CHAPTER 4 #2
My body sags in exhaustion.
“I’m curious what they’ll make of it,” Grace mutters, yawning and reaching for her teacup.
I drag a hand up her thigh. “Aye. Nothing good.”
After a hearty breakfast, I slog toward the stairs for a nap.
Sam and Rhett are on the sofa, boots kicked off, a deck of cards between them—they’re best friends first, stationmates second.
“Hell no, it’s not your turn,” Sam says, grabbing the deck.
I shake my head at them, climb the stairs, and then I sleep like the dead before Grace’s arm curls around me. My lips sink into her soft hair, the sweet scent summoning my arousal.
“Time to go, my love,” she whispers, and I tilt her chin up, taking her mouth in mine.
I groan, not wanting to leave this bed now as I grip her hip, and she smiles into my lips, her body pressed against my bare torso.
“Come on, Hunter,” she drawls, trying to pull me with her off the bed, but I’ve got about a hundred more pounds of muscle than she does, and she fails instantly, flopping forward onto my chest. She groans. “Part of me is looking forward to your old age.”
I scowl down at her. “Why?”
“I’ll have a softer landing,” she says, trying to hide her curling lip as she drinks in my abs, but the feral look in her gaze is unmistakable.
I laugh, stomach flexing, and her eyes spark.
She scoots from the bed before I can grab her, and I follow, not wanting to be late, either. I stuff my socked feet into my boots, my hungry gaze dragging down Grace.
She smirks at me. “Later,” she promises, and I snarl, chasing her to the stairs. Her playful scream fires into my heart.
We gather in the foyer with the rest of our party and bundle into cloaks, my wife already rubbing her gloved hands together.
“Ready?” I ask, jerking the stuck door open and the nip of the air sails through the hallway.
Grace groans and then marches onto the snow-covered porch, a fresh layer of thick powder blanketing the land. Our breath billows into the late afternoon, and I wrap an arm over my woman, her cheeks already flushed against the burning cold.
Every winter is the same in Goreon. It always feels like it will never end.
A bright-red cardinal hops along a snowy branch of Grace’s treasured tree, the mature pine planted by her grandfather long ago. She breathes deeply, her shoulders lifting under my arm as she takes in the smell of fresh pine—her favorite scent in the world.
“You’d think our blood would have adapted to the cold by now,” she grits as we trudge down the stairs. I don’t have the heart to tell her our magic aids us as gold spools under my skin, warmth curling.
“Stop complaining,” Sam says, brushing past his sister, hand skimming the railing to collect snow in his palm.
My arm darts for Grace’s hips, and I scoop her up, spinning us at the base of the stairs, just as Sam’s snowball drills into my back.
“Shit,” Sam whispers. “Sorry, Captain.”
“You’re only sorry because you missed your target,” Riot laughs, his retaliating ice ball clocking Sam in the face.
“Ah, bastard!” Sam yells, batting at his neck.
“Whatever, Sam. You deserved it,” Grace spits, prancing past his struggle under my arm.
I look back over Grace’s shoulder, narrowed eyes pinned on my Hunter, and shake my head. Sam drops his newly loaded snowball with a scowl, and Riot smacks him over the head.
Rhett stomps ahead of us, hands shoved into his pockets, and leads the way as ten Hunters tail us out of the house.
We snake the back trails of Southend, snow piled to the edges of cobblestone streets and muddied paths.
Human citizens bustle about their afternoon, our party receiving curt nods and curious glances from storefronts, and children scurry home from school.
The Hunter legion is revered, but we’re nothing more than bedtime stories for most. Our existence is intentionally kept quiet, whispered—legend.
Of course, vampires know we exist, but we keep our numbers and locations as discreet as possible.
After last night, though, it seems our king might be very aware of our strong presence in Southend.
We reach Lou’s bar, and I yank open the door.
“As I live and fight, Captain Kade,” Lou says, his warm smile stretching to his ears. “Never seen you in the daylight hours.”
My party files into the tavern as I prop the door.
“Sun’s almost down, Lou.”
He chuckles at me, embracing Rhett barreling into his side. “How’s my son?”
“Good, Pops. Captain taught me a new move last week.”
Lou eyes me over his son. “Is that right?”
“He’s good with a blade,” I admit.
Hunter Rhett will be a station leader someday, I have no doubt about it. He’s a skilled fighter, but he’s also intelligent and reads people well. Much like his father.
Sam and Grace greet Mother Hollie before Rhett wraps her in a hug, and then they all make themselves comfortable at the corner table while Lou steps behind the bar again.
Lou and Mother Hollie have run this tavern for as long as I can remember, and Rhett knows he’s a lucky Hunter, with both loving parents still alive.
“What brings you in here so early?” Lou asks, pouring three fingers of my favorite as I sidle up to the counter.
I tip the liquor into my mouth. “Safehouse was hit last night. Pretty sure it was an orchestrated attack by the king. I called a meeting for the Central outfit.”
Lou narrows his eyes at me. “No way.” The old man was one of the best Hunters we’ve ever had before he retired, and he knows Goreon vampires and their habits better than anyone.
I shrug. “They were trained, Lou. Infiltrated the house with strategy, hit us on all sides.”
Lou takes a swig right out of the bottle, wipes his mouth clean, and meets my eyes. “Fuck.”
“Aye,” I mutter, staring into my whiskey and wondering if confrontation with the Goreon King and his soldiers is in our near future now and no longer on our terms after the Night Kingdom territory stabilizes.
My gaze flits to Lou’s stern face, but his eyes are twinkling. “Goreon is due for a flushing.”
I snort. “Been due,” I say, tilting my glass for another sip.
“Well, if anyone is going to do something about it, you’re the one to do it,” Lou growls.
My magic simmers at his words, in agreement and with excitement.
Interesting.
“Mother Diane wasn’t home when I checked last night. Any news on your end?” I ask, changing the subject before we’re overrun with Hunters from Central.
“Damnit,” Lou grumbles. “No, haven’t heard a whisper.” He shakes his head. “She’s gone.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Forever may she rest,” Lou says, clanking the bottle against my glass.
“Forever may she rest,” I say, and we drink.
Lou spins, surveying his shelves. “I better make sure all the glassware is washed if you’ve got all of Central headed my way.”
“Thanks. My apologies for the last-minute intrusion,” I laugh.
He turns and points a knobby finger at me. “Whatever you need. Name it, boy. Always.”
“Don’t embarrass me in front of the outfit, Lou,” I tell him, suppressing a smirk and endlessly thankful for his presence after I lost my father over a decade ago.
He pats the bar. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says and then fingers dirty glassware, dunking them into the wash basin below the bar. “The era of the Hunter is close, Kade. I feel it in my fucking bones.”
His words are music to my ears, and my magic twirls. “Forever may we reign.”
Lou grips my shoulder with his wet hand, his kind eyes connecting with mine. “Forever may we reign, Kade.”
“Aye,” I say with a nod, clutch my glass, and cross the bar to Grace and Sam, Riot’s arm slung over Mother Hollie.
Boisterous laughter rings out from our table, and my attention jerks to Sam. Rhett is now pinned under his arm in a headlock, blond hair flopping over his eyes, and Grace counts out the seconds.
“Time! You lose, Rhett. Drink!” Grace commands.
Sam releases his stationmate, and Rhett tips his shot into his mouth.
“Lawless. The lot of you,” I scold, forcing a scowl to hide my amusement.
“You just don’t want to risk losing, Captain,” Sam jabs.
My eyes land on Sam with a dare gleaming from my irises, and my brother-in-law clears his throat and pours out two shots.
“Challenge accepted,” I croon, stripping my knives and cloak.
“Heads or tail—”
A loud crash cuts Sam off as the bar door slams open. My magic races, sensing a threat, and before I can move, a bolt flies through the air from outside. My eyes widen as it sinks into Lou’s neck, blood spilling down his front, and his shocked eyes stare at his open bar door.
Lou clutches his neck, then collapses forward onto the bar and falls to the floor.
Dead.
My magic screams, curdling with the death of a Hunter, gold flooding with black. I can barely focus under the weight of it, and my anguish consumes me staring at Lou’s vacant eyes.
The Hunter within releases, and I leap from my chair, blades in my palms and dive for the door, ready to block whatever or whomever dares to pass the threshold next.
I take the first three vampires before they make it through the doorframe, swiping my blades in a cross at the front of their throats, then sidestepping to the left as Riot hurls stake after stake into each.
The next five snap into existence throughout the room. I spin and lunge for the closest one.
“Behind you,” Grace warns, suddenly in front of me and jabbing her stake through a heart. I turn, keeping her at my back, and stab a vampire snapping into existence in front of us, fangs yellowed and aged.
“Get your back against the wall in the corner,” I yell through my panic. Grace doesn’t have her knives, and this bar has no strategic position for her to perch in or protect herself.
My wife ignores me, face alight with anger, and challenges the next vampire, ducking and twirling as it chases her. She takes her opening and stabs its heart.
The bar swarms, filling with our enemy, and my mind and heart are torn between duty and protecting Grace. But a Hunter is supposed to protect without discrimination.
Fuck that.
I race for Grace, scooping her around the waist as I slice the head off a vampire simultaneously.
“Against the wall, Grace, before I lose my damn mind,” I yell and move to shield her.
No one is getting past me.
She can fight. She’s brilliant at it. But one bite and I lose her.
And I won’t fucking have it. Not my Gracie.
Sam and Rhett defend Mother Hollie, who won’t leave Lou’s body. All around me, my Hunters are staking, slashing, and lunging with their swords, decapitating vampires who don’t stop coming.
Our magic pushes us to unnatural limits. We don’t tire. We don’t stop.
This bar has never been attacked, and my rage boils as I take on two at once.
A sea of cloaks and blood spray fills the room, and my boots slosh through pooled blood while the tang in the air fuels my magic.
Riot takes on three snarling vampires, but another five slip past him, heading for Mother Hollie. They swarm her, but I know my Hunters can handle it—I’ve trained Sam and Rhett well.
A slice across my arm stings, and my focus shifts to the two assholes in front of my own face.
Finally, the consistent funnel through the door stops, and I smash the last vampire up against the wall, pinning it there with a knife in its shoulder, and a stake aimed at its heart.
“This bar is off limits. It pays its dues to the king. Why in the gods did you dare enter here tonight?”
The vampire stares at me.
I twist my blade in its shoulder, and it winces.
“A big mistake for such an insignificant little thing,” I growl, holding the struggling vampire in place. “Why did you come here tonight?”
“Orders,” it whispers, eyes bouncing around the room to furious Hunters.
Mother Hollie wails over Lou’s body.
“Orders …” I repeat, letting the word drip out of my mouth, coated in disdain. “Your orders were to kill us?”
Its breathing skitters into thready nervousness.
The vampire nods slowly.
“Why would you want to pointlessly slaughter helpless humans who work hard to make the king rich?”
The vampire’s rapid breath stops, a sneer overtaking its bloody gums. “This is no human bar.”
My eyes narrow on it, magic racing around my veins and coiling like a poised serpent. This is another orchestrated attack on the Hunters.
“Who gave the order?” I demand.
“Not my secret to tell.”
I scoff. “Surely you’re not that noble.”
“I have loved ones to be noble for,” it spits.
“Aye. So do we. Whose orders?”
The vampire, to my absolute shock, places its hand over mine and pushes the stake into its own heart. It crumples to my feet, and I turn to Riot, my eyes raking over the destruction of the bar—blood spatter, broken glass, and headless vampires everywhere.
“Fuck!” Riot screams and throws his sword on the ground and then a table at the wall. The wood splinters in a hundred directions, his Hunter strength still warping and whipping at his edges.
Shocked Hunters and smashed furniture I’ve sat in for a decade rip a stark pang through my chest.
Our normalcy is shattered.
Sobs snag my focus. Lou.
My heart wrings. This man meant the world to me.
Grace rushes past, spinning in the center of the bar, her expression wild.
My brow scrunches. “Grace?”
Her panicked eyes meet mine. “Where’s Sam?