Hunter Mourned (Wild Hunt Book 3) by Nancy Corrigan

Author:Nancy Corrigan [Corrigan, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-09-08T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The Huntsmen’s home in the Underworld was vacant when Rowan arrived, but the evidence of Arawn’s recent occupation was scattered over the desk in the parlor. An empty decanter of vodka and a shot glass that still reeked of ambrosia sat next to a stack of sinners’ reports. All were stamped—rejected.

She picked the top folder and scanned the details. The male resided in the top level of Hell—the last stop before being released to the angels—and had made excellent progress in terms of redeeming his soul. Had this file landed on Arawn’s desk a few months ago, her father likely would’ve granted the release. The red stamp of disapproval over the cover sheet reflected the hardening of Arawn’s soul without Minerva. Rowan had feared such a thing occurring. There wasn’t a whole lot more she could do about it. Ultimately, Arawn and Minerva had to work out their issues.

Rowan dropped the folder and turned toward the stairs. There was one last thing she had to do before she returned to Trevor—retrieve the present she’d planned to give Kai on the night of their mating. She’d give it to Trevor when she returned to him. It was fitting. Tonight was the anniversary of her greatest mistake.

At the top of the stairs, a long hallway offered access to the bedrooms of her siblings. The seventh on the left had been hers. She pushed open the door and stared at the small space. The simple stuffed feather mattress with its thick quilt and a single pillow was pushed into the corner of the room. A large chest took up much of the remaining space. Piles of clothes had been tossed carelessly on top of its surface, as well as on the bed, and a pair of soft, animal-skin boots lay discarded near a small writing table. The wooden stool in front of it offered the only place to sit other than the bed. She’d rarely used either.

Her room had been a place to keep her belongings, nothing more. She’d hated being alone in it, and by the time she’d last used the space, sleep had been a distant memory. She trailed her fingertips over the desk. Unlike the surfaces in the church, no dust covered it—a benefit of living in the Underworld. She’d forgotten how much the little detail appealed to her. Having to clean the room she’d claimed in the Huntsmen’s new estate was annoying, to say the least.

This section of Hell, the Huntsmen’s private retreat, saw the same cycles of day and night that the human realm did, but it never changed seasons. Spring ruled in the valley of the Hunters.

She moved to the window and opened the shutters. Her room overlooked the stream that cut a meandering path through the resting fields. A couple of their hounds drank from the water, while others chased each other over the grassy meadow. Thousands of glowing balls in a variety of shades from pure white to dark gray undulated in the breeze blowing through the valley.

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