I glance up at him. He doesn’t look angry, I don’t think. “I told you.”
Logged in, I navigate to the folder where all of Maurice’s images should be stored, then pause before I click as a terrible thought occurs to me. “There’s not, uh…” My face flames as I glance at Njáll, then Maurice again. “There won’t benudesin here, will there?”
Paxton gets up, red-faced, and leaves the room. Jeremiah is behind me, but the Huntsman looks as baffled as Maurice even as Vlad sighs.
“Nudes?” Maurice asks. “A nude what?”
Njáll presses his lips together and pats the top of Maurice’s foot. “No, Grant,” he says. “You will find no compromising photos. Just what was sent to us.”
Maurice sputters—I guess he gets it then—but I open the folder and open the last photo that synced. He nods when I tilt the screen towards him and show him what I’m looking at, and it only takes me a few seconds of scrolling through to understand what he means.
It takes me a few seconds after that to realise who needs to go.
“I don’t see the problem,” Jeremiah says, leaning over my shoulder to look. In this photo, Jakob has his arm around a young, pretty man, who is leaning into his space with an easy smile. I swallow hard. I don’t need Maurice to tell me what happened to him; I already know.
“You and your turn will be best suited for this,” Maurice says to Vlad, who instantly shakes his head. I pass my laptop to Njáll, who hands it over to Vlad for him and the Huntsman to look at.
“Out of the question,” Vlad says, but there’s a furrow between his brows that grows the more he scrolls through the photos. “Grant is not a part of the Hunt. He cannot face off against a high fae.”
“He will not have to,” the Huntsman replies. “If this fae has control of the vampires there to such an extent, then you will not make a move on her without my say-so. What is important is determining precisely who she is so that I know what she is capable of.”
“I will go then,” Vlad says, and I can’t look away from him because he might nottechnicallybe arguing with the Huntsman right now, but this is the most I’ve ever seen him push back. Maurice has gone still on my left and Jeremiah rests a hand on my shoulder like I need the comfort or something.
The Huntsman frowns. The memory of hearing Maurice scream as the Huntsman dragged his blessing out of him hits me, and I shake my head before I can stop myself.
“I can get him to talk,” I say, which is some brazen fucking bullshit because I’ve barely met anyone new in the past decade and a half. Still. I don’t think it’s going to be that difficult. “I just need… I need something to wear. Where did they all meet him?”
I turn my gaze to Maurice and Njáll because Vlad’s got that angry little tick in his jaw that means he’s not impressed that I stepped in. Jeremiah squeezes my shoulder.
“He frequents a club in Margate,” Njáll says. “I have not investigated, but from what our contact said, I suspect he owns it.”
“His territory?” Vlad’s words are a growl. “That is unsafe.”
“None of this is safe,” the Huntsman replies, tone just as clipped. I shrink back. Paxton steps back into the room, taking the situation in with a glance. “Do you forget what you serve, Vladimir?”
The temperature in the room drops by a couple of degrees, and my power presses against my skin like it wants to get out. Everyone seems just as tense, even Maurice’s ragged blessing rallying as he sits up a little straighter.
Vlad gives in first. “I serve the Hunt,” he snarls and hands my laptop back to me. I stare at the photos without really seeing them. My heart pounds against my ribcage.
I don’t know what would happen to Vlad if he lost his blessing. Possibly nothing at all—he was a vampire before, and aside from losing access to his magic, Maurice managed well enough. But he’s been with the Hunt for a long time, as far as I can tell. It’s not about what that would do to him physically.
And, selfishly, I can’t help but wonder what might happen to me. I tap through to the next photo. Looks like they were all taken in the club, so I search for it and get more photos to try to get a feel for the vibe.
I’m going to need so many new clothes. Easier to think about that than dwell on the tension still in the room, or the fact that technically, I’m going home.
Does Vlad know that? I don’t know that I’ve ever mentioned it to him, and when he found me, I wasn’t there.
“You will leave tomorrow night,” the Huntsman says, absolutely no room in his tone for argument, and then he sweeps from the room and out of the house.
The door shuts and Jeremiah faintly growls a few seconds later—when he’s crossed through the wards, I guess. “You’re trying to lose your blessing, aren’t you?”
Vlad crosses his arms over his chest. Maurice and Njáll seem content enough to watch, though Njáll looks far less curious than Maurice. Paxton walks around us all and drops back into his chair with a sigh.
“You need help with anything?” he asks me. “I heard you say about clothes.”
“Yeah, for the club, I need…” I frown, wrinkling my nose.
“We could help,” Maurice says, and I think the look I give him is laced with faint horror for the way Njáll huffs with amusement. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
