Chapter One #3
“Divine judgment isn’t yours to dispense, mutt. You’re a hellhound, not a demon. Learn the difference.”
“The difference is, I get results while you stand around looking pretty with your wings out, thinking you’re better than everyone. How’s that for divine judgment, feathers?”
Scar pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ll handle the children.”
“Make sure they understand.” I don’t raise my voice, but the words carry anyway, pressing outward until the temperature dips another degree. Frost creeps along the edges of the nearest windows, feathering the glass as my gaze hardens. “This is club business. Personal grudges stay home.”
The vampire nods and disappears toward the armory with that supernatural speed that makes him seem to cease existing in one location and reappear in another.
I turn back to the table where Ivy has finally extracted the first bullet. The piece of iron sizzles and smokes in her palm, already blackening the bark of her skin. She drops it into a metal bowl with a grimace, the green light flaring even brighter as she moves to the second wound.
Luna’s song never wavers. Her voice fills the spaces between heartbeats, weaving a calm that shouldn’t be possible in a room saturated with violence and rage. Calder’s breathing eases further, his fox-fire finally managing to maintain a steady flicker.
“He’ll live,” Ivy says without looking at me. “But he’s out of commission for a while. No shifting, no magic, complete rest.”
“Keep him sedated.” I watch the tree nymph work, noting the way exhaustion pulls at her features. “And Ivy? Thank you.”
She blinks, surprised enough to meet my eyes, and then nods. “He’s a part of the club. It’s what we do.”
The words settle something restless in my chest. Brother. Family. The bonds that hold us together, even when everything else tries to tear us apart.
Boots thunder on the floor as the brothers assemble.
Wreck returns first, Maul, Flux, and Coil flanking him in a wall of muscle and menace.
Thorn slips from the shadows like living timber, bark and vine shifting with each silent step.
Ruckus follows, gold glinting at his fingers and throat, charms and chains catching the light as something unseen nudges fate around him.
Scar appears last with Rhett and Bennett in tow, the hellhound wearing a grin sharp with barely contained bloodlust, the angel’s expression lit from within, quiet and unyielding, like a prayer sharpened into a weapon.
“We ride in five,” I announce. “Leather up. Heavy weapons. This is extermination, not interrogation.”
The brothers move with practiced efficiency, a well-oiled machine that’s been operating for centuries. Ash breaks away from her pacing to check the weapons locker. Luna continues singing to Calder, but her eyes track the preparations with understanding.
This is what we are.
What we’ve always been.
Apex predators protecting our territory.
I head toward my quarters to gear up, but something makes me pause at the crystal dome. The flame inside gutters weakly, barely alive. My reflection stares back from the crystal surface, a stranger wearing my face.
Cold. Empty. Dragon-shaped.
‘Contentment.’ The witch’s voice echoes across centuries. ‘Find true contentment or be extinguished when the last ember fades.’
I press my palm against the glass. The flame flickers once, then resumes its slow death spiral.
There’s no ‘contentment’ in what I’m about to do.
No peace in the hunt.
But there is purpose.
Protection.
The savage satisfaction of defending what’s mine.
Maybe that’s enough.
Maybe it has to be.
Five minutes later, we mount our bikes in the freezing darkness.
Engines roar to life, the sound echoing off the mountains like thunder.
I swing my leg over my custom Harley, matte black with ice-blue accents that match my scales, magic blessed into the chassis, and I feel the familiar rumble of contained power beneath me.
Scar pulls up on my left, his ancient eyes gleaming red in the darkness.
Wreck manifests on my right, his gaunt form seeming to absorb the light around him.
The others arrange themselves in formation, Road Captain Ruckus at point, Enforcer Coil and Sergeant at Arms Wreck flanking me, the rest spreading out in a wedge designed for maximum intimidation and efficiency.
Rhett and Bennett bring up the rear.
Still bickering.
“Try not to get in my way when the blood starts flowing, feathers.”
“Try not to drag innocent souls to Hell just because you’re having a bad day, fleabag.”
“Hey, fuckers.” Scar’s voice cuts through their argument like a blade. “Focus. We’re hunting hunters tonight. Save the theology debate for after we’ve painted the forest in human blood.”
I pull the throttle, feeling the bike surge beneath me. Cold air bites at exposed skin, but I welcome it, letting it sharpen me. Hone me into the weapon I need to be. “Move out,” I growl.
We ride into the winter darkness, a pack of monsters hunting the men who dared to hunt us. The mountains watch our passage with ancient indifference. The forest opens before us, paths only we know leading deeper into territory that belongs to us by right of power and blood.
Behind us, in the clubhouse, my flame continues dying in its crystal prison.
Ahead, somewhere in the frozen wilderness, a hunter runs.
He just doesn’t know he’s already dead.