Chapter Five
Grant
The Huntsman comes to the base the next evening. It’s been a really weird day. We moved Maurice from the sofa into one of the spare bedrooms, but Njáll has been here the entire day, and so have Jeremiah and Paxton.
I don’t mind that. Usually. The more the merrier. But Vlad didn’t say more than four words to me last night after they all brought Maurice back with them, and he’s so much easier to talk to when he’s alone.
Easier. Not easy.
I wonder about ducking out now when he goes to answer the door, but Jeremiah pins me in place with a look.
Maurice is awake but weak, taking up the entire sofa with the way he’s lying on it, his feet in Njáll’s lap.
For his part, Njáll doesn’t look too concerned; he hardly looks up from his phone when the Huntsman and Vlad walk into the living room.
The Huntsman doesn’t seem to care that he’s there.
I shrink back next to the bookcases. I don’t like the feel of his power.
It’s more than what the other high fae have, that’s for sure, and I don’t know if that’s because he’s set up everything in this realm and has been here for so long, or if there’s some other reason I don’t know about.
And if there is a reason I don’t know about, is it even worth bringing it up, or does everyone else already know? It’s not like I’m an actual member of the Hunt. I’m just Vlad’s turn.
“She tried to drag your blessing from you,” the Huntsman says, and Maurice grimaces.
“Wasn’t quite sure what she was after,” he replies, “but yes, I thought it might be something like that.”
“You will heal. Remaining here will help. I can ease some of the discomfort.”
“How long will it take?”
“A few weeks. Perhaps a month.” The Huntsman’s brow furrows. “If you had been a wolf, then you would be healed within days.”
“Ah, fuck. We’ll send Asher next time, then.”
Paxton huffs, but no one else seems that amused by Maurice’s attempt at humour. I think Asher wouldn’t mind. Not that he’s here. He’s on his way back from his own job, the trail he was chasing already gone cold.
“The next job,” Maurice begins, then shakes his head. Njáll looks at him, a frown tugging at his mouth. “We need to move quickly.”
“We need to discuss it,” the Huntsman says. The look Njáll gives him is sharper. He puts his phone away, but his other hand doesn’t move from Maurice’s ankles.
“What’s to discuss? We have credible intel,” Maurice says.
“What is this about?” Vlad asks. He sounds more curious than anything else.
The Huntsman sighs. Does he not want to talk about this? As usual, Maurice doesn’t back down, even though he’s injured.
“Three vampires have died in the past six weeks,” Njáll says. “They were all in contact with the same vampire before they passed, and I was informed that this vampire is working with one of the fae.”
“Do you have any evidence?” Vlad asks.
Maurice shakes his head. “Not as such. I’ve not had a chance to go and check. But a vampire came to Njáll personally, asking for help. And it makes sense. It sounds like things have changed since the fae broke through.”
“Where are they?” Paxton rumbles from his seat in the corner.
“Margate,” Njáll says.
I swear, my heart stops, just for a second. Margate? There can’t be vampires there. Surely not.
“Explain.” This time, Vlad’s voice is threaded with tension that I’m not sure the others hear. I don’t look at him.
“A vampire came to my office a week ago,” Njáll says.
“He had spent some time in Margate and told me there is a loose-knit clan of vampires there. He is only young, and it was the first place he went after his sire abandoned him, and he said he quickly made friends with some of the other younger vampires.”
“A lot of young vampires there, are there?” Jeremiah asks, and Njáll gives him a short nod before he continues.
“He told me that a few weeks ago, one of the young vampires walked out onto the beach and remained there until the sun came up. Two weeks later, another did the same thing. It happened again the day before he came to see me.”
“Did they—” Paxton grimaces. “It happens, doesn’t it? Did they show any signs?”
“No, that’s the point,” Maurice replies.
“The last vampire who died was a friend of his. He insisted he wouldn’t do that and said that all three of them had spent time with another vampire, Jakob.
Over the past few months, Jakob has been seen with a woman who clearly has power but is not a vampire. ”
“She could be a witch. Or a mage.”
Maurice blows out a heavy breath. “And that is the point of investigating, Vlad. I was going to go after we tracked down Merletta, but I can’t risk wandering into a town with that many vampires right now, never mind a high fae.”
“You cannot,” the Huntsman agrees. He looks… troubled. I think. He’s really hard to read. But I can kind of feel his magic, too, and it feels more agitated than it did a few minutes ago.
“We can go,” Jeremiah says, jerking his head at Paxton. “We can check everything out.”
“The trouble is getting close to the fae,” Maurice says. “The vampire who came to Njáll said he only saw her once. He wasn’t close to Jakob. But his friend saw her a few times, he thinks.”
“So I get close to Jakob,” Jeremiah says with a shrug.
Maurice grimaces. “That’s not…” He looks at Njáll. “Where’s my phone?”
Njáll reaches into his pocket and presses it into Maurice’s hand. “I fear it may not work.”
“Fuck,” Maurice mutters. “Did he send them to you?”
“No. I can ask—”
“I can help,” I say quickly, then snap my mouth shut when all the attention in the room turns to me. “I mean. He sent you photos? On your phone?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I can… I set up the cloud, so.”
Maurice’s frown deepens. “Cloud?” He glances up at the ceiling, and Paxton clears his throat like he’s swallowing a laugh.
“Yeah, just give me a minute.”
I race out of the room before any of them can stop me and take the stairs two at a time to my bedroom.
Once inside, I pause before I grab my laptop from under my bed.
Ugh. There’s a strange pressure whenever the Huntsman’s here.
I’ve always thought I got that vibe from Vlad, that it travelled down our sire-turn bond because he treats Vlad like his second-in-command, did that even when Rook and Saide were around, but now…
Maybe it’s just him. I twitch my curtains slightly open and glance out onto the street. All empty. All quiet. Maybe that’s just what it’s like when the high fae are around.
I shake my head, snatch up my laptop, and make my way downstairs again.
When I walk back into the living room, no one has moved, but all their gazes swivel my way. Great. I sit cross-legged next to the sofa and log in to where I set up Maurice’s phone to store everything.
“Do you have access to all our devices?” Paxton asks, and I shake my head.
“Only the ones I set up.”
“So, mine,” Maurice says.
“And Asher’s, Vlad’s, and Jeremiah’s.”
Jeremiah makes an affronted sound. Paxton sounds like he’s hiding another laugh.
Vlad scowls when he says, “I did not know that.”
I glance up at him. He doesn’t look angry, I don’t think. “I told you.”
Logged in, I navigate to the folder where all of Maurice’s images should be stored, then pause before I click as a terrible thought occurs to me. “There’s not, uh…” My face flames as I glance at Njáll, then Maurice again. “There won’t be nudes in here, will there?”
Paxton gets up, red-faced, and leaves the room. Jeremiah is behind me, but the Huntsman looks as baffled as Maurice even as Vlad sighs.
“Nudes?” Maurice asks. “A nude what?”
Njáll presses his lips together and pats the top of Maurice’s foot. “No, Grant,” he says. “You will find no compromising photos. Just what was sent to us.”
Maurice sputters—I guess he gets it then—but I open the folder and open the last photo that synced. He nods when I tilt the screen towards him and show him what I’m looking at, and it only takes me a few seconds of scrolling through to understand what he means.
It takes me a few seconds after that to realise who needs to go.
“I don’t see the problem,” Jeremiah says, leaning over my shoulder to look. In this photo, Jakob has his arm around a young, pretty man, who is leaning into his space with an easy smile. I swallow hard. I don’t need Maurice to tell me what happened to him; I already know.
“You and your turn will be best suited for this,” Maurice says to Vlad, who instantly shakes his head. I pass my laptop to Njáll, who hands it over to Vlad for him and the Huntsman to look at.
“Out of the question,” Vlad says, but there’s a furrow between his brows that grows the more he scrolls through the photos. “Grant is not a part of the Hunt. He cannot face off against a high fae.”
“He will not have to,” the Huntsman replies. “If this fae has control of the vampires there to such an extent, then you will not make a move on her without my say-so. What is important is determining precisely who she is so that I know what she is capable of.”
“I will go then,” Vlad says, and I can’t look away from him because he might not technically be arguing with the Huntsman right now, but this is the most I’ve ever seen him push back. Maurice has gone still on my left and Jeremiah rests a hand on my shoulder like I need the comfort or something.
The Huntsman frowns. The memory of hearing Maurice scream as the Huntsman dragged his blessing out of him hits me, and I shake my head before I can stop myself.
“I can get him to talk,” I say, which is some brazen fucking bullshit because I’ve barely met anyone new in the past decade and a half. Still. I don’t think it’s going to be that difficult. “I just need… I need something to wear. Where did they all meet him?”
I turn my gaze to Maurice and Njáll because Vlad’s got that angry little tick in his jaw that means he’s not impressed that I stepped in. Jeremiah squeezes my shoulder.
“He frequents a club in Margate,” Njáll says. “I have not investigated, but from what our contact said, I suspect he owns it.”