Huntsman - Morgan Brice

1

Liam

Just remembering the Huntsman made Liam shudder and sent his heart pounding.

He’d been lucky to get away. A Huntsman rarely made mistakes. Not when a prize like Liam was up for grabs. If a friend hadn’t tipped him off, he would probably be dead by now—or worse. As it was, his escape had been too close.

Liam didn’t own much—putting himself through graduate school to get his master’s in library science didn’t leave a lot extra for luxuries. His apartment had been furnished with thrift store bargains and trash-day cast-offs, but it was snug and comfortable. Then the call came from a friend, and Liam had just enough time to throw all his clothing into a duffel bag, grab some favorite photos and books, plus his two best pans, and pack his laptop, wallet, and phone before going out the window and down the fire escape.

Through the apartment’s video feed, Liam had glimpsed the Huntsman picking the lock at the main front door. By being fast and silent—and barricading the door to his bedroom as a delaying tactic—Liam earned a few minutes leeway to get to his car before his would-be killer realized he was gone.

Being a fox shifter meant knowing how to be tricky. Of course, being a fox shifter was exactly what got him into trouble in the first place.

Liam’s hands tightened around the steering wheel as he tried to get his breathing under control. He glanced into the backseat of his old Honda Civic, double-checking that his computer bag and duffel were there.

Spring came late to this part of Upstate New York, and temperatures could still drop below freezing, making for patches of black ice on the road. The last thing Liam needed now was to wreck. His ten-year-old car handled well on snow and started reliably in cold weather— qualities he’d need where he was going. Liam shivered in his light jacket. He owned a decent winter coat—which he had remembered to grab from his closet, along with his boots, gloves, scarf, and hat—since Ithaca still got plenty of snow. But winter in Fox Hollow, way up in the Adirondack Mountains, promised to be a whole new experience.

Screw it. I can deal with cold and snow. I can’t deal with being hunted.

The warning call had come at six in the evening, not long after Liam had gotten home from his shift at the Ithaca College library, where he had landed an assistant librarian job after he finished his degree two years ago. The job he had just ditched, along with his apartment and friends, to run for his life.

Jeb was one of the few shifters Liam knew. So when Jeb’s warning wasn’t just that a hitman was after Liam, but a Huntsman—a legendary, near-mythical boogieman of a predator—Liam had dropped everything and fled.

He skidded, and for just a second, felt his tires lose traction. Liam eased off the gas pedal, steered into the skid, and evened out. If late spring was this cold and icy, he didn’t want to think what real winter would hold.

Hyperventilating and passing out won’t help.

Thank the gods for Dr. Jeffries. When his favorite undergrad professor left Ithaca for a new role at the Fox Institute, he told Liam that if he ever needed a job or a place to go in a pinch, to give him a call. Jeffries knew Liam didn’t have any family to count on, and the two of them had bonded over a shared interest in mythology and folklore.

Just a few days ago, Jeffries had called to float a job opportunity by Liam—the head librarian position at the Fox Hollow Community Library, which also included managing the summer arts festival and the “Fall Fling” in conjunction with the Institute. At first glance, Liam had been perplexed, since while the role offered more creativity, it was also a step down in pay. He’d promised to think about it.

Then the warning came, and he ran. Now he needed a new job—far away from Ithaca.

Liam had called Jeffries from a rest stop a few hours ago to ask if the job was still open and if he could come up for an interview. Jeffries said that he’d taken the liberty of presenting Liam’s resume to the search committee and that they wanted to offer Liam the job—which also included housing.

That’s how things worked, Liam guessed, when your old prof taught at a place run by a bunch of psychics.

Liam had been gobsmacked, caught between feeling extremely grateful for a safe harbor and