castle, I gave it a day before she’d turned the entire place upside down. The list of reasons why she wouldn’t fit in made me want to catch her, take her home with me, and release her to see what would happen. I’d give up my claim to the throne for a chance to be part of the chaos destined to unfold if she set foot in elite society.

  Such mayhem only happened once in a man’s lifetime.

  Had I known there’d been a woman like her in the world, I would’ve spent the past two years looking for her rather than attending charity auctions trying to prove I wasn’t stuck on Gail. The one in Texas had been the worst; everyone had gotten caught up in the wedding frenzy. The next year’s, in Maine, hadn’t been much different, although instead of a wedding frenzy, people had wanted babies instead.

  I’d hated the false sympathy, the sly looks, and the whispers behind my back when the gossipers thought I couldn’t hear them. It all boiled down to the same thing.

  They believed I’d been ruined. They believed the direct royal lineage in Illinois would end with me.

  I wasn’t ruined, but I’d learned an important lesson thanks to Gail: money couldn’t buy anything of value.

  More howled curses drew my attention back to the huntress. Had I said even one of her profanities, my mother would’ve washed my mouth out with soap. Hell, she would’ve done worse for just thinking them. My father would find the whole situation hilarious, my mother would take offense, and given a few hours, I’d be at risk of having yet another sibling.

  Averett men weren’t the brightest. I suspected the curse deducted at least twenty IQ points from those unfortunate enough to be saddled with it. There was no other explanation. Not only did we lose IQ points, it all came from the sections of our brain responsible for the development of common sense. Nothing good would come of my interest in a woman who viewed me as a trophy to be hunted and stuffed.

  I wanted to take her home with me. With a woman like her in my life, I’d never get bored. I had doubts I’d survive the experience, but it didn’t matter. Until she’d hunted me, spewing curses like a geyser when she’d lost my trail, I hadn’t known a woman like her could actually exist. I’d heard rumors of bounty hunters and game hunters, and some of the rumors even included women, but I hadn’t met any personally. Maybe I wasn’t a predator like the rest of my family, but in all other ways, I was just like them.

  We were stupid. We were brave, too—a part of what made us stupid.

  Instead of returning home and dealing with the drudgery that built up during my three months of living life as a turkey, I’d be working on a new mission, one I’d enjoy far more than the ins and outs of running a kingdom. After I gave her the slip and headed home, I’d do a little hunting of my own. It was only fair.

  She’d started it. It was my family’s fault. Living with a bunch of predators tended to skew reality. Maybe I had a turkey’s body a quarter of the year, but I had the same drive as the rest of the Averett men.

  We loved impossible challenges, and one perfect for me stomped along the shore, glorious in all her flaws, in her strong features incapable of traditional beauty, and her filthy mouth.

  She’d make the long, chilly wait huddled beneath a waterfall worth every scrape and bruise—and I’d pay her back for the gash across my side. How remained a mystery, but I’d enjoy solving it. My situation reminded me a lot about my father and his inability to resist a challenge.

  My father’s head of detail should’ve known better than to claim a lynx couldn’t take on four wolves at once. The resulting disaster had trashed an entire wing of the castle and landed me on the throne for a week while my father recovered from breaking his wrist and arm.

  My uncles had emerged relatively unscathed.

  It had taken my father three years to finally get the jump on all four of them at the same time. That stunt landed me into the unwanted position of throne warmer for another two weeks. I still wasn’t convinced my uncles had been the ones to try to beat sense into him.

  My great-grandpa remained my top suspect, but since no one was brave or stupid enough to accuse the grizzly, the source of my father’s concussion remained a mystery.

  If I brought the feisty huntress home with me, it would be beautiful chaos, mass destruction, and general confusion. I settled in to wait, spending the time plotting and scheming how to find the woman after I returned to my hu
man form. Even facing a mountain of work and scrutiny, I had the feeling I’d enjoy my summer far more than I should.

  Night fell, and the glow of the woman’s weapons betrayed her presence. Like a good predator, once she settled in and stopped cussing at everything, she had patience. I disliked her decision to remain, likely some gut instinct she listened to, wise considering I was right under her nose.

  Freezing my feathered ass off waiting for her to leave wasn’t my idea of a good time, but I had too many plans to ruin them becoming a mantle ornament. Shifting my weight from foot to foot did no good; once I emerged from hiding, I’d be limping—or flopping, incapable of walking until I warmed up.

  My father would be so happy when I showed up half-dead, plagued, and limping.

  I glared through the gaps in the water and haze, willing her to go away. Instead of obeying, she sat by the shore, removed her weapons, and lined them onto the rock beside her. She restrung her bow, gave it a few test pulls to confirm I hadn’t done more than break the string, and polished it. Then, to my bemusement, she unstrung it, rendering it useless if she discovered me. The weapon was still dangerous even unstrung, something I’d have to be careful to remember later. She’d club me with the damned thing again if I gave her a chance, which intrigued and annoyed me.

  Yep, I was definitely my father’s son.

  After she finished with her bow, she cleaned her swords, examining the blades before returning them to their sheaths. She kept the swords together, covered them with a blanket, set the bow aside, and stretched out on the ground, using the pile as a pillow.