9. Bram
CHAPTER NINE
brAM
Bram moved through Ravenshade, trying to retrace Gael’s steps. His jaw tightened, disappointment curdling in his stomach like sour milk.
Gael’s erratic behavior was becoming harder to ignore. And worse yet, harder to explain to Beric.
The small animal clinic loomed ahead, its windows dark and uninviting.
Bram’s senses prickled as he approached the entrance.
Gael’s scent was here, faint but unmistakable, like embers left to smolder.
The sharp tang of blood, human and recent, hung in the air. His lips curled back, exposing his fangs.
Sloppy, Gael.
He slipped inside, the door’s lock no match for his skill. The clinic smelled of antiseptic, stale fur, and fear.
A faint shuffle came from the back room. Bram’s eyes narrowed, his hearing sharpening.
A young man stepped through the door, likely a part-timer judging by the rumpled uniform and weary eyes.
He barely had time to register Bram’s presence before Bram lunged, his hand snapping over the human’s mouth to stifle his scream.
Bram’s eyes bored into the boy’s wide, terrified gaze, compelling obedience.
“Sleep,” Bram whispered, his voice a soft, dangerous lullaby.
The boy’s body went limp, slumping into Bram’s arms.
He laid him gently on the floor, wiping his hands on his coat. The irritation burning in his chest grew hotter.
Cleaning up after Gael was becoming routine. Bram had expected better.
He retraced his steps out of the clinic, frustration mounting. He took a moment, forcing the anger to settle.
This wasn’t the time for emotion. He needed answers but he wasn’t worried. Bram was called Beric’s Bloodhound for a reason.
Hollow Vale train station was a buzz of activity. People were constantly arriving, leaving, disappearing into the night.
This town was bigger than the last one, so Bram had to be more careful to mask his presence.
Bram lingered at the edges, his eyes scanning every surface, every shadow.
The stale scent of diesel and cold metal did little to mask the distinct scent he was searching for.
There. After searching for more clues, Bram found the train Gael had hitched a ride on.
Faint but undeniable, splashes of old blood marred the concrete near the luggage hold entrance.
He crouched low, gloved fingers brushing the stains. It wasn’t Gael’s blood. It reeked of human fear and pain.
Hunter.
His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.
Bram had hoped that Gael’s obsession with this particular hunter was just a fleeting lapse in judgment but it didn’t seem that way, didn’t it?
He closed his eyes, focusing. Beneath the scent of blood, of machine oil and damp metal, Gael’s trail lingered. It was faint but there.
Bram’s fingers curled into fists. What are you doing, Gael?
Every instinct screamed at him to report back, to give Beric the cold, hard truth: Gael had gone rogue.
But something held him back. A hesitation he couldn’t quite name. He and Gael had never truly gotten along.
Bram found Gael arrogant, insufferable even. They clashed as naturally as fire and ice.
Yet despite all of that, Gael was essential. After losing Gabriel, the nest was already teetering on the brink of instability.
Another loss, especially someone of Gael's rank and strength, would send ripples of weakness through the entire nest.
It wouldn't just be another warrior lost; it would be a public crack in the nest’s armor.
A sign of vulnerability the other nests or even rogue vampires would exploit.
Bram clenched his jaw. He didn’t care about Gael’s fate on a personal level, but he cared about the nest’s survival.
Their power had to be absolute, unquestionable. Losing Gael now wasn’t just a risk. It was a threat to everything they’d built.
And no matter how much Gael infuriated him, Bram knew they couldn't afford that kind of fracture.
Bram exited the train. He moved deeper into the station, his sharp eyes picking out the signs no human would notice.
Scuffed footprints, faint smears of blood.
Gael’s scent was a thread of cold steel and shadow. And the hunter’s was of warmth and salt and something maddeningly alive.
His lip curled. He tracked them through the station. The faintest trace of their presence lingered in the air, like an echo left behind by a passing storm.
They’d been here, not long ago. He could feel it, taste it. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.
His mind raced as he pieced the signs together, each one confirming a thought he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.
Gael wasn’t just toying with this hunter. No, that would’ve been too simple. He was protecting him.
Bram’s teeth ground together as he followed the faint trail, each step feeling heavier. Gael wasn’t treating this like some passing fancy or distraction.
He was dragging this hunter along with him, like some prized possession, guarded and cherished.
This wasn’t a fleeting obsession. This was something deeper, something that twisted the very nature of what Gael was.
Attachment.
The realization hit him like a physical blow, and it made his stomach churn, a bitter, uncomfortable knot tightening inside.
Gael who always so ruthless and so detached, had gone and made a connection.
Bram's eyes flicked to the empty station platform, the shadows now swallowing the once-bustling space.
His fingers twitched, a violent urge clawing at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let this happen.
The image of Gael’s emotionless face unmistakably softer with this human, sent a surge of anger rushing through him.
He hadn’t thought it possible. Gael had always been untouchable, a creature of cold logic and calculated action.
But this... this was a mistake. It couldn’t be allowed to continue.
“Damn you, Gael,” Bram muttered, eyes narrowing as he scanned the empty station.
His mind spun with the possibilities, each one darker than the last.
If Gael was willing to make such a drastic change, to shift his loyalties, then everything was at risk.
He couldn’t let Gael continue down this path.
As dawn’s light began to bleed into the sky, Bram stepped out of the station, his mind churning.
He needed to report back to Beric. The weight of that responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders. But what exactly was he going to say?
His phone was a cold, lifeless thing in his hand. He stared at it for a moment before reluctantly pressing the call button.
The line clicked, and Beric’s voice slid through like silk over a blade.
“Bram. Do you have Gael?”
Bram’s throat tightened.
His instincts rebelled against the lie forming on his tongue, but something deepe, something like doubt, held him back.
“I need more time,” he said, his voice even, measured.
A pause. He could feel Beric’s displeasure humming through the line like a low vibration.
“More time?” Beric’s voice was smooth, but the edge beneath it was razor-sharp. “I sent you because I trust you, Bram. Gael is… slipping. I need you to correct this.”
Bram swallowed hard. “The area is swarming with Guild hunters. I’ve seen more of them here and in the last town than should be possible. They’re planning something big. If I move too quickly, I risk exposure.”
It wasn’t a lie. The hunters were everywhere, lurking in the shadows.
Their scent was unmistakable, and their eyes seemed to be everywhere, always watching and always waiting.
The Guild was gearing up for something massive, something coordinated.
“I don’t care about the Guild’s games. I want Gael back, now.”
Bram’s jaw tightened, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest. “I understand.”
“Good.” A cold silence hung between them. “Don’t disappoint me, Bram.”
The call ended with a hollow click. Bram lowered the phone, his hand trembling with suppressed rage.
Don’t disappoint me, Bram.
The words cut through him like a blade, sharp and cold. Bram had never failed Beric before.
He'd always done exactly as expected, executing every order with ruthless precision. So why was his loyalty being questioned now?
He couldn’t understand it. It gnawed at him, that feeling of doubt, of suspicion creeping into the one bond he’d always trusted.
Beric had never wavered before, never questioned Bram’s dedication.
He had always been the first to offer praise for a job well done, to commend his loyalty and his efficiency.
And now, now it was as if Beric was looking for cracks in his armor.
The thought churned in Bram’s stomach like acid. What had changed? Had he really let something slip?
He had followed Beric’s every order, never deviating, never questioning.
Bram shoved the phone back into his coat pocket.
His eyes burned as he scanned the quiet streets, the rising sun casting long, golden shadows.
He had to take cover soon. But the weight of his decision, of the lie he’d just told, settled heavy on his chest.
Gael was spiraling, and Bram didn’t know if he could catch him before it was too late.
Worse, he didn’t know if he wanted to.
Something about Gael’s desperation, his reckless pursuit of that hunter, gnawed at Bram’s certainty.
What if Gael was right to hold on to this human? What if there was something worth saving in that chaos?
He shook his head, shoving the thought away. There was no time for doubt.
Survival demanded loyalty, and loyalty demanded sacrifice.
Bram turned toward the small inn tucked between two shuttered buildings.
He’d find shelter there until nightfall. Then he’d decide what path to take.