Night Hunt Ch. 16

She was weightless, her lithe body flipping and summersaulting over the obstacles like she'd been born to do it. Now he knew how she'd beaten him in the forest. Damn. She'd looked fierce, confident, and... fucking beautiful. Connor had stumbled for a split second, utterly spellbound. That second had cost him dearly as she pulled ahead and slapped the buzzer that signalled the finish.

She'd slid him a feline look of pride and strutted off, leaving him standing at the end of the course, wondering what the hell had hit him. No doubt about it, the woman was driving him bugfuck crazy.

This morning, he'd arrived early and chosen the mats. He figured with his advantage of size, and without Sam's advantage of her sword, he'd have her beat. When she arrived and saw him there, she headed right over without any hesitation.

The moment they'd started, he'd known that he had underestimated her. He didn't pull any punches, and yet, she held her own. She knew exactly how to use his size against him. Even though he knew he was fast, he'd felt sluggish next to her. He simply couldn't seem to hang on to her long enough to pin her down.

"Same time tomorrow?" Sam asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. She had a small half-smile on her face.

He nodded. For a second, he wondered if this was the first real smile she'd ever thrown his way.

As if his mouth had disconnected from his brain, he blurted, "have coffee with me."

Sam looked at him for a beat, her smile slipping into a carefully blank expression. Connor stood there like an idiot, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Connor..." Sam started. She licked her lips, confusion written across her pretty features. "We're not... like that."

"The hell we're not," Connor replied, stepping closer to her. He was gratified when he scented her arousal.

"You're not asking me to go home with you. You're asking me on a- on a date," she stuttered, shaking her head in bewilderment.

He scented the smallest tendril of fear on her. Funny, they'd faced off the rebels four to two, and he hadn't gotten even a whiff of fear from her. But the idea of them on a date...

"Oh for fuck's sake," Connor growled in frustration. Could he be any more pathetic? "That was stupid, ok? Nevermind."

He didn't wait for her response. Instead, he stormed off towards the showers, hitting the punching bag on his way. It swung wildly on its hook, creaking loudly in the quiet gym.

He didn't bother to show up the next day.

****

"Babe, you look gorgeous!" Lara squealed when she entered the room.

Anya stared at the large, floor length mirror in her room, not quite recognising what she was looking at. They were in King Primakov's castle. Her father's castle. They'd arrived there late last night, courtesy of her father's private jet. Lara had made the arrangements for herself, Anya, and Tyrus, insisting that it was the only way for King Primakov's daughter to travel.

The castle was situated somewhere in the snow capped mountains of Russia, far from civilisation and inaccessible except by air. His land covered a vast area, and was heavily warded and concealed. Any human who ventured near his borders experienced an inexplicable urge to turn around. Once a year, he opened his grounds to the who's who of the supernatural community, in the form of a grand ball. Guests were invited to stay in his numerous rooms for the weekend.

Outside, the land was white, harsh, bitter winter. Once in the castle though, they were treated to opulence and modern comforts. The entire place had old world charm, with rich furnishings decorating every surface. Yet, it had every convenience known to this day and age. This morning she was surprised to find that her bathroom floors were heated, and despite being in the middle of nowhere, her phone connected easily to the internet.

Anya blinked at the mirror as Lara came up behind her, trying to process the image reflected back at her. She wore a strapless, floor-length gown with a fitted bodice that hugged her upper body, then fell into a beautiful, sweeping skirt that moved like molten liquid with every step she took. The skirt had a slit that cut high on her thigh, giving the dress a more modern look. It was in a deep red silk-satin, contrasting with her fair skin. It looked simple, yet stunning and expensive at the same time.

Well, she also knew it must be expensive because she'd seen the tag... Christian Dior. Tyrus had ordered it for her, then gotten a team to come to his apartment for a fitting, where they tucked and hemmed the gown until it fit her perfectly. Another team had come in for her hair and makeup. Her hair was elegantly twisted up on one side, then styled in soft cascading waves down her other shoulder. Her eyes were in a soft, smokey silver, juxtaposed against bold, dark red lips.

She wore a pair of diamond studs on her ears, and a matching diamond cuff bracelet, which Tyrus had presented her with earlier this morning. She'd tried to refuse the expensive set, but he'd somehow managed to persuade her to keep them. The rest of the morning had been spent with her in their bed wearing nothing but the diamonds.

She looked at her reflection now, speechless. This was not the girl who'd been tossed through the foster system, with nowhere in the world that she belonged. There was no hint of her troubled past, ridden with memories that she'd rather keep buried. Instead, her reflection showed a woman who was used to luxury, one who made a habit of wearing designer gowns instead of jeans and henleys. Old Hollywood glamour radiated from her carefully coiffed hair down to her Jimmy Choo-covered toes.

"Tyrus has good taste," Lara commented as she ran her fingers down the smooth fabric of Anya's skirt. "This suits you perfectly."

Anya frowned. "I thought I was supposed to be here under the guise of being Tyrus'... property? Isn't this a bit too much?"

"Honey you wouldn't believe how people doll up what they think is theirs. They like to show off, and how they do it varies from person to person. Some prefer their slaves wearing nothing but skin, but trust me, you won't be the only one who's all dressed up."

Lara herself was dressed in a figure-hugging, hand-beaded gown in a dark, shimmery grey. It had one shoulder, and swept gracefully down to her ankles. The material was soft and stretchy, quite sheer, and clung to her every curve.

The beadwork had been strategically placed so that they gathered more tightly in certain areas, and spread out in others, brazenly showing off her body. Her breasts were clearly visible through the shimmery fabric. Her hips and legs were shown off too, although the beadwork wove tightly between her legs to cover the important bits, preventing the dress from turning lewd. Somehow, Lara managed to pull it off confidently, looking nothing but exquisite in the provocative gown.

"I don't know how you do it. I'd never dare to wear something like that," Anya said, shaking her head. "You look so good in it too! I think I might even be a little turned on looking at you."

Lara threw back her head and laughed. "This old thing? I look like a prude compared to what you're going to find at the ball. This isn't some human event with boring social conventions. You'll see for yourself tonight. Try not to stare as you're taking it all in. It can be a little overwhelming for first-timers."

Anya figured King Primakov's ball wouldn't be any ordinary ball, but now she was really nervous. She'd never gone for a prom, or even a wedding for that matter. Until tonight, she'd never even owned a single cocktail dress, let alone an evening gown. She wouldn't know what to expect, or how to act.

"Relax babe," Lara said soothingly, reading her mind like she always did. "Remember what I said about a lack of conventions? Anything goes at the Primakov Ball. You'll be fine."

Anya nodded, and took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to loosen the tight knot forming in her stomach. Her thoughts turned to her father. They were going to meet him tonight, during the ball. He'd wanted to meet her earlier, but had been called away on urgent clan matters for a few days, and would only arrive at the start of the ball.

The plan was for him to request a private audience with Tyrus, who would bring her along. Nobody would think twice about the vampire King seeking out a well-known Governance assassin. It would look like business as usual in their world.

Over the past few days, Anya had gotten as much detail as she could from Lara about her father. She wanted to ask more now, but Lara had cautioned that once in the castle, they had to play their roles. You never knew which supernatural ears were listening. Nobody, not even the servants in the room, knew who she really was.

What she'd gathered so far was that King Primakov was widely respected in many circles. He'd been king for close to a millenia, after the last king had been killed. He was still seen as ruthless and even cold-blooded in his actions, but one had to be willing to do certain things when ruling over thousands of vampires spread out over a few continents.

Lara was close to Primakov, having been friends with him even centuries before he became king. From what she had mentioned, despite the king's reputation for being ruthless, he ruled fairly, always choosing the action that would be the best for his people. The allowance for slaves had been his idea, in order to satisfy the darker appetites of some vampires, whilst preventing them from running amok with their killing, torture, and rape. It had taken a while to develop satisfactory laws for taking a slave, but Primakov had been patient in his negotiations with the Governance, and with his clan.

According to Lara, Primakov also had a softer side for the ones he cared about, but few ever got to see that side of him. He had truly loved Anya's mother deeply, and had mourned her death for years. She had caught his eye one day, and he had courted her unwaveringly for four years until she'd agreed to leave her life behind and join him. As with Anya, she had come to be with him under the guise of being his slave.

Anya hoped that this would mean King Primakov would be understanding of her situation with Tyrus. Despite Lara's reassurances, she couldn't imagine that a vampire king would take kindly to the idea of his daughter as a slave, no matter what his own experiences had been.

A knock on the door sounded, snapping Anya out of her reverie. Lara crossed the room and opened the door. Tyrus stood on the other side. Distant sounds of music and laughter drifted in, along with some delicious smells.

At the sight of Tyrus, Anya's pulse quickened. He was in a full tuxedo, his lean, muscular frame filling out the suit perfectly. He'd always looked amazing in his casual jeans and button downs, but now, he just looked... well, mouthwateringly delicious. Looking at him, Anya found it hard to believe that such a gorgeous man was hers.

Tyrus stepped into the room, his gaze locked onto Anya. He said nothing as his eyes swept over her from head to toe. Anya blushed as he took her in, resisting the urge to fidget with her hair or her gown. He'd looked at her many times, but there was a reverence in his gaze tonight, as though he was looking at her for the first time.

"Beautiful," he finally whispered.

She thought he was going to reach for her hand, but instead, he wrapped his arm possessively around her waist. Ignoring everyone else in the room, he leaned into her and drew his lips along her neck to her jaw. Anya bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.

Tyrus stood back, dark eyes gleaming. "Ladies."

He beckoned towards the open door with a playful smile on his lips. "If you're ready, the ball awaits."

****

Connor stood to one side of the grand ballroom, resisting the urge to tip the rest of the scotch in his hand down his throat. He tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his tuxedo. The Primakov Ball was in full swing, with most of the guests having already arrived. King Primakov always spared no expense, and this year was no exception.

Candles lit by magic lined the walls and tables, whilst a mist of magical stars twinkled from the ceiling, casting a warm, romantic glow over the ballroom. Exotic flowers and vines cascaded over every possible surface, including the tables serving numerous delicacies for those who ate human food, as well as those with darker appetites. Classical music, remixed with electronic dance beats had been chosen to set the mood. Wood nymphs in various stages of undress danced hypnotically in bird cages suspended from the ceiling.

All manner of creature were represented at the ball tonight. Many were dressed in formal wear, according to human fashions, or the long-standing traditional garments of their race. Some chose to dress more eclectically - the younger beings had a preference for showing more skin in club wear, or more gothic styles. Or some, like the trolls and golems, were more comfortable in just a loincloth. Of course, there were those who had decided to wear nothing at all.

To Connor's right, Tyrus and Anya, were making googly eyes at each other as if they didn't know they were in the middle of a gala in full swing. Lara had come in with them, but then she'd ditched when she'd caught the eye of a volare demon. All she'd said in parting was "Wings... always interesting. Don't wait up, kids".

Not for the first time, he wondered if he shouldn't have come. He hated these things, and hadn't been to one of Primakov's balls in a little over a decade. His father had dragged him to every single ball and all the other events in the supernatural social calendar from the time he was old enough to attend, until the time he had left his father's pack. It wouldn't do for the son of the Kavanaugh pack's Alpha to miss an event.

His younger self had been swept up in the revelry. When the night got late enough, the nymphs would begin their infamous orgies. If an orgy wasn't in one's interest, it was easy enough to look for a one night stand. It was common knowledge that the ball was a time to indulge in temporary pleasures, and all was forgotten the next day. Even sons of Alphas were permitted their fun without judgement.

Over the years though, all the sex and revelry hadn't been enough to make up for the socialising he was expected to do with the who's who of the supernatural world. The Kavanaugh pack was one of the oldest packs, and most of the existing packs around the world could trace their origins back to it. Pack rules were steeped in tradition so deep, none of their leaders had been able to alter them much.

Being the alpha's son had meant... expectations. It had gotten so tiresome, he'd looked for various excuses to shirk his duties. He didn't see much point in all the arbitrary rules that their traditions dictated, and just couldn't find the motivation to follow them. It took him till he was about thirty years of age before he realised he didn't have to be the 'son of the alpha', and he didn't have to go to these things. He'd left the pack.

Thankfully, he wasn't an heir to being alpha. The pack just didn't work that way. The alphas were constantly challenged to vicious fights to the death, and whoever came out on top was the alpha. It was a good thing his father, Patrick O'Callaghan, never physically aged. He only got stronger and wiser with every decade that passed.

In the years that followed, Connor had come to the ball on occasion. Mostly, it was to catch up with friends and family that he'd left behind. His father's pack resided in Ireland, and he rarely travelled back. After joining his new pack, he'd come from time to time as his pack's representative, though he passed on that duty whenever he could.

Today, he was here for Tyrus, and to look out for the new threat. He knew the Governance had not made any headway into uncovering who was behind the rebel movement, and that Jameson Morneau had planned to come here tonight. That was reason enough to be here. According to Tyrus, King Primakov and his security team had been briefed and were on high alert. Connor shoved away the stray thought that a certain elf might also be here...

"Connor! You're the last person I expected to see here!" A familiar female voice rang out from the crowd.

Connor rolled his eyes, but couldn't stop his grin as he caught sight of the top of a blond head of hair, followed by a heavily pregnant body pushing through the crowd.

"I need a hug from my little brother," Dana exclaimed as she threw her arms around him.

"Oof, your belly is in the way, Sis," Connor grumbled with a laugh.

"Oh my god Connor, it's been ages! Why don't you come home more often? I have to go to Siberia to see you?" Dana huffed as she stepped back.

"What are you even doing here? You look like you're about to pop! Shouldn't you be resting in a bed at home?" Connor retorted.

"I've got a whole month left, and Keenan's volunteered to take care of Aislin so that Declan and I can come out and have some adult time before all hell breaks loose. So far, Keenan seems to be the only one in the running for Best Uncle."

Connor rolled his eyes. "Hey, I'm a whole continent away. What about the cards and presents I send over? They count too," he reminded Dana.

"Aislin still misses her uncle. And what about me? I haven't seen you since I found out I was pregnant!" Dana scolded.

"I was over at Christmas wasn't I?" Connor grumbled. Was it really that long ago since he'd visited? "So how's little Aislin doing? Still going through that ballerina phase?"

"Oh yes she's way past that. Now she wants to be a doctor. She lines up all her toys and makes them wait in line for a consultation."

His sister went on to explain how Aislin had gone to see the doctor for a minor cold, and had been enamoured with the patient and friendly paediatrician who'd treated her. Now all she could talk about was how she wanted to be just like her when she grew up.

Connor laughed as his sister launched into another story about his niece. He really did need to go over more often. Aislin was growing up so fast. He was just about to tell Dana that when his body suddenly tensed.

A very familiar scent was coming from the far right corner of the ballroom, where the grand staircase descended from the entrance. Like magnets, his eyes lifted, drawn to their target, and for several seconds his breath caught in his throat.

Sam was coming down the staircase, but she wasn't the same old Sam. She was wearing heels instead of her usual sneakers. Her hair was swept up into tiny, intricate braids, with glittery silver thread woven through them. A long, flowy gown in a soft, sage green draped effortlessly from her shoulders, looking ethereal with her light colouring and slender frame.

The gown was made of a elven silk, so delicate that it reminded Connor of mist in a forest. The dress skimmed lightly over her, looking modest at first glance. However, when she moved, it clung to her body briefly before gliding over her skin. The effect was maddening, as the movement showed off every curve and contour, leaving little to the imagination, but only for a moment.

The thin fabric wasn't see through, but it didn't need to be in order to send Connnor's testosterone into overdrive. He nearly groaned out loud when realised he could actually tell that Sam wasn't wearing any underwear beneath the dress.

As if she could feel his attention on her, Sam turned her head in Connor's direction. Her eyes took him in before connecting with his gaze. With a jolt, she snapped her head back around, but Connor had already glimpsed her expression. Well, now he was glad for the tux he was wearing. Good to know that he had an effect on her too.

"Connor? Helloooo? What are you... oh! Ohhhh." Dana nodded in Sam's direction knowingly. "Pretty, but I thought you preferred short skirts."