THE HUNTED, by Shannan Albright


A druid sworn to protect and nurture.

Leigh Simon, a druidic healer, lives a peaceful existence among her nomadic tribe. She practices the healing arts and communes with the earth—until her estranged mother’s death turns Leigh’s life upside down. Leigh is now heir to her mother’s worldly possessions, including one dark, brooding demon.

A demon sworn to revenge.

Taren’s rage against witches is all that keeps him going. Forced into the beholden vow, magically binding him to the witches’ Guild of Assassins, he bides his time until he can find a way to break the vow. The key to his freedom comes in the form of one curvaceous female who knows nothing about the violence, hatred, and fear his kind has lived through.

A hunt to the death.

Leigh’s shocked at the brutality Taren endures at the hand of the Isis Guild of Assassins. The only way to right the wrong is to enter an antiquated, lethal challenge called The Hunt. If they can evade a deadly squad of assassins for twenty-four hours, they’re home free—something no one has done for hundreds of years—and falling in love only makes the need to survive steeper. Now, they’re not just fighting for Taren’s freedom, they’re fighting for love.











“She spoke of you, her child, and the hard choice to send you away from her and the guild she’d tied herself to. She’d wanted you to have a life free of blood and death. She spoke of sensing in you a strong magic, one which could be used for good or bad. She refused to have you used as a weapon, and she believed the Guild of Isis would have made you a weapon for their own gain. Instead, she chose someone who would train you in the ways of peace and nurturing. She instructed your Amaya to raise you as one of her own. To guide your mind and magic to their tenants and oppress the darker aspects of your power. I wanted to question her about you, for the first time seeing the real female and not the cold-blooded assassin. Sadly, it was not to be. She refused to say more about you, but the glimpse she gave me softened my wrath toward her. Anyone who could love and sacrifice for their child did have a soul worth salvaging.”


Tears ran unchecked down Leigh’s cheeks, and her throat tightened with the emotion rising from a deeply buried part of her soul. There was still that little child crying out for her mother. Always wondering what her mother found lacking in her which caused her to abandon her so easily. The knowledge worked like a healing balm, soothing the pain and giving her closure and peace. She held the truth close to her breast, absorbing it into her very essence.

Her mother had loved her and sacrificed to see her raised in a culture which cherished all life. The revelation was not lost on her.

With great care, Taren lightly brushed away the tears with his fingers before cupping her face and tilting her head up to meet his gaze head on. “So beautiful, tasa meela.” His deep voice held a husky note, sending a cascade of warmth through her, sweeping over her breasts and down to the juncture between her legs.

“What does that mean?” Her question came out in a breathless whisper as his heat caressed her, building a pulsing need hammering through her.

“The closest translation in your words is ‘bright spirit’.”

Taren drew nearer touching his forehead to hers and stroking her cheek with gentle fingers.

“Oh, I like that,” Leigh whispered, placing her hand over his.

Time froze for one perfect moment as they stood poised on the brink of a precipice she sensed there would be no coming back from.

“My mind tells me this is wrong, what is between us. Still, my soul cries out for you, your body a sweet siren’s song I must follow.”

Her breath caught on his words, her heart opening to him. She was dangerously close to falling in love with him, just as she knew she could trust him with her heart and soul, her very life.

Everything about him and her felt…right. Not wrong as he argued.

She drew away just enough to stare up into his beautiful dark eyes, missing the swirl of red she spied that morning in their dark depths.

“I am yours to take, Taren. I have never before felt such a pull. All that I am calls out for you too.” To lend power to her words, she reached out fingers sinking into thick golden strands of his hair. She marveled in the silkiness before lightly tracing his tightly curved horns.

On a shudder, his eyes closed, his breathing labored as she stroked them. Who knew a Demosian’s s horns could be so sensitive?









About brennanwrites

I am an author, a public speaker on writing, and belong to four writer's groups. I lead a writing class the first Monday of every month.My books, "Don't Dance on my Heart," and "Broken Promises," are available on
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