CHAPTER 4
KADE
Two Hundred Years Ago — Goreon Kingdom
GRACE THREADS HER FINGERS through mine as we stare at the stars while lying on the roof outside our bedroom window. It’s a rare, clear winter night, and we never miss an opportunity to spend time up here. Our version of peace. A little slice of privacy under the blanket of the gods.
My magic simmers beneath my skin as Grace trails her fingertips along my forearm. I twirl a lock of her hair between my fingers and drink in the curves of her in the wash of moonlight.
With no warning, the magic in my blood swarms, and my entire body tenses with awareness. All sense of calm vanishes, and I bolt upright and crawl to peer over the edge of the roof for whatever has my magic in a spiral.
Grace scoots to the roofline and lies next to me on her belly in silence, waiting while I assess this warning.
Vision sharpening, my eyes track movement in the shadows. Darting forms bounce between snow-covered pine trees, closing in around us.
“Vampires are approaching the house,” I whisper hoarsely in the dark.
We scramble through the window, and I toss Grace my crossbow, her long, dark hair fluttering around her as she spins and catches it with ease. Yanking my blades from the wall, I palm the hilts as my veins rush with adrenaline.
The Hunter within prepares for war and death, my magic bursting to life and giving me the edge that every Hunter who accepts their magic carries—the physical capacity to take on a vampire.
Everything inside me readies. Muscles become like stone, tendons like unbreakable cabled cords; my hands tighten as they prepare to wield indefinitely, my breathing steadies, my eyes become focused and responsive, and my heart sings.
A call to protect transforms my body and mind.
And my magic dances.
“Not a single one left,” I tell Grace.
“Not a single one left, Kade,” she promises me, looping the stake belt across her torso.
I hear the chaos of blades erupt and open the bedroom door to hissing and Hunters yelling at the base of the stairs.
Sounds like Riot and the boys have their hands full already.
Grace positions herself at the top of the stairs, crossbow aimed below as I launch over the railing, my feet landing in a whisper onto the floorboards.
There are three ways to kill a vampire.
My blades swipe through the air, crossing in front of me to sever the neck of my enemy. Cold blood races down my wrists and sprays through the air, and the vampire’s head rolls away and onto Grace’s favorite rug.
First way.
Before I turn, a vamp snaps into existence in front of me, materializing out of nowhere with its telltale flitting movement, and I plunge my knife into its throat to pin the creature in place.
Tossing my other blade in the air to free my hand, I snatch a stake from my belt, stab the wood into its heart, and splay my palm for my airborne blade, its hilt landing back in my grip.
The vampire gurgles, and its eyes flash red, its anger and sorrow emanating.
My magic simmers with approval as the ancient being shrivels and crunches, collapsing into a heap.
Second way.
I spin, Hunters fighting hard throughout the house, sensing all of my warriors through our magic.
Sam takes the head off a vampire with his broadsword as Riot throws the fire canister to me with one hand and stakes an intruder with the other. Grace’s bolt takes down the vampire behind that one.
There’s an entire fucking coven here tonight.
I snatch the canister from the air as Riot stomps on the vamp he’s pinned to the ground, the force of his boot crushing its neck before he slices off its head with his sword.
“Behind you,” Grace warns from atop the stairs, and I spin, flipping the switch on the canister and aiming the nozzle at my attacker.
Fire blazes and swallows the vampire, its screams shredding the silence of the night. Its body sizzles and sparks, burning and coiling until ash rains.
Third way.
Before I breathe, five more close in. And then another five, their striking faces taunting us with confident grins and elongated fangs.
This is an orchestrated attack. We haven’t seen this before—usually it’s just one, or a handful, hunting their next meal.
The first two attack in a blink, snapping into existence a breath from me. I slash through both necks before they’ve even fully materialized, my Hunter speed untraceable.
Spinning, I take the next two at my back, blades swiping, cutting through the foulness that captures and tortures our people.
My jaw absorbs a hit from the side, and my magic surges, sensing the speed of this vamp. We trade several blows before I gain an opening and shove its chest, my strength punching it back as my fingers jam into its eyes.
It stumbles, and I throw a stake into its heart before it has a chance to recover.
That one was trained—also not something we’ve had to deal with in Southend.
I’m a flurry of limbs as I kill the remaining three near the fireplace, Riot working his side of the room.
Sam and Rhett fight hard in the kitchen now, plugging the funnel of vampires coming in through the back door.
Two more Hunters defend the stairs, an impenetrable barrier between our enemy and their Heir on the balcony above.
And the rest are spread about the first floor, moving with precision.
The leader I’ve worked to become blooms with pride.
I sense every movement of my Hunters—the Captain’s advantage. I know their actions like I’m reading a battle map and the status of their bodies. Our magic connects us on a visceral level.
The last vampire goes down under my knee, adhered to the floor with my strength, its beady eyes searching my face.
“Hunter, your time is almost up,” it whispers.
My lips stretch over bloodied gums. “I can say the same for you. Last words, asshole?”
A tear slides down its cheek. “My name was Kyle.”
My mouth parts at the confession, and I slowly push the stake into its heart. Sometimes it’s difficult to consider every vampire my enemy; they were all human once. With names and lives, loved ones, and dreams. Just like us.
But once they cross the line, my empathy has to end. The Hunter has only survived this long because of that brutal line—there’s no middle ground. Our magic ensures it.
“Fuck,” Riot spits, heaving a headless body to the side.
My being transforms again, pulling back to its normal state, and my gaze climbs the staircase for Grace. She’s already halfway down, crossbow dangling at her side, relief in her eyes.
“That was too many,” she says.
I rise from the ground, blades dripping, adrenaline still coursing through me.
“That was a targeted attack,” Riot adds. “They’re growing bold.”
Sam and Rhett skid out of the kitchen, cheeks pink with their effort and faces beaming.
“Good birthday, Captain,” Sam says, and Rhett elbows him in the side.
I sigh, ignoring Sam, and turn to Riot. “I’d bet money the king was behind it.”
Riot’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
Unease slides along my skin. “When was the last time you fought that many trained vampires in Southend?”
Riot curses, and Grace answers for him: “Never.”
The tea kettle screams.
Riot sweeps up the last of our enemy’s ash as I head for the kitchen. Dawn sheds her first light through the frosty windows, and icy rain patters on the roof.
Grace pulls toast from the oven in the soft glow of morning, and the vision of her paints into my memory with sweet reverence.
I snatch the kettle off the fire.
“What’s our plan today?” Grace asks, piling eggs on plates.
I slice a lemon beside her and the spritz of its juice zings in my nostrils as I squeeze a quarter into Grace’s tea. “I want to get to Lou’s. Riot and I need to discuss last night’s orchestrated attack with the rest of Central.”
“Aye,” she says, dropping toast on each plate. “Horrible timing.”
“What is?”
Her green eyes glisten with unfallen tears as she peers up at me. “We’re at half strength, and we’ve got the king’s dogs on our doorstep.” Grace carries the responsibility of our fate in her heart like she’s the only one allowed to bear it.
But she’s right. It is bad timing.
I run a thumb over her lips. “We’ll handle it. I swear it.”
Riot lumbers through the kitchen, swinging open the back door and dumping ash into the slush. “Is breakfast ready yet?”
Grace piles another scoop of egg onto his plate. “Yes, you beast.”
“You love me,” he says, closing the door and grabbing the plate Grace holds out for him.
“I do,” she says, and I hand Grace her teacup, china chattering against the saucer as we make our way to the table and clamber onto the benches.
Grace runs a hand over my shoulder, sipping her tea with the other.
Riot speaks around a bite of toast. “Have you sent the call to the outfit yet for Lou’s?”
I huff a laugh. “I was trying to let Hunters sleep until a reasonable hour.”
Riot stuffs the rest of the bread in his mouth. “Good point,” he mumbles and gestures to the window as he swallows. “But sun’s up, Captain.”
I glare at Riot. “Aye.”
Closing my eyes, I pull at the threads of my magic, feeling them dance along my skin.
Like rivers of gleaming gold running through my veins, my power babbles and bobs in its dormancy.
I summon it to attention, and the whoosh of rushing energy roars in my ears and rolls like thunder under my skin, power curling and preparing.
And then I fire my magic out across Goreon City to my fellow Hunters in the Central outfit.
Their power senses mine, and our magic connects, allowing me to communicate my demands.
Their responses trickle in, their magic thrumming and splashing as it washes against mine, each unique signature carrying its own feeling.
Finally, silence answers, and as though a door slams shut, my magic rocks to a faint tremble in my veins.
My chin jerks up, eyes fly open. “It’s done. Lou’s in eight hours.”
Riot nods and stuffs a spoonful of eggs in his mouth as Grace leans her head against my shoulder.