Huntress Read online

  “And here I thought the constant stream of scenarios would’ve done the job first.”

  I tossed the documents on my desk. “I’d ship them to my father, but he’d just ship them back and tell me I’m better at this shit than he is.”

  Meredith snorted from her position under my desk.

  “Hey, Green?”

  “Your Highness?”

  “Smack the back of her head a few more times so she stays down long enough for us to take a breather without her pulling another scenario on me.”

  The agent chuckled, vanished behind my desk, and returned moments later. “We usually give you an hour, Your Highness.”

  I could think of four times yesterday I’d gotten less than ten minutes, and I ignored his attempt to lower my guard. If my luck held, they’d give me half an hour, and after escaping Meredith and Hollacks, they’d take me down before I realized I’d been hit.

  They liked putting me back in my place after any form of victory.

  Oh, well. At least I’d get a walk in before they returned to tenderizing me in preparation for life back at the castle.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I learned from first-hand experience why the RPS considered a hard blow to the back of the head game over. The memory of being hit escaped me, but according to the throbbing in the back of my skull, I’d come a little too close to having my brains scrambled.

  I’d thought having the marrow of my bones sucked out and replaced hurt, but I’d been mistaken.

  Even breathing triggered bursts of agony, and each time the pain crested from the slightest movement, I sank back into unconsciousness only be to be ripped back to reality.

  Had anyone had a smidgeon of compassion, I would’ve been put out of my misery, but no. The statistics proved true: royals were typically targeted for relocation.

  Live capture and relocation took the top spots for my least favorite experience. I’d rather have another bone marrow transplant before being subjected to a hard hit to the head.

  “You didn’t kill him, did you?”

  Gail. Her voice cut through the pain tearing through my skull, and I fought to remain conscious so I could get a better feel for what had gone wrong, how, and why. I expected to lose the battle, but every snippet I caught might help me solve the puzzle of where I was, what Gail had to do with it, and if I could raise my odds of surviving.

  “Of course not.”

  Barclave.

  If I ever had a bad feeling about someone again, I’d toss my hesitancies in a box and light it on fire. Had I listened to my gut feeling and gone to Meredith, I suspected things would’ve been a lot different.

  But how were Barclave and Gail connected? Why?

  Trying to think only made my head hurt more.

  “He has a severe concussion. He’s not dying. How many times do I have to tell you I’ll keep him alive as long as necessary? Him dying ruins our plans, so stop worrying. I’m taking care of it.”

  “There’s a lot of blood.”

  “That happens with head injuries. It’ll keep him down longer. He’s not in any danger at the moment. We can keep him here indefinitely. Just keep your cool and do your part. I’ll do mine.”

  “And you’re sure this will work?”

  “I wouldn’t have paid a band of mercenaries a fortune to grab him and expose the weak links in security at the compound otherwise. Stop worrying. You’ll eventually get to be the queen just like you want. Our first move is to smooth feathers and rebuild your broken relationship. You’ve given me enough information about his personality I can handle taking his place. With the blow to the head, I’ll feign amnesia, which will explain the differences in mannerisms. My talent will take care of the rest.”

  I didn’t remember anything in Barclave’s file that might help him pull off such a scheme. Why did he need me alive to do it?

  Gail’s desire to become a queen didn’t surprise me. The lengths she’d go to accomplish her ambition did.

  “What about that woman?”

  “I’ve looked into her talent. The bindings I got have a suppressor designed to mitigate it. She won’t be able to locate him even if she has branded him. I have my doubts she’s done anything like that. It’s a good way to get fired, and despite your opinion of her, she’s good at her job. She’s a scapegoat meant to drive you off and nothing more. I believe they’ve been playing you to buy him time to find a suitable wife before his marriage deadline. Anyway, I got the damned suppressors, so be happy. Those damned things cost us a fortune. A fortune we would’ve been better off using studying our target before acting.”

  “You said you could play the part after working with him at the compound,” Gail snapped. “The deal was to get rid of that woman.”

  “Leave the woman to me. When she’s discarded, there will be no doubt of your position. After you’re queen, you can have her shipped off to some other kingdom. Killing RPS agents is a good way to heighten scrutiny and wreck the plan. That’s why I told those I hired they needed to pull this off without fatalities. Once I’m in position, things will calm down, and the mercenaries will give the RPS a good run for your money.”

  “That woman’s going to be in the way.”

  “A known challenge. Stop worrying about her. Worry about your role,” Barclave ordered. “Did you do your part?”

  “It’s not finished yet. You know that.”

  “Then we’ll leave him here for now. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “You split open the back of his head. Shouldn’t one of us be here in case his condition worsens? What if he dies?”

  “I staunched the bleeding. The swelling in his brain will go down on its own in a few days. It’s too late for cold feet now. I told you. I used my talent. He’ll survive. Just make sure your project is done by the end of the week, or we did all this for nothing. We can’t keep him here forever.”

  “It’ll be done,” Gail swore.

  “Good. Stop worrying. We have a busy day ahead of us. Remember, stick to the script. If I accept you back too soon, people will get suspicious. And for fuck’s sake, don’t forget to act remorseful. Wait until you’ve secured the throne before acting like a bitch. It’s a lot harder to revoke your position after you’re been confirmed as the queen.”

  While Dr. Hampford had made strides on learning more about my family’s talent, no one really understood how it worked. One trait united every Averett man, and it was the bond shared with his wife.

  Maybe I’d only stolen a kiss from my Eva, but either my talent viewed that as good enough or it’d changed its mind about killing me off. What triggered the shift remained a mystery, and transforming into a turkey did nothing to ease the pain in my head, but I was free.

  I could work with free.

  The blurred vision, sensitivity to light, the stabbing agony in the back of my head would cause me trouble, the kind of trouble that’d land me back in Dr. Hampford’s care while she struggled to piece my skull back together.

  At least Dad could afford the price tag associated with the sort of doctor required to restore a broken skull. While I had no proof my skull was actually cracked, I’d assume the worse. It felt like the bastard had smashed the bat into my head repeatedly, taken me to the brink of death, and hoped my brain would never properly recover so he could take my place.

  If I saw Barclave again, I’d spur the fucker in the face, beat him with my wings, and give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead of clubbing him in the back of the head, I’d peck his eyes out.

  Then I’d feed him to my great-grandpa.

  It wasn’t until I explored the hole I’d been dumped in, a literal one with a dirt floor and roots overhead marking where a tree grew, that I realized the fucker had stolen my clothes to help create his ruse.

  Barclave was close enough in size to me to pull the trick off.

  Unanswered questions and a healthy dose of desire for revenge motivated me enough to scramble up the incline, which opened up beneath a tree. A boulder helped hide the
spot, making it ideal for their purposes.

  Had I not shifted, but remained essentially helpless with a skull-splitting headache, I doubted anyone but Eva would’ve found me. I gave credit where credit was due; Barclave and Gail had made a good plan for getting rid of me. With the right talent, Barclave might’ve been able to fill my shoes. A lighter blow to the head, just enough to make him bleed and give him a concussion, would let him play my role well enough.

  His scheming would fall apart the instant Dr. Hampford got a hold of him unless he somehow managed to completely duplicate my DNA and basic biology. Time would tell, assuming I didn’t get to him first and expose the plot to put Gail on the throne with a traitorous fake RPS agent at her side.

  How would the RPS handled an imposter? Would they identify he’d taken my place? If so, how long would they allow the ruse to go on? The RPS would go into a frenzy looking for me, assuming Barclave’s ploy failed.

  Handling an imposter hadn’t been on the list of things the RPS had meant to shove down my throat during my crash course. The scenario work hadn’t done me any good, either, although I found limited comfort in Barclave’s declaration his goons had been ordered not to kill anyone. I liked Ithaca and Greene.

  Hell, I liked most of the agents when they weren’t trying to beat self-defense and preservation skills into me.

  I wished I remembered what had happened. I remembered leaving my office after tapping Hollacks and Meredith, but everything after remained a big, black nothing. It reminded me of my hospital stay, but instead of a hard object scrambling my memories, Dr. Hampford had beaten my recollection abilities to death with a cocktail of painkillers.

  I preferred the painkillers, and I hoped after I waddled my sorry, feathered ass back to civilization I could talk her out of some at the same time I asked her to check that I still had a brain.

  Acid dumped into my cranium seemed more probable.

  At least I had one thing going for me. Barclave and Gail hadn’t made any efforts to cover their tracks, and I had no trouble following them, even with my blurred vision. My wallet, keys, and phone would’ve made me happier, but as long as I reached a road and could get my bearings, I’d manage without any help, assuming my brain stayed in my skull where it belonged.

  I gave it fifty-fifty odds at best.

  The footprints led to a pair of ruts weaving through the trees. At one point, several vehicles had been parked at the spot, the dirt freshly disturbed. Barclave’s audacity astonished me.

  Did he really think no one would follow such an easy trail through the woods? Did he believe no one would notice where he’d walked?

  Something didn’t add up.

  The idea I dreamed up the whole thing worried me almost as much as the idea of Barclave impersonating me to take the throne with Gail. To land on the throne, he’d have to remove my father first.

  How long would the pair wait before trying to remove other obstacles from their path? Would Barclave, pretending to be me, try to convince my father to step down? Doing so would trip my father’s trigger; playing the amnesia card wouldn’t change me that much, and a lifetime of dealing with paperwork had taught me to enjoy being next in line rather than king of the castle. Unless he feigned complete amnesia, in which case he’d learn my father wouldn’t step down without ensuring Illinois wouldn’t suffer.

  He’d name someone else heir; Grégoire would be a better choice than someone with no memories of the inner workings of Illinois. He might even name one of his brothers heir to spare Grégoire. In either case, Barclave and Gail would discover a stumbling block in their plans.

  For their plan to work, Barclave would have to become me in all ways, convincing enough to fool even my father.

  They forgot a simple truth: there were those who could see through the lies, and my father would call for Montana’s aid the instant he believed an imposter had taken my place.

  I wanted to watch the fireworks, but for that to happen, I’d have to return to civilization. Walking hurt, but I trudged on, keeping a close eye on the trail.

  A nearby growl froze me in place. A predator would enjoy an evening meal of turkey without much of a fight. Resigned to an early death more humiliating than being clubbed by a traitorous RPS agent, I turned to face my demise.

  Coming beak to muzzle with one of my oversized wolf uncles startled an indignant squawk out of me before I did what any self-respecting turkey would do when staring down the throat of a large predator.

  I attacked, pecked at his face, and battered him with my wings. When that didn’t remove him from my personal space, I flapped my wings and took flight enough to rake my claws down his muzzle.

  Since I liked my uncle, whichever one the asshole was, I avoided his eyes.

  He yelped and retreated, his ears flattening while blood dripped from his nose. I’d preen over having scored a few good hits on him later, sometime after my head ceased its insufferable pounding. Fanning my tail, I rose to my full height, raising my head and stretching my wings in warning.

  “One angry, white turkey with silver barring, check,” Christian announced, stepping out from behind trees. “One bloodied wolf who was warned specifically against approaching the angry, white turkey with silver barring, check. I need to commend Agent Evangeline for her excellent skills when it comes to locating you, Your Highness. And no, the lynx may not pounce the turkey.”

  My father growled, snapped his teeth at Christian, and prowled towards me.

  A good defense was a better offense, and I tensed, ready to introduce my spurs to his muzzle. Moving hurt, but if I let the lynx get a hold of me, he’d lick me into submission, which would hurt more.

  “Your Majesty, I’d like to remind you of the probability of a severe head injury before you do something foolish. Your Highness, are you aware there’s an imposter?”

  Nodding would hurt, but without any other way to communicate, I bobbed my head.

  “Your father knew the instant he smelled the imposter and notified me. The new agents haven’t been taught the code words for this situation yet, so everyone but Agent Scarson and Agent Evangeline are in the dark. Agent Evangeline, you will be pleased to know, was immediately aware someone had taken your place. She notified Agent Scarson. She has been instructed to play along with the ruse to buy us time to locate you. The rest of your family is hunting the forest around the compound for you. In case you were unaware, we’re about ten miles from the compound. Unsurprising, as it takes time to set up a plot like this one, and they wouldn’t have been able to afford losing critical minutes relocating you, especially with a severe head injury. All of your agents have been accounted for. Agent Greene and Agent Ithaca are both in serious but stable condition. I thought you’d like to know. Both should fully recover.”

  I relaxed, sank to the ground, and stared at him.

  Christian passed my father and my bleeding uncle, crouching beside me with no care for the mud. He frowned, pressed his hand to my beak, and turned my head. “The back of your head’s a bloody mess. It looks like the concern that the imposter had accurately mimicked the severity of your injuries is warranted. Do you know who is behind this?”

  I nodded, rose despite having just settled, and scratched Barclave and Gail’s names in the mud with my claws. A chicken could’ve done a better job, and I sighed at my efforts, blaming my blurred vision and pain for my poor clawmanship.

  “Agent Barclave and Gail. Your ex-girlfriend?” Christian growled a few curses, fetched his phone from his pocket, and sent a text message. “Do you know why? Then the problem is even worse than I thought; Agent Barclave was accounted for shortly after your disappearance.”

  I glared at him, unable to figure out how to concisely explain the situation. At a loss, I gave up, waddled to my father, and hunched over his front paws, settling my wings over my back.

  “All right. Yes and no questions, then. Can you shift back?”

  I went with no as I had no idea if I could or not.

  “Do you have an idea of
what they’re up to?”

  I nodded.

  “Did they gloat in front of you?”

  Since turkeys couldn’t shrug, I nodded and shook my head in quick succession. I swallowed my complaints the movement worsened my headache.

  “They thought you were still unconscious?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. We’ll play along to learn their goals, identify any co-conspirators, and gather evidence.”

  The rumble of engines announced the arrival of two SUVs, and Christian waved one to come as close as possible before hurrying to it, opening the back door, and gesturing for me to hop inside. I made it to the vehicle, steeled my nerves, and took flight long enough to get inside, crashing to an undignified halt. My father joined me, shoving his nose under me and pushing until he had room to fit.

  Before I had a chance to escape, my father wrapped his paws around me and pulled me against his chest.

  At least he didn’t lick me. I considered that a victory, and I used one of his big paws as a pillow and rested while I could.

  To continue the ruse that the RPS and my family were unaware of an imposter taking my place, I needed to venture into the castle with the escort of a slightly mangled wolf. Uncle Edgar stalked me, and I considered taking another run at him to add to his healing scratches.

  “Both of you, behave,” Christian ordered. “Dr. Hampford’s already called in a trauma specialist from Montana, who’ll arrive within the hour. He’ll check over our imposter first, concoct a pretty story to make sure he stays put, then he’ll check on you, Your Highness. We have not informed your mother of the development yet.”

  With one sentence, Christian added another layer of complexity and worry to an already murky situation.

  My mother liked Gail.

  Distrust made sense, but I struggled to believe my mother would betray me or my father like that.

  My father’s growled promised he didn’t believe she would, either.

  “Your Majesty, it is a possibility. Her Royal Majesty is one of the few people with access to the training schedule. Do I think she’s involved? No. I don’t believe she’d replace His Highness with a traitor. But do I believe she’d try to work Gail back into the royal family? It’s possible. This isn’t passing judgment, but something went catastrophically wrong, and it was well planned. Everyone with the resources to pull off the kidnapping and swap is a suspect.” Christian hesitated. “Technically, even me.”