5. Asher/ Gael
CHAPTER FIVE
ASHER/ GAEL
ASHER
The ghost of Gael’s kiss lingered on my lips, hot and maddening, even as my brain screamed at me to get a grip.
My gaze fell to his mouth, and I cursed myself for how tempting it looked, even now, with his infuriating smirk tugging at one corner.
This is a mistake. A big, massive, stupid mistake.
Yet, my voice betrayed me. “Kiss me again.”
The words were out before I could stop them, low and rough, as if some hidden part of me had wrested control.
Gael’s smirk deepened, his dark eyes flashing with amusement and something darker, more dangerous.
It made me want to punch him, or maybe grab him and?—
Before I could act, Gael’s expression shifted. The humor drained from his face, replaced by sharp, predatory tension.
His body moved with inhuman speed as he grabbed my arm and yanked me down.
“What the?—”
Two bullets zipped through the air where our heads had just been, embedding themselves in the wall with a crack.
Heart pounding, I rolled to the side, craning my neck to see the source of the attack. My stomach dropped.
Two hunters, both of them familiar, stood near the warehouse entrance. Guns drawn, their faces hard and resolute.
Recognition hit me like a gut punch. I’d seen them that morning at the pub. I should’ve known they’d come back to the warehouse.
But this? Guns blazing, no questions asked? My jaw clenched as understanding sank in.
They’d decided I was a traitor.
I wasn’t sure what to feel about that, anger, guilt, or maybe nothing at all.
After all, it wasn’t hard to see why they’d come to that conclusion.
If I’d walked in on myself locked mouth-to-mouth with a vampire, I’d have had questions too.
“Friends of yours?” Gael asked, his voice edged with mockery as he crouched low beside me.
“Clearly not,” I muttered, the bitterness sour on my tongue.
“No talking our way out of this, then?” Gael asked.
“Not a chance.”
One of the hunters, Jackson, shouted, “Step away from the leech, Asher! Don’t make this worse than it already is.”
I didn’t respond. Words wouldn’t change the fire in their eyes, the grim determination written in every line of their bodies.
Gael moved beside me, his motions fluid, calculated. He grinned, sharp and bloodthirsty, as if he thrived in moments like this.
“I’ll keep them busy,” he said. “You?—”
“They’ll shoot you on sight,” I interrupted, pulling my knife free. “And I’m not letting you go alone.”
He gave me a sideways glance, something unreadable flickering across his face, but before he could respond, the hunters opened fire again.
We dove in opposite directions, the concrete floor biting into my palms as I rolled behind a stack of crates.
Gael was a blur of motion, darting from shadow to shadow, drawing their attention.
The sound of gunfire filled the air, deafening and sharp, followed by the splintering of wood as bullets tore through the crates.
I peeked out, saw Jackson advancing cautiously, his gun trained on the spot where Gael had vanished.
With a deep breath, I sprang up and threw my knife. It wasn’t a killing throw, I wasn’t ready to cross that line, but it hit its mark.
The blade sank into Jackson’s shoulder, and he cried out, his gun clattering to the ground.
“Cover me!” I shouted at Gael, already moving toward Jackson.
“Cover you?” Gael called back, his tone incredulous but tinged with amusement. “Do I look like your sidekick?”
A shot rang out, grazing my arm, and I hissed in pain. The second hunter, Marcus, was already aiming for another shot.
I dove behind a pillar, pressing a hand to the wound.
It wasn’t deep, but the sting was enough to remind me just how outmatched I was.
A blur shot past me. Gael, moving faster than my eyes could track.
He closed the distance to Marcus in an instant, disarming him with a vicious swipe.
The hunter stumbled, and for a moment, I thought Gael might kill him.
But instead, he knocked the gun aside and twisted Marcus’s arm, forcing him to the ground.
Relief was short-lived. Jackson had recovered enough to grab his gun, and his aim was now on me.
I saw the muzzle flash before I heard the shot.
Time seemed to slow. I felt the impact in my thigh before the pain hit, a searing fire that sent me sprawling.
My knife was still in Jackson’s shoulder, but his resolve didn’t waver.
He stepped closer, gun steady, and I knew I wouldn’t dodge the next shot. But then Gael was there.
The vampire moved with terrifying speed, his hand knocking the gun aside just as it went off.
The shot missed, ricocheting off the floor.
In the next second, Gael had Jackson pinned against the wall, his fangs bared, eyes glowing with savage fury.
For a moment, I thought he’d sink his teeth into Jackson’s neck.
My heart thundered, not from fear, but from something more complicated, darker.
“Gael!” I shouted, my voice hoarse. “Don’t kill him!”
He hesitated, his fangs inches from Jackson’s throat. The hunter’s eyes were wide with terror, his body trembling under Gael’s grip.
“Why not?” Gael growled, his voice low and guttural. “He’d kill you without a second thought.”
He actually hesitated, because I told him not to kill Jackson? I was stunned.
I struggled to push myself upright, biting back a groan as pain shot through my leg.
Honestly, I didn’t have an answer to his question, because he was right. These hunters would dispose of me without a second thought.
“I…” I faltered.
Gael’s eyes flicked to me, and for a heartbeat, something softened in his expression.
“They won’t stop,” Gael said, his voice quieter now. “They’ll come for you again. Hunt you down like an animal. I’m speaking from personal experience.”
The room spun, the blood loss catching up with me. My vision blurred.
The last thing I saw before I slipped into unconsciousness was Gael’s face, twisted with something raw and unguarded.
And Marcus coming at him with a knife.
Gael bared his fangs at Marcus, putting himself between me and the other hunter. He looked every inch the monster they feared.
And yet, as darkness claimed me, I couldn’t shake the memory of how he didn’t hesitate to save me.
The contradiction of it all, of him, was a weight I didn’t know how to carry.
GAEL
The moment Asher collapsed, his body crumpling to the cold concrete floor, a surge of white-hot rage ignited within me.
I’d seen plenty of humans die, seen their bodies broken and lifeless at my feet. It never mattered. They never mattered.
But this was different.
Asher’s body lay still, his face pale, his leg soaked in blood.
My fangs throbbed with fury, my vision narrowing to sharp points of red.
I didn’t think, no, I felt, and what I felt was pure, vicious anger.
The hunter with the knife screamed as he rushed at me, blind with desperation and terror.
Pathetic. His fear rolled off him in waves, acrid and sharp.
My grip on the other hunter loosened, and he slumped to the ground, barely conscious.
I turned my full attention to the one still fighting.
He wasn’t even worth the effort, but Asher’s blood pooling beneath him screamed for vengeance.
My lip curled. Fine. No more hesitation. No more half-measures. If Asher was hurt because I held back, then I was done playing nice.
The knife-wielding hunter lunged, the blade glinting in the dim warehouse light.
I slipped past him effortlessly, my movements fluid, predatory. His knife swiped through empty air.
He barely had time to realize his mistake.
I struck fast, faster than human eyes could follow. My fingers closed around his throat, and I lifted him off the ground.
His legs kicked, the knife clattering to the floor. His eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a strangled gasp.
“You should’ve run,” I snarled, my voice a low, feral growl.
He tried to speak, to beg, but I squeezed harder, feeling the fragile bones of his neck give way.
He went limp in my grasp, and I let him fall. A broken marionette.
The other hunter, the one I’d released, moaned and tried to crawl away. Pathetic. They always begged when it was too late.
I was beside him in an instant, crouching low. He flinched, tears streaking his grimy cheeks.
“Please,” he whispered.
I leaned in close, my fangs a whisper away from his ear.
“You came back for us,” I hissed. “You should’ve known better.”
His eyes went wide a second before I struck. Quick. Painless. He didn’t deserve mercy, but I couldn’t waste more time.
I let his body drop, the thud echoing through the now-silent warehouse. I could smell the coppery scent of Asher’s blood. Asher .
I turned back to him, my heart, or what was left of it, clenching painfully.
He was still on the ground, his leg at an awkward angle, his face too pale. Blood seeped from his thigh, soaking his jeans.
“Damn it,” I muttered, rushing to his side.
I dropped to my knees, hands hovering over him, unsure where to touch. Why were humans so fragile?
One well-placed bullet and they crumbled. How did they survive at all? His chest rose and fell shallowly. Alive, but slipping.
I pressed my fingers to his cheek, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint flutter of his pulse beneath my thumb.
Something twisted inside me, something I couldn’t name. I should’ve left him.
He was dead weight, a liability. But the thought of abandoning him felt like claws raking across my insides.
I slid my arms beneath him, one around his back, the other under his knees, and lifted him carefully.
He was heavier than he looked, solid muscle and stubbornness wrapped in fragile human skin.
His head lolled against my chest, his breath a warm puff against my neck.
For a moment, I let myself feel it. The way he fit against me, how his presence anchored something inside me I hadn’t realized was drifting.
But there was no time for that.
I scanned the street outside the warehouse. Empty, for now. But it wouldn’t be long before someone found the bodies.
Hunters didn’t work alone for long.
I moved swiftly, Asher a steady weight in my arms. My eyes caught on a faded sign across the street: a vet clinic, long closed for the night.
It’ll have to do.
I kicked the door in, the lock splintering easily under my strength. The scent of antiseptic and stale air greeted me.
I laid Asher gently on a stainless-steel examination table, the cold surface contrasting sharply with his feverish skin.
His leg was a mess, blood caking his jeans to the wound.
I grabbed a pair of scissors from a nearby tray and cut away the fabric, exposing the torn flesh.
The bullet was lodged deep, the edges of the wound angry and red.
I swallowed hard. I’d seen and caused enough wounds in my lifetime, but patching one up was a different matter.
My hands shook, just a little.
Get it together.
I found a pair of forceps, sterilized them as best I could, and then I dug into the wound.
Asher’s body jerked involuntarily, a low groan escaping his lips even in unconsciousness.
My jaw clenched. I hated this, hated seeing him in pain, hated being the one to cause it. But there was no choice.
The bullet clinked onto the metal tray, slick with blood. I cleaned the wound quickly, my motions automatic, robotic.
When the bleeding slowed, I wrapped his leg in layers of gauze, winding it tight enough to hold but gentle enough not to hurt him further.
I brushed damp hair from his forehead, his skin clammy beneath my fingertips.
“You’re not dying on me, hunter,” I whispered.
He didn’t respond. His breathing was shallow but steady.
I straightened, the exhaustion I’d ignored now weighing me down. We couldn’t stay here.
The hunters would come, and when they did, they’d bring more firepower, more bodies. I couldn’t fight them all.
I glanced out the back window, my eyes landing on the train yard beyond. Perfect.
I lifted Asher again, his body fitting against mine like a puzzle piece.
Moving through shadows, I slipped into the yard and found a train, the baggage car’s door left lazily ajar.
I climbed in, pulling Asher up with me, and slid the door shut behind us.
The car was dark, filled with suitcases, crates, and a musty smell of neglect.
I settled Asher on a nest of old blankets, the fabric rough but warm.
He stirred slightly, his face scrunching in pain before relaxing again.
I rummaged through the bags, pulling out clothes that might fit him, another blanket to ward off the night chill.
Finally, I sat beside him, my back against the wall, watching his chest rise and fall.
I should’ve been relieved. He was safe, for now. But unease coiled in my gut.
I’d killed for him. Fought for him. And now I was running with him.
What the hell was I doing?
I ran a hand through my hair, the strands damp with sweat. Not long ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of keeping secrets from Beric.
Now, the thought of telling him about Asher made my stomach twist.
I looked down at the hunter. His jaw set, his brow furrowed even in sleep and something softened in my chest.
Former hunter.
That’s right, I thought, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.
He wasn’t my enemy anymore, or at least, I didn’t think he was. But did he feel the same about me?