Born of Hatred Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Born of Hatred

  Steve McHugh

  Hidden Realms Publishing

  This ebook first published in 2012 by Hidden Realms Publishing

  Copyright © 2012 by Steve McHugh

  Kindle Edition. All Rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever without prior written permission by the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Edited by Bridget A. Connors

  Cover design by Eamon O’Donoghue

  http://www.eamonart.com/

  For Keira.

  You have always been, and shall always be, my Mim.

  Prologue

  Montana Territory, America. 1878

  The bear was huge. Even compared to other grizzlies, it would have been considered a monster. I'd seen several of her kind since arriving in Montana. And so long as I kept my distance and avoided them, they tended to do the same with me. Something told me I wasn't going to be as lucky this time. There was a cub.

  I leaned forward and brushed the neck of the young, palomino mustang I rode. She had been an expensive purchase, but, as I'd discovered, well worth the money. She was even-tempered, but kept some of the fire I'd heard her breed was capable of. Above all, she was hard to spook. She'd stood her ground when there'd been predators or hunters nearby. It made her seem almost fearless, hence her name—Valour.

  The bear stalked forward, putting herself between her cub and the perceived threat. She was maybe thirty feet away and a low growl sounded in her throat, the moonlight only serving to enhance its resonating power it. I couldn't see how this would end well.

  "Not here to hurt you, girl," I said softly. I knew talking to the bear was useless, but damn if I had any better ideas. I wanted to get down from Valour, to prepare for any confrontation, but that might be seen as an aggressive response and trigger the very fight I was trying to avoid.

  Outrunning the beast was impossible. With me on her back, Valour was no match for the grizzly over short distances and we wouldn't get enough of a head start to make a difference in the long run, not to mention that the surroundings hardly afforded Valour a good escape. I pulled the reins, moving Valour further back into the stream, leaving a few dozen meters between us and the bear. I'd only stopped for a drink, and to catch a few fish, thinking we'd be gone before any local wildlife would notice us.

  The bank on the far side was home to several huge trees and bordered by a fifty-foot-high cliff. There was a slope that led up toward the top of the cliff, but it was a hundred feet up the bank and there was nowhere to gain an advantage and get to higher ground before then.

  The bear took a few more steps forward and splashed at the water, her eyes never leaving Valour and me.

  "Don't make me kill you, girl," I said. "I don't want to make an orphan of your cub there." If she charged, I knew I could kill her, but killing an animal for wanting to protect herself and her cub hardly seemed fair. Unfortunately simple warning wasn't going to deter the grizzly if her mind was set on a fight.

  The bear rose on her hind legs, all eight feet of solid muscle, razor sharp claws and teeth glistening in the moonlight. She roared.

  In the dead of night, and so close to the cliff wall, the sound was much more ferocious than it might have otherwise been. It reverberated all around me, and Valour shied back a few steps, her head raised high, until I calmed her once more.

  The bear moved forward and roared again. Violence was coming, I was certain of it. I'd have to orphan the cub, which would be its death sentence. More humane just to put it out of its misery.

  The bear tensed to charge and a massive explosion of noise sounded above us, a second following a moment later. Gunshots. The bear turned and ran back into the woods, the cub quickly following in its mother's wake, the need to fight overridden by the need to get as far away from the noise as possible.

  I led Valour onto the bank with the high cliff and dismounted as a third shot rang out. A fourth was right above where I stood. In my experience, hunters don't usually run after their prey, shooting the whole time.

  I guided Valour into the nearby tree line, hoping to avoid a confrontation if the gun wielders ran down the slope from the top of the cliff toward the stream. I heard a crash high above me.

  I stepped back and craned my neck to get a better look as something tumbled through the top of the nearest tree, breaking through the branches as it fell. It wasn't until he was halfway down that I saw it was a human boy.

  White glyphs immediately blared across the back of my hands, moving up my wrists before vanishing from view under my coat sleeves. I raised my hands, palms out toward the boy, blasting a torrent of air to cushion his fall. There was little I could do about the larger branches without hurting him too, but he only hit the floor with a small bump, and was immediately followed by hundreds of leaves and twigs.

  I dashed over and found him lying on his back. Blood soaked one side of his face, covering his shoulder and half of his chest. There was a nasty cut just above his temple. It wasn't life-threatening, cuts to the head always look worse than they inevitably are, but it still needed to be cleaned and closed.

  The bigger problem was the damage the hard branches had done on his way down. Whilst his arms and legs weren't broken, when I touched his ribs he stirred slightly and winced, before quickly slipping back into unconsciousness. The ribs were either broken or badly bruised and I hoped he hadn't punctured a lung. A wound I'd seen happen before with broken ribs, and in many circumstances a death sentence this far from anything resembling a doctor.

  "Hey, you," a man shouted.

  I turned to watch two men on horses trot toward me. One had a revolver out and ready to use; I recognised it as an Army Colt.

  "Step away from the boy," he said, his voice rough and deep.

  The second man just sat in the saddle of his brown horse and
watched. A sparkle of metal shone on his lapel when the moonlight touched it. A sheriff's badge.

  "He's hurt," I said, and stepped between the armed men and the unconscious boy.

  "He's a thief and a murderer," the armed man said, moving his horse closer. "And you will hand him over to us."

  "To shoot while he's unconscious?”

  The man's eyes narrowed and he pulled his jacket aside. "You see this badge? It says I'm a deputy sheriff. My friend over there is a deputy, too. The boy is a criminal, and we'll kill him any way we can. Now move aside."

  "I don't care about your badge," I said. "I'm not about to hand over a badly hurt boy to be executed. I'll take him to town. If he is what you say, he'll see justice."

  The armed deputy pointed the Colt at me. "You'll move aside and allow us to take him, or we'll go through you."

  The second man's hand had dropped to his gun, which was still holstered. My Winchester rifle was still in its own holster, attached to the side of the Valour, along with my Jian, a Chinese sword.

  I stepped aside, seemingly to allow the deputy access to the boy, but it put me next to Valour. The man nodded curtly as he turned his attention to his prey, giving me time to grab the sheathed Jian and slam the hilt into his throat as he rode past. I spun, dragging one of the two silver daggers out of the blade holster on the small of my back, and threw it at the second man. The blade missed his head by a hair's width, but it had the desired effect of making him lose his concentration. And the next thing he knew, the end of my Winchester rifle's barrel was pressed firmly against his nose.

  "Make a move and you'll find a big hole where your face used to be," I said, dragging an identical Colt from the deputy's holster and flinging it into the woods behind him.

  His partner's horse trotted past, the unconscious deputy slumped forward. "I'd leave now and go help your friend," I said.

  "This isn't over," he said.

  "It is for today. Now leave. If this boy did as you say, I'll bring him in myself."

  "You have the authority to do that?" he asked incredulously.

  I removed the barrel from his nose. "You have no idea of my authority. Get out of my damn sight."

  I watched the deputy guide his partner's horse back into the woods away from us. I doubted they were the type of people who kept their promises, and I wanted to be far away before they decided on a repeat performance. I walked over to the boy and looked down at him. A murderer and thief. He opened one eye—the other was already swelling closed.

  "Who are you?" he asked, his words broken as he spoke through the pain.

  "Nathan Garrett," I said. "You're safe now."

  "I'm Sam," he said softly, before passing out once more, and leaving me with one burning thought.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 1

  Basingstoke, England. Now.

  She lay on the floor, panting. Her chest rose and fell quickly in an effort to get as much oxygen into her body as possible. Her bare midriff, the muscles taut and inviting, the skin tanned and beautiful, glistened with sweat. Only one thought entered my mind. Oh crap.

  "You want a drink?" I asked, picking up a bottle of water from the floor.

  Sara sat up and caught the cold bottle in one hand when I threw it to her. As she drank, water dripped down her chin, landing just above her sports bra and trickling down between her breasts. I stared at my bottle of water and considered tipping it down my pants. I settled for drinking it, while ensuring that my gaze fell on nothing that could be considered sexy. A stack of blue mats sat at the end of the huge gym hall. There is nothing sexy about a blue gym mat. That did the trick.

  "So, you want to go for another round?" she asked.

  I turned back to her just in time to catch the half empty bottle of water she'd thrown at my head. "That's not nice," I said with a smile. "You're going to have to be taught a lesson."

  Sara got back to her feet and put herself in a fighting stance. "Come on, old man; let's see if you've still got what it takes."

  I tossed both bottles aside, and deflected the punch I knew was coming. I pushed her arm aside and stepped around her, keeping my distance, making her do the work. Sara might have only been human, and only been fighting for a few months, but what she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in sheer tenacity and quickness.

  Her foot spun round, trying to catch me in my ribs, but I blocked it with ease. Unfortunately, she knew what I was going to do and quickly switched tactics, throwing a punch, which I wasn't positioned to block effectively. I took a glancing blow off my cheek as I dodged aside. "Good shot."

  Sara smiled. She'd remembered not to get dragged into a conversation with the person you're fighting. Concentrate on the person trying to knock you out, not on trying to chat them up.

  She threw another punch, this one meant to distract from her attempt to knee me in the stomach. I wasn't distracted. I grabbed her thigh, falling back and using my momentum to drag her over and dump her on her back.

  What I hadn't expected was for Sara to grab my arm as she went over, pulling me with her. So, I was the one who ended up on my back, with Sara straddling my chest. Her smile beamed as she undid her ponytail, letting her long blonde hair fall loose over her shoulders.

  "Old man," she said

  "You learn quickly." I tried to sit up and she pushed me back.

  "Not yet. You must learn patience." She laughed, mocking a familiar speech I'd given to her when she'd wanted to learn more quickly than she was capable of.

  I pushed her hand away, which caused her to lose her balance. She fell forward, her face coming close to mine. She inhaled sharply as our mouths almost touched. Her pupils dilated and she licked her lips invitingly. I looked into her green eyes and wanted to take her, wanted to feel her naked skin against mine, to feel her moving around me as I entered her. The moment lasted longer than it should have.

  "Would Nathan Garret report to Thomas Carpenter's office? That's Nathan Garret to Thomas Carpenter's office." The loudspeaker announcement brought us both back to our senses.

  "We should go," Sara said, and rolled off me, going over to grab her bottle of water.

  I lay on the ground a moment longer, and tried to think of something calming. The gym mats weren't going to be enough. When finally ready to move, I got back to my feet and made my way to the intercom by the main entrance, pushing the button and informing whoever was on the other end that I would be half an hour. Tommy could come find me himself if it was that important. I didn't work for him.

  "You okay?" I asked Sara, who hadn't spoken in a few minutes.

  "I have a boyfriend," she said softly. "I love him. I love being with him, he's fun and sweet and treats me well. Something I've not had much experience with."

  "I know," I said.

  "So why do you make me forget all about him? How is it that you have this effect on me? That I want to do incredibly bad things to you every time I see you?"

  I shrugged. "I'm sorry, Sara. If you want me to stop training—"

  "No," she snapped. "Tommy and you have told me that if I'm going to be his assistant, I need training. And more than one person has said you're the best to do that. I just want to be able to train. Without the desire to rip all your clothes off and fuck you on the floor."

  "I don't know what to say. Maybe we both need a cold shower, and to try and keep it as professional as possible in future. No matter how difficult that might be. I don't want you to do anything to jeopardise the happiness you have at home."

  "I won't," she said, sounding certain. "I can control this. I just need to avoid draping myself over you in future." She picked up her bag and slung the strap over one shoulder. "I'll go shower and tell Tommy you'll be up soon."

  "Thanks," I said, and then she was gone leaving me with a great desire to bathe myself in ice cold water for the foreseeable future.

  As it turned out, once I'd showered and dressed, any longing I felt was buried deep inside me as I walked thr
ough the busy office building owned by my friend Thomas Carpenter.

  Technically it's two buildings, one was three stories and the other twenty-five, joined together by a walkway above the staff parking area outside. I looked out of a nearby window, down at the smaller of the two buildings. It's the only entrance to the larger building, and includes enough security to make getting into the White House seem like a walk in the park. Six lifts, all glass except for the floor and ceiling, each containing a thermal imaging unit and metal detector. Runes, carved into the very structure of the building, ensured that no one could use their abilities unless authorised. I looked down at the small bracelet on my wrist; the runes carved into the wooden beads allowed me to access my magic. Each staff member wore one, even the humans, so that no one could be identified from appearance alone. Each bracelet was designed for that person only, and not all bracelets were created equal.

  The larger building had a similar rune structure, carved into the steel and concrete. And it wasn't overkill. My friend Thomas, or Tommy as he liked to be known, was a Private Investigator, or used to be. Now he runs his own investigations firm, and he's managed to piss off a lot of powerful people in the process.

  But none of the measures were there to protect him. As a six-hundred-plus-year-old werewolf, he's quite capable of taking care of himself. But he'd never have forgiven himself if his people got hurt because of a lack of care and protection.

  I made my way through to the lifts, saying hello to the various people who knew me, and gaining a few odd glances from those who didn't. When everyone else is wearing smart suits, the man wearing jeans, a hooded top, and carrying a leather biker jacket sort of stands out.

  As the lift doors opened, revealing the mirrored walls inside, another loudspeaker announcement sounded. "Can Mr. Garrett please go to the employee parking lot?"

  I stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the ground floor. I had no idea what Tommy wanted, but I was already certain it wasn't going to be good.