He nodded to his friends. “Ready?”
They nodded, eager.
Marcus raised his hand dramatically. “Go!”
They surged forward.
I ran too, my heart hammering and my breath sharp, but one of them shoved me from behind. My boot caught on a root, and I went down hard, hitting the dirt with a grunt.
“Careful, old man!” someone laughed behind me. “Don’t trip before the fun starts!”
I pushed myself up, dirt clinging to my palms, the sting of gravel cutting through skin. But none of it mattered. I could see the house ahead, dark and still against the moonlight.
Simon was in there, and I had to reach him before they did.
There were five of us in total. Six if you counted me. Marcus led the charge, his swagger full of the same arrogant confidence that had gotten good men killed before.
The rest of his little gang stumbled after him, laughter thick with alcohol and the thrill of the hunt. They weren’t thinking. They weren’t seeing the truth.
To them, this was just another night’s sport. Another monster to cull. I was the only one who knew the monster they were hunting didn’t deserve to die.
My mind raced, mapping out the house even before we reached the porch. Every corner. Every shadow.
I knew this place now. The creak in the floorboards near the stairs, the room Simon used as his bedroom, the one window that didn’t latch right. He could be hiding anywhere. I couldn’t let them find him.
The moment the group split off into the darkened hallways, I moved. Not toward Simon. Not yet. Toward the nearest hunter. Kyle, I thought, was drunk enough to forget to keep his weapon steady.
His crossbow swung at his side, bolt half-loaded.
He muttered something under his breath about “easy pickings.” I stepped up behind him silently, the way training had drilled into me years ago, and grabbed him by the collar.
Before he could shout, I slammed the butt of my own weapon against his temple. He crumpled like a sack of flour. I caught him before he hit the ground too hard, lowering him quietly to the dusty floorboards.
“One down,” I muttered under my breath, my heart hammering.
My palms were slick with sweat. I wiped them on my jeans, then slipped down the hall.
The next two weren’t far. One rummaging through the kitchen, the other trying to pry open a locked cellar door. Drunk, clumsy, uncoordinated. I almost pitied them. Almost.
The one at the cellar door. Benny, I remembered, was so intent on his lock that he didn’t hear me approach.
I grabbed his arm, twisted it hard behind his back, and slammed him face-first into the wall. He went down fast. Out cold.
The third turned, startled by the sound, and raised his stake. “Who’s there?”
“Relax, it’s me,” I said, stepping into the faint moonlight leaking through the broken window.
He blinked, recognition dawning, right before I drove a fist into his gut. He wheezed, doubling over.
I caught him by the neck, hit him once more for good measure, and watched his eyes roll back.
Three down.
My lungs burned, and my pulse thudded in my ears. This was supposed to be easy. Neutralize, disable, and move on, but every second felt heavier than the last.
The adrenaline that’d carried me through the house was fraying at the edges, leaving a hollow ache beneath my ribs.
The faces of the men I’d knocked out were still ghosting in the back of my eyes, sprawled awkward and human on the warped floorboards. Guild hunters. My people.
