The crown jewel of his business empire was a casino resort on reservation land shared with the Tulalip tribe that gave him millions in revenue each year. When he’d been human, he hadn’t really understood the concept of owning land. The land was there to provide, and his people had cared for it because that had been their duty. It was still their duty, despite the hurdles that kept being erected before them by the colonist government and corporations that had encroached on the continent over the centuries.
Takoma had learned to play by their rules in order to break them. After he’d been made into what he was now—after he’d mourned the loss of daylight and his people and the life he might have had—he’d built another. It changed with the times because Takoma knew, after all these centuries, that to remain stagnant was to die, and in order to pivot to meet any attack, one needed money in this day and age.
He’d built his Night Court in slow increments, the name changing over the centuries as the wilderness became clear-cut forests became frontier towns became cities linked by roads that stretched for hundreds of miles. He’d killed his maker to free himself of a master and sire he’d never wanted and vowed to hold his territory as long as he could.
Nearly twelve hundred years later, and this corner of the world still belonged to him.
He did not appreciate hunters thinking they had the right to step foot in it.
Alyona left for the main office that housed the building’s servers and computer terminals to wipe their arrival from the security feed. William followed the rest of them as Takoma’s vampires dragged the unconscious hunters into the large fish processing room. It was empty of workers for now, but first shift started early, so they’d need to move the interrogation along.
His vampires stripped the hunters of their clothes and secured them to the processing tables typically used for fish and other seafood. The deboning knives were taken out of storage, the blades short but sharp enough for what Takoma had planned. What a blade couldn’t cut, their fangs could rip through.
“They have runes,” Masha called out.
William approached the processing tables and studied the black rune tattooed on each hunter’s chest. “They’re marked with blood magic. The rune they carry compels silence.”
“Can you break it?” Takoma asked.
William tapped a finger over the rune tattooed on the oldest hunter’s chest. “The spellwork was done by someone more powerful than me. I might be able to undo some of it, but there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to break through the compulsion for silence.”
The compulsion was one Takoma was familiar with, and he could work around its limitations. If you stressed magic just the right way, it could break, the same way people did. “Do it anyway.”
William nodded and focused his efforts on trying to undo the rune. Nearly twenty minutes later, he stepped away from the processing table, sweat having dampened his hairline. “The edges of it are undone, but if I try to unravel any more of it, the rune will kill him.”
“How predictable. Wake them up.”
William used his magic to force the hunters back to consciousness. They jerked to awareness, not able to move much from how tightly they were tied down. None of them were magic users, and all of them got a particular look in their eyes when they realized their situation. Fear would make their blood even sweeter, and Takoma could hear the way their heartbeats spiked with that emotion.
“All yours, Master,” William said before leaving.
Takoma walked the length of the processing tables without saying a word before returning to his spot by the oldest hunter at the end. The man’s graying dark hair and beard carried dirt from the forest, and the scars on his body spoke of a lifetime committed to his profession. The crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes deepened when he squinted up at Takoma, a certain sort of horror in them unable to override the defiance in his voice.
“Abomination,” the hunter spat.
Takoma leaned over the hunter, blocking the light, and smiled. The prick of fangs against his lips was a familiar feeling. “Yes. We have never denied that.”
The hunter jerked against the bindings that kept his body flat against the processing table. The way his hands were clenched into fists and how his muscles stood out in tense lines spoke of a desperation Takoma could almost taste. He settled his fingers against the hunter’s throat, feeling the rabbit-quick pulse beat beneath his touch, hearing it in his ears as he zeroed in on the sound.
“You went after the mage with another vampire. You went after what I considermine. I want to know why,” Takoma said.
The hunter bared his dull, useless teeth and spat. Takoma moved his head, and the glob of saliva flew harmlessly through the air. He gripped the hunter’s hair with his other hand and yanked it up as far as it would go against the ropes, chin pressed nearly to the hunter’s chest so he could see down the length of the processing tables.
“Masha?” Takoma said, keeping his tone bored.
She sauntered up to the hunter at the other end, spinning the deboning knife around her fingers. Then she rested the edge of the blade against that hunter’s bare thigh for a moment, smiling brightly, before slicing down deep into muscle, carving away a chunk of his thigh. The hunter screamed loud and long, the sound echoing against the metal all around them.
The hunter in Takoma’s grip tensed, his eyes wide enough Takoma could see the whites all around the irises, chest moving rapidly from the desperate way he breathed. Takoma then tilted the man’s head back, looking him in the eye.
“I have never cared for hunters. You go after my people like it’s a game and can’t stomach the consequences when you get caught. You will die here tonight for your crimes of trespassing and attempting to murder someone who belongs to me. The question of if your death is quick or not for yourself and the others will be decided by you,” Takoma said.
The hunter swallowed, but that bravado was still present. For now. “Fuckyou.”
“We’d rather eat you. And you will watch.”
Takoma picked up the deboning knife that had been left for him and held it up to the hunter’s face. The man tried to move his head, breathing raggedly, but Takoma just shoved him flat against the table, held him still with preternatural strength, and used the tip of the deboning knife to carefully cut off part of the hunter’s upper eyelids. Removing the entire eyelids would result in poor vision, and Takoma wanted the man to see what he had to look forward to. Leaving half still let him blink away the blood, never able to completely close his eyes against Masha’s skill with a blade.
“What does Adler want? What Night Court does that vampire belong to?” Takoma asked. He had his thoughts about both but wanted to see what the hunter might confess.
