“Our family line is very old. Because of that, our duties are different from other lines. We don’t specialize so much as oversee. It’s why we’re among the very few tasked with hunting those Fae who threaten to undo the balance between supernaturals and humanity,” our uncle shared.
Jenna was listening attentively, soaking up the information like she was getting a history lesson. I supposed in a way she was. Her family’s history.
“But the first agreement our line ever struck was with a vampire.”
Our uncle’s gaze never wavered from mine. Anton’s frame tensed, his body on high alert as he stared at the two men in front of me.
“The head of our line shared blood with the most powerful vampire the world had ever seen and vowed to be the hunter inthe dark that kept the rest of the monsters in check. The reaper who would keep his kind from growing too bloated with blood and power.”
My nails bit into my skin as I held myself together. I didn’t need to sense the worry and anger pouring off Anton to know how complicated this situation had just become.
“You’re talking about Ahrun,” I said.
Our uncle dipped his chin.
I released the breath I was holding. A shaky exhale as I processed the fact that my sire’s sire had set my father’s ancestors on the path of being vampire hunters.
“There was an additional clause to our pact with the ancient,” our grandfather rumbled.
I looked over at him, waiting.
“If the council ever requested our assistance, we had to answer.”
That explained Drake’s presence in Columbus. He’d mentioned the council was aware of his whereabouts. From there, it wasn’t difficult to guess they’d given him a task.
“Did they ask you to kill one of us?”
My voice went high and tight. Anton was utterly still, prepared to launch himself forward at the first sign of aggression.
“Was it Thomas?” I asked when neither of them answered.
No reaction.
“Liam? Connor?”
I could tell by their set expressions that was a no too.
Understanding dawned. There was only one person left that might be targeted as a means to hurt the others. The weakest of their line.
My voice lowered. “Was it me?”
Bingo.
That got a reaction. A barely discernible jump in their pulses.
“Don’t I feel flattered,” I said with a self-deprecating huff.
The infant warranted her very own clan of assassins.
“No!” Jenna twisted to look between us, horror coating her face. “No!”
She jumped to her feet and grabbed my shoulder, pulling at me to try to move me behind her. The problem was that I was stronger and didn’t budge.
“It’s okay, Jenna,” I assured her.
“I won’t let you!” she shouted at our grandfather and uncle.
“Hush,” I soothed. “They’re not going to hurt me.”
