Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
DESIREE
“Idon’t think this is a good idea,” Mimi exclaims, her grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“That’s why you’re staying in the car and I’m going inside,” I tell her.
“Another not-good idea,” Emilia pipes in from behind. She leans forward to swivel her gaze between the two of us. “Desiree, I really think we should—”
“I’ll be fine.” I wave away their words and unbuckle myself. “I have a plan.”
Lie. I have the fragments of a plan, but not enough of one to make a whole picture. However, they don’t need to know that. They would only worry.
I dig my phone out of my pocket and check my recent messages, my gaze snagging on my text chain with Izzy from late last night and earlier this morning.
Jake
Hey. It’s me.
Desiree
Jake???
Jake
No. Izzy. I borrowed—aka stole—his phone. LOL
Desiree
So you’re back??? What happened? Tell me everything. What sons of witches do I need to cut?
Jake
I’m fine. It’s a long story. Want to meet up later?
Desiree
Can’t. Have plans with my dad. Trying to calm him down so he doesn’t ruin your mate’s life.
Another lie.
But it’s not like I can tell her the truth. She would only worry, and she has enough on her plate as it is.
Jake
Oh shit. It’s that bad.
Desiree
Dad is PISSED
Jake
I miss you, girl.
Desiree
Miss you too. I’ll text you when I’m done.
Jake
Okay. I’m searching for Christian and then meeting up with my bio-dads. Wish me luck.
Desiree
Let me know if you need me. I’ll be there with ice cream and romantic comedies.
Jake
LOL I’ll let you know. Have fun with your dad.
Desiree
Oh, I will.
I turn my phone off and leave it on the passenger seat. The fewer things I have with me, the better.
Especially if the not-plan I have goes south.
“Desiree, please—” Mimi begins.
“I’ll be fine.” I flash her and then Emilia a reassuring smile, even as my insides twist into a dozen intricate knots. “I told you. I have a plan.”
Before either of them can protest some more, I slip out of the car and slam the door shut. Then I take a deep breath, willing air into my rapidly shrinking lungs and trying to ignore the fist squeezing my heart.
What I’m doing is risky and borderline insane, but I know it’s the only way to stop this war before it begins.
Facts.
I need to look at the facts.
Fact one—someone is trying to ignite a war between the supernaturals and humans.
Fact two—someone, perhaps the same person who’s instigating this war in the first place, wants Izzy and Travan. Both of them? One or the other? I still haven’t pieced that together.
And finally—I need to find irrevocable proof that the Hunters are not behind all of these attacks. It started with the murders of those two shifters, after all, with the Hunters’ markings adorning their flesh.
From there, everything spiraled.
However, I did my research into the Hunters in this area, and for the last five years, they’ve been inactive. At first, I assumed it’s because they abandoned ship, so to speak. Maybe moved to a new town.
Now I realize it’s because they’re no longer hunting indiscriminately.
I have no idea what—or who—caused this shift in mentality, but I strongly believe that if I can just get them to listen, we can solve this matter without any bloodshed.
My research led me to an abandoned factory, which then brought me to a used clothing store, which transported me to my current location—a nondescript real estate company. Newspapers claim that they’ve been out of business for four years now, yet cars still line the parking lot.
Taking a deep breath, I reach up to braid my brown curls away from my face, then I glance down at my outfit. Black stretchy pants and a similarly styled shirt. Hideous, but it’ll allow me to fit in better.
I don’t dare glance back at the car—and my friends loitering in a fast-food restaurant’s parking lot—as I cross the street and make a beeline to the front door. I attempt to emulate a confidence I don’t truly feel, pushing my shoulders back and hefting my chin up imperiously.
You can do this, Desiree.
I step inside.
The scent of fresh coffee mingles with the faint trace of printer toner and lemon polish. Sunlight spills through the wide plate-glass windows, illuminating the room in gentle gold and catching on the dust motes that dance lazily in the air.
To the left, a sleek reception desk stands like a command center, its polished surface home to a bouquet of crisp white lilies and a meticulously arranged stack of property brochures.
Framed photos of sold homes line the hallway—each one proudly captioned with a date and the agent’s name in gold script.
Beyond them, a row of offices stretches, glass walls offering glimpses of desks and rolling chairs.
It looks exactly like…a real estate office.
Someone steps out of a back room and startles when he sees me. Immediately, he narrows his eyes and reaches towards the waistband of his pants—where he no doubt stores some type of weapon. Since I don’t see anything bulky like a gun, I guess it’s a dagger.
“We’re closed,” he snaps curtly.
I scoff and roll my eyes. “Obviously. We both know I’m not here for a house.” I drop my gaze pointedly to his hand, where his fingers are continually flexing. “Are you going to stab me?”
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He pulls free a wicked-looking blade, though he doesn’t aim it at me.
Not yet. He simply holds it loosely by his side, tension tightening the furrows between his brows.
“Seriously? Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a girl Hunter before.
” I give a derisive headshake. “Is that what this is about? Sexism? Because I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly capable of doing everything you can do.
” I fold my arms over my chest and scowl.
“I thought things were bad in the New York sect, but apparently Montana is ten times worse.”
He begins to sputter, his eyes turning comically wide and his cheeks pinkening. “W-what? No. Of course not.”
“So you greet all your male Hunters with a dagger?” I pop my hip out, the way I often see Izzy do when she’s trying to be sassy.
“Y-you’re just… I mean, I didn’t…” He hastily slides his dagger back into a sheath I didn’t notice prior. The pink in his face morphs into a deep shade of red that slides down his neck. “I’m not sexist. I like women.”
“All you men do.” I finally dare to venture a step forward and then very purposely shove around him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with your sect leader. I have info.”
The man practically falls over his own feet in his bid to please me—or maybe just to not appear sexist.
Gaslighting at its finest, my friends.
I follow him past the row of offices and towards a corner room in the back. This is the only one that doesn’t have any windows.
My pulse misfires, and fear skitters across my chest like a huge spider.
This is it.
There’s no going back.
“Sir?” The man pops open the door and peeks his head inside. “Someone from New York is here to see you.”
“New York?” a male voice exclaims, and is that suspicion in his tone?
The fear I feel is accompanied by adrenaline that pumps through my veins.
I can do this.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
The two men talk for a few minutes before the first steps back outside.
“Go ahead,” he tells me, and I nod stiffly before entering the sparsely furnished office.
The man sitting behind the desk glances up when I enter, and shock evaporates all coherent thoughts. I can’t do anything but stand there, gaping at him.
“Yes?” Irritation curls his lips down.
Every plan I’ve made deteriorates. I can’t even remember why I came here in the first place.
The man tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “Can I help you?”
I feel as if he’s studying me. I’m nothing but a moth under a magnifying glass tilted just so to singe my wings and set me aflame.
Trying to ignore the sharp crack snaking through my chest, I clear my throat. “You’re Logan, correct?”
At least, that’s the name I discovered that belongs to the leader of this particular Hunter sect.
The suspicion in his eyes turns into a blazing inferno of wrath and darkness.
“Who the fuck are you? Garret may be an idiot, but I’m not. What is a goddamn shifter doing here?”
“My name is Desiree.” I hold my hands in the air to show him I’m not armed, though I’m not sure the gesture makes a lick of difference. Most Hunters know that shifters don’t need weapons to kill. “I just want to talk.”
Logan’s face doesn’t change—not even a minuscule twitch—when he reaches beneath his desk and grabs a gun, aiming it at my chest. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.”
“Because I know your sister!” I blurt, staring at a face so eerily familiar to me yet entirely different. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Why you stopped hunting shifters indiscriminately?”
I’m totally guessing, but when his eyes sharpen, I know I’m on the right path.
Holy fuck.
Ho-ly fuck.
“You have to know that something weird is going on. Shifters have been murdered, and they had the Hunter symbol carved on their skin. Then vampires attacked the shifter compound pretending to be human. Then the witches attacked the shifters, and the shifters attacked the witches. Somebody is trying to start a war, and they’re pitting you against us.
” I take another step closer, my hands still raised, my heart racing overtime in my chest. “But if the Hunters and shifters work together—”
“Why the fuck would we do that?” His golden hair glimmers in the bright artificial lights bearing down.
“Because…” I bite my lip, debating. What I say next is either going to get me killed…or gain us a crucial ally. “Because you’re not truly human, are you?”
His finger tightens on the trigger.
“And because I have reason to believe that whoever started this war is after Izzy,” I continue, my words tumbling over themselves. Shock continues to slam into me in wave after relentless wave. “They’re after your sister—your twin.”