The Indomitable Huntress & the Hardened Duke

FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

"Over here, Sush," the old man said from the hospital bed, his voice hoarse and weak, the words came out in barely a whisper.

Seventeen-year-old Sushmita Alagumalai came home to find her uncle on the floor next to a broken mug, a pool coffee spilling over the floor. She screamed and the neighbors came over, calling the emergency helpline as she tried to wake her uncle.

An ambulance arrived and she was held back as the medical team checked his vitals - another heart attack, strapped him on a stretcher and hauled him into the ambulance, letting Sush sit with him and hold his hand. In a journey that seemed too long, all she could think of was, "Please, help him. Please make him wake up. I'll be good. I'll do anything. Don't let him go, too. Please."

She didn't know who or what she was praying to. She'd just lost her aunt two years ago, and she and her uncle had been grieving her death ever since. They were happy that they still had each other, until the first heart attack a year ago planted a seed of worry in her, a gnawing feeling grew as the the seed sprouted, like it was telling her the last person she had wasn't going to be there for much longer, and when she walked in on his fallen body, it was like her worst nightmare had come true.

At the hospital, once the ambulance doors flew open, everything that happened next was a blur. She didn't know how she got off, nor did she remember which corridors they passed through or whether she'd knocked into anyone. All she knew was that the operating room seemed too far away when it was - in fact - just right down the first hallway.

She stayed outside alone, sunk into one of the plastic chairs that were stained yellow from its original white, blind to her surroundings, deaf to the chatters, screaming and medical staff yelling orders. Her back was bent over, elbows on her knees, mouth to her interlaced fingers that had already turned cold. Her mind was blank and it only knew one word - please.

When the doors next to her cracked open, she shot up from her seat, eyes fixed on the two nurses and a doctor who emerged. The nurses went the other way, while the doctor met her gaze, a flash of sympathy marring his face. "He wants to see you," was all he said, holding the door open for her.

She sprinted in, wasting no time, halting only when the sight before her created a force from the ground that was so strong it threatened to bring her to her knees.

Her uncle pushed a reassuring smile, asking her to come closer. She drew strength from his voice, as she always did, battling against the pull of the ground and letting his eyes guide her. By the time she reached his side, her hands had to clench around the rail of the bed, no longer able to support herself. How could a man she once knew to be strong and invincible - one who fought for her and her aunt, one who taught her to fight for herself - now find himself in this state, unable to speak as loud as he used to and could hardly move?

"Sush," he drew her prying eyes from the machines and blood back to him. His throat bobbed. "Your aunt has always been with us. And I will always be with you."

She knew what that meant, and the tears of fear turned into ones of anger. Her mouth opened but before she could say anything, his hand raised ever so slightly as his forehead creased, knowing what she wanted to say but stopping the words right before they spilled out. "It won't be easy," he continued "But you will do well. Your aunt and I... have never done anything that surpassed our pride of raising you."

Sushmita didn't know how, but her hand found his, her thumb brushing across the back, feeling the wrinkles. His grip was still strong, and she let herself hope, hope that this was a phase, that he would get better, that everything would go back to normal, as much as his exhausted eyes were telling her he'd lost the will to fight.

He swallowed a lump in his throat, and she watched the wave the movement created in case she never got to see it again. "Your aunt... never wanted to tell you this, but I think you have a right to know. Your mother... She didn't pass away from a road accident."

Her eyes grew wide, a hunger for the truth now rivaled with the devastation of her uncle's state. The old man went on for a few minutes, and when he'd told her everything, he said, "We had hoped it would surface one day - the truth, but maybe you're the one who's destined to hear it. And when you do, Sush, tread wisely, choose carefully. Choose peace. Choose happiness. Choose what's best for yourself."

The corner of his lips lifted as he gave her hand a firm squeeze for a moment before his eyelids fell, his grip lost strength and the beeping that Sush didn't hear before was now a flat monotone.

As the medical team spilled in and ushered her toward the corner, an endless supply of tears trailed down her cheeks that no amount of tissues were able to absorb.

It was hours before the tears stopped, days before she fully processed the events of that day, and months before she accepted that she'd lost everyone she held close. Everytime she replayed her uncle's last words, a fire blossomed in the middle of her chest, and one day she decided that what was best for herself was to get to the bottom of things, to hunt down the ones who killed her mother, and she was going to make them suffer, down to the very last creature.

PRESENT DAY

The Duke of L'ouest, Greg Claw, remained pensive as his darkened eyes examined the pictures and screenshots for what was probably the twentieth time. The report his top hacker curated for him - behind his back - would normally warrant a praise, a raise, a pat on the back for the initiative taken, but this was one that changed everything he thought he knew, everything he thought he believed in the last three months, everything he thought he could have. Which was why he simply accepted the stack as the glow of his complexion dimmed, leaving Jade - his hacker - without a word.

The decision was supposed to be an easy one and Greg felt ashamed to admit that he hesitated and - for a brief moment - considered looking the other way, asking the subject why before doing anything rash. But he knew why. It was written in the evidence. Asking wouldn't just waste more time and make him vulnerable, it'd make everyone he knew vulnerable.

What changed his mind within microseconds? What made him just know that he had to do what he was going to do? Enora. Seeing his four-year-old little sweetheart in his mind was enough to steer him back onto the path which, he hoped, was the right one to embark on.

The way his little girl clung onto his pants and shirt, hid behind him, and refused to speak whenever the subject was around should have alerted Greg, but it didn't. And it made the duke feel even more idiotic that it didn't. It should have. He was Greg Claw. Something as glaring as the pup's aversion SHOULD have alerted him or - at the very least - made him suspicious. And Greg felt like he failed when he didn't even instinctively feel that something was wrong.

Greg developed doubts over time but these little thorns didn't grow on their own. It came about when his nieces and nephew - who normally took meeting strangers moderately well - didn't seem to take the subject well. At all. Hiding. Avoiding eye contact. Using potty breaks as an excuse to avoid having to answer the subject's questions. And the list went on.

Looking back at the way he tried so hard, believing that the trust was real made him feel used, naive. And he hated feeling naive. In other words, slow. Slow to catch on. This was an insult that he reserved only for the truly slow, and he knew karma was a bitch when he was handed this stack of papers printed in black and white, now in a neat bundle settled against his steering wheel.

The red sharpie - which was among Enora's things in his glove compartment - now rested in his hand as he flicked it over and over to kill time, re-reading the texts and decoding the messages again even though everything was already etched to his brain.

One of the screenshot messages read:

"Keep fucking him to keep him blind. We should be able to wrap this up in a couple of months. Then you're done."

"Relax. He's not as sharp as they say. It'll be a loooong time before he suspects a damn thing."

"He still thinks you're a porn star in bed?"

"The fact that you have to ask is insulting."

"Just checking. Do you...cum with him?'

"I have to. It's part of the job. Logan, we've been through this - I think of you to come."

"God, I'm getting a hard-on just by reading that."

The words burned Greg's eyes and he squeezed them shut.

Once they reopened, he steadily underlined "not as sharp" and "a loooong time" in red, as if to carve it to memory and let those words deliver a blow to his soul and leave its mark there, so that he'd never be this stupid or blind again.

Three months. He'd admit it really was "a loooong time".

What these people didn't know was that anyone who crossed him couldn't even hope to survive. It was one thing to toy with his reputation and skills, it was another to undermine his intelligence, and a completely separate ball game to play with his heart.

He checked the time on the dashboard. Two more minutes.

Greg closed his eyes once more and pressed the back of his head against the headrest, linking Alissa, 'In position?'

'Yes, Boss.' Greg appreciated Alissa filtered out the sympathy from her reply. He then checked in with Ivory and Desmond, who had been ready for a good ten minutes, just as he was.

Like the biological clock in Greg's body was in sync with the digital clock on the dashboard, his eyes opened the second the white number against the blue backdrop changed.

Peering out of the window, he hoped that he was wrong. He hoped that his hacker was wrong. He hoped that the evidence and this whole thing was an array of misunderstanding that would be brushed away as a well-executed prank.

But his people wouldn't do that to him and he knew in his bones this was happening. He started this mess and Greg Claw never created any messes he couldn't clean up. Advertently or inadvertently.

On cue, the five-foot-six brunette with curls covering half her back, fair skin and hourglass figure appeared from around the corner, just like the screenshots said she would. Her signature leather jacket that was two sizes too big covered the sunny yellow dress underneath with a crimson belt that matched her lips. Greg tried not to think of her lips or her eyes and focused on the blue velvet bag hanging loosely from her right shoulder.

When she came close to the scrum of parents, her razor-edged lips - one that his most hated cousin subtly cringe to in their encounters - curled into a smile. The way she nodded and mingled was as beautiful as it was fake. A show.

The duke's held breath was only broken when Hailey, the kindergarten teacher and one of his highest-skilled followers, linked, 'I don't care if you're going to kill me for asking this but honestly, Boss...Is this the only way? These are the pups we're risking! Among them - Enora.'

'I'm well aware.' Greg's voice was a deep, uncompromising baritone. 'If we play this right, everyone here would be none the wiser.'

'If she decides to deviate today, she'd still be here when the pups are released!'

'She won't deviate. The pups can be released. Everyone will be safe... Well, everyone except her.'

Hailey exhaled hard, her frustration and justified worry blasting through the link. 'At least tell the queen!'

'Already have.' Silence hummed, until Greg cleared his throat. 'Which is why, as I understand, the bloodsucking empress's consort is now in her invisible form, one step away from our target. And the empress herself is at the gate. Also invisible.'

'It's still risky,' Hailey adamantly argued.

'What we've been doing for years has been risky, Hailey. We will succeed in this just as we've succeeded in every other assignment prior to this mess. It will go smoothly. Because we - me, in particular - have a lot to lose if I screw up. I've screwed up enough in this lifetime. And I have had enough of losing.'

Ending the link in a brusquely imperious manner and stepping out of the car, Greg crossed the clear road and headed straight to the woman in her oversized leather jacket, bracing himself.

Her high-pitched laughter brought back great memories, all of which he now marked as lies. The thundercloud brewing inside him was controlled and calmed with the image of his niece in mind, giving back his eyes their original lilac shade, which he'd have to hold onto for at least another two minutes.

When he was five steps away, the parents that the subject was speaking to spotted him and made her aware of his presence.

Izabella Delilah turned, the same coy smile plastered across her face - a smile which Greg returned as she stepped forward and their lips touched. The familiar sparks traveled from their lips to his entire body, disorienting his animal especially when her tongue demanded entrance, which he allowed only briefly. Parting their mouths and smirking at her as naturally as he could, he murmured, "Hey, baby."

"My roguish duke," she whispered his pet name almost hungrily, invitingly, as she always did. Her hand crawled up his chest and rested on the side of his neck.

The corner of his lip tugged higher, which would have been a dead giveaway for creatures who actually paid attention, who actually knew him, which Izabella Delilah clearly didn't, despite being his bonded mate, whom he'd spent hundreds of hours with and slept with for more times that he'd like to admit.

What a disappointment, he thought. It was at this moment that he conveyed a silent thanks that they were not marked.

"Can I steal you away for a moment?" he asked in a gentlemanly but suggestive manner that had some of the listening ladies swooning.

Izabella's hand ran down his hard chest, stopping above his heart. "Would there be enough time? Aren't the pups coming out soon?"

Stepping closer, he muttered, "If we're quick, we could still make it."

She pursed her lips, feigning contemplation, then resigned with an alluring smile. As usual, she tugged him by his hand and led him around the corner from where she appeared earlier, then a second corner into the empty back alley.

The vandalized walls brought back such fond memories of him pushing her up against it as they made out like teenagers. The way their mouths devoured each other, the sounds that came out from their efforts. But they never took things too far, Greg being mindful about who might appear out of the blue.

When they reached this spot today, Izabella's hands found their place on his wrists, seductively moving up his arms like they always did when they were bound to begin. She brought herself nearer to the wall and pulled him in, expecting Greg's hands to go for her ass like before.

However, instead of going for her bum, one of his hands pinned her at her collarbones as his other hand extracted a syringe from his back pocket containing a serum, which he injected into her voice box. A move that she clearly didn't see coming, judging by those widened eyes.

Izabella opened her mouth to speak but found herself muted. She tried to scream and realized that she was only forcing air out of her lungs.

Before her brain computed what was happening, vines appeared from the concrete against her back and bound her limbs and body to the wall. Flowers of transparent petals grew within seconds on the tendrils, exuding a scent that she didn't think much of when two women she'd never seen before seemed to magically appear behind Greg, both dressed in black.

Izabella screamed Greg's name, trying to tell him about the two women, who she perceived as imposters, not knowing that they were the empress and consort of the vampire community, whose presence Greg requested.

Greg, his eyes now a deep onyx, began, "Izabella Delilah," the fact that he used her full name and that his eyes were a shade that she'd never seen told her everything she needed to know. Her neck stiffened. Her wrists tried to break free but the tendrils only tightened around them.

The duke smirked. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Her breathing shallowed. But her eyes maintained their adamance and ferocity.

Greg took one step closer, making sure they looked each other eye to eye when he uttered, "I have to say, the misguided confidence you and your hunter boyfriend - who is clearly not your ex - have about me choosing you over my family, my queen, my niece, really is the cherry on top of the cake of foolishness."

She said nothing, but merely smiled - the most sinister smile he'd ever seen her show. He didn't even know she had a sinister smile. She was always sweet, flirty, but never vicious. Fierce, maybe. But never wicked. And the worst part was they both knew it didn't take any words for the message to be conveyed: for three months, Greg Claw had been the foolish one.

"We'll see who's smiling by the end of this," Greg mused.

His rough hands trailed up her butt to her jacket, then - without warning - he tore the garment and took satisfaction in the way her eyes widened in horror as she tried to scream, "NO!"

Casually, he instructed, "Nod for yes. Shake for no. Did this belong to that so-called ex?"

Izabella's plan was to keep her head still, hoping to minimize the threat posed to her lover now that the cat was out of the bag. But the flowery scent contained a truth-telling element that compelled her to tell the truth - to nod. Just as Greg suspected. He scoffed darkly, not knowing whether it was contempt or hurt that engulfed every cell and filled every last vessel in his body.

So much for believing that she ended things with her lover the day the mate bond with Greg was discovered - when they met at a hunter-lycan mediation that he instinctively wanted to join even though he never cared about lawful politics. Some shit about her love-at-first-sight declaration and habitual repetition to anyone who'd listen.

In a zipped compartment of the torn portion of the jacket, he extracted a recording device that she'd been carrying around, a device disguised as her crimson lipstick, crushing it with his bare hand. Tugging the blue handbag from her shoulder with force, the gold-colored chain strap broke and created a small wound on her shoulder.

Trying his best to ignore the twist in his chest when she winced in pain, Greg tossed the bag to Ivory who Izabella hadn't even seen appear from the side. Greg relished the way her eyes were incinerating his own because she knew she was losing, admitting to herself that there was no way out, unfiltered detestation now on full display.

She never loved him. He doubted she even liked him. Then again, she had an unfair advantage: humans, unlike wolves or lycans, didn't feel the mate bond until they were marked.

Damn the so-called sacred gift.

To minimize the pain for himself, Greg knew what he had to do first. Even his animal admitted there was no turning back, as reluctant as they were for what was to come.

In a voice he barely recognized, one that seemed soulless and dead, he recited, "I, Greg Claw, reject you, Izabella Delilah...as my mate." It was as if a dagger had been struck into his heart, eliciting the most anguishing howl from his animal, a yowl of loss so piercing that Greg felt he was breaking for them both. His human, however, pressed his lips together and refused to show any pain on the outside. The agony came in waves, gnawing at his chest, shooting into his heart, weakening his being.

His fingers then spread across Izabella's chest, feeling the vibration of her beating heart, a rhythm that he once fell asleep to now became one that would haunt him forever. His claws extended slowly, entering her flesh leisurely as she gritted her teeth, adamantly trying not to express her affliction but the tears escaping the corners of her eyes discredited her.

Red smears blossomed on her shirt, giving the sunny yellow a new color and when her first cry of pain came out in a puff of air, he forced himself to smirk darker, reminding himself not to let what he felt for her get in the way of relishing in her suffering.

Her tensed body was loosening, her face was decolorizing, and right before she passed out, Greg extended his claws all the way, jolting her body when he reached for her heart and tore it out, dropping it onto the ground like the organ was just sloshy trash as he conveyed her lifeless body hanging there into memory. The original plan was to crush her heart but he couldn't bring himself to do it. This was as far as he could go.

Seeing this - the creature he thought was his to trust, to protect, to love, who ended up fooling him - made him release a shaky breath as the first of his tears fell.

"Greg."

He knew that voice anywhere. Anyone knew that voice anywhere - the one that he and the rest of the kingdom instinctively bowed to. Firm with the occasional softness. Normally authoritative, now solemn.

She insisted on coming and stayed far enough not to be seen but near enough to watch things unfold and be ready to get involved if necessary. Greg appreciated that she didn't interfere, that she - as always - understood that he wanted to do this: to clean up his own mess.

After a hasty wipe of the tears, he exhaled hard, wondering if this was what it felt like to be free from the mate bond - like everything in him was hollowed out. His eyes remained on the ground as he turned in her direction and fell on one knee, from his obedience to her or from the heartache of losing his mate, he wasn't sure. "My queen," he acknowledged.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at her shoes, let alone her face. And he could imagine the larger pair next to hers - her husband's - kicking his face for his failure to uncover the threat sooner, for putting his children in danger.

Greg didn't know what to expect. He wasn't even scared anymore. Enora was safe from Izabella now. That was all he needed.

A small pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders. The queen's scent surrounded him and the lilac color of her dress came into his peripheral vision as he knelt there, immobilized by shock.

In a sorrowful but grateful whisper, she said, "Thank you."

His arms came around her, briefly squeezing her in return, appreciating that she didn't say "I'm sorry" or anything that reeked sympathy. He got enough of that from half his people and he felt that energy radiating off the king's being. It was getting suffocating.

Hoisting himself up and pulling the queen to a standing position in the process, his eyes went to the bush on the opposite side of the road just to avoid making eye contact with anyone. "You two should head back. It's my turn today. Your pups would know something's up if they see us all here. Enora would definitely know something's up."

From the blurred corner of his eye, he saw his cousin - the king - nod in agreement, and the queen muttered, "We'll see you later." Only after his cousin offered him a brief squeeze on his right shoulder did they leave with the empress and consort.

Alissa and Ivory dealt with the corpse and brought the handbag to the Den. They intended to assess all her makeup and accessories, even the bag itself, since they were suspected to be well-disguised weapons.

At the kindergarten, Hailey, whose eyes remained more alert than they'd ever been in her entire career, keeping a close eye on her surroundings and holding the two princesses and the prince close, now gazed at the trio with a smile, relief washing over her when she received Alissa's update.

Greg washed his hands with bottled water and disinfected it with sanitizer. The last thing he needed was for one of the pups to smell blood on him. He checked his clothes, making sure there weren't any bloodstains and exhaled impatiently when he had to change everything, throwing the clothes into the trash before brisk walking to the kindergarten, avoiding everyone's glances filled with questions that he was not going to entertain as he searched for the only creatures who mattered.

"There! He's here!" he heard the prince, Ken, exclaim.

The smallest girl in her violet dress behind Ken looked up, then gazed at Greg's left and right. When she discovered he came alone, her cute little lips parted to display the grin that melted her uncle's heart as she dashed toward him, almost tripping twice in her matching violet shoes before she leaped into his open arms and screamed, "Uncle Gweg!"

Squeezing her, mentally conveying apologies that weren't spoken and taking comfort in her safety, he pulled himself together, acted casual and asked the usual question, "How's my little sweetheart?"

"I shot three cups at breaktime!"

"Did you now?" She nodded proudly, making Greg smile. "That's two cups up from yesterday. Want ice-cream to celebrate?"

Pressing her lips and shaking her head, she placed her little hand on his nose, something she did when she was going to ask for something. "I want to feed duckies again."

Greg's brows raised in comprehension, seeing the mischief in her innocuous lilac eyes. "We'll have to go home and ask your Mommy and Daddy first. And if they say yes, remember, this time we're throwing the bread near the ducks, not at them. Alright, sweetheart?"

Enora chuckled but didn't give an answer.

Instructing the elder princess, Reida, and the prince, Ken, to grip onto his pants, they crossed the road together. The doors of the driver and passenger seat flipped upwards like wings ready for take off, and Ken could finally reach the button on the driver's side specifically placed at the highest region so that it was out of the reach of pups. Greg had always allowed Ken three seconds to try to reach for the button before doing it himself and telling the pup he might get it the next time.

To both the duke's and prince's surprise, he managed to reach it today, and Reida gaped at the opening door to the backseat she'd seen hundreds of times, then back at her grinning brother.

Greg began the usual headcount, despite there being only three of them. "Alright, let's go. Backseat headcount: Princess. Check. Cousin look-alike. Check." Watching the two climb into the booster seats, sit upright, then methodically buckling themselves, he then leaned over to make the final adjustments for both pups, double-checked, then jabbed the button for the door close, bringing Enora to the passenger's seat and buckling her himself.

When he was done, he left a kiss on Enora's forehead and said, "Special seat headcount: my little sweetheart. Check." Enora giggled and paddled her feet before Greg shut the door and got into the driver's side.

On the way back, Greg tried not to think about the emptiness in his chest and listened to how Ken and Reida went on their usual conversation of why only Enora could ever sit in front, which the elder princess answered - probably for the hundredth time - was because their youngest sibling was their uncle's favorite, which the prince found unfair.

"Grow up, you little shit. Life isn't fair," Greg thought to himself. No, he didn't care that Ken was only four.