But once they cross the line, my empathy has to end. The Hunter has only survived this long because of that brutal line—there’s no middle ground. Our magic ensures it.
“Fuck,” Riot spits, heaving a headless body to the side.
My being transforms again, pulling back to its normal state, and my gaze climbs the staircase for Grace. She’s already halfway down, crossbow dangling at her side, relief in her eyes.
“That was too many,” she says.
I rise from the ground, blades dripping, adrenaline still coursing through me.
“That was a targeted attack,” Riot adds. “They’re growing bold.”
Sam and Rhett skid out of the kitchen, cheeks pink with their effort and faces beaming.
“Good birthday, Captain,” Sam says, and Rhett elbows him in the side.
I sigh, ignoring Sam, and turn to Riot. “I’d bet money the king was behind it.”
Riot’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
Unease slides along my skin. “When was the last time you fought that manytrainedvampires in Southend?”
Riot curses, and Grace answers for him: “Never.”
The tea kettle screams.
Riot sweeps up the last of our enemy’s ash as I head for the kitchen. Dawn sheds her first light through the frosty windows, and icy rain patters on the roof.
Grace pulls toast from the oven in the soft glow of morning, and the vision of her paints into my memory with sweet reverence.
I snatch the kettle off the fire.
“What’s our plan today?” Grace asks, piling eggs on plates.
I slice a lemon beside her and the spritz of its juice zings in my nostrils as I squeeze a quarter into Grace’s tea. “I want to get to Lou’s. Riot and I need to discuss last night’s orchestrated attack with the rest of Central.”
“Aye,” she says, dropping toast on each plate. “Horrible timing.”
“What is?”
Her green eyes glisten with unfallen tears as she peers up at me. “We’re at half strength, and we’ve got the king’s dogs on our doorstep.” Grace carries the responsibility of our fate in her heart like she’s the only one allowed to bear it.
But she’s right. It is bad timing.
I run a thumb over her lips. “We’ll handle it. I swear it.”
Riot lumbers through the kitchen, swinging open the back door and dumping ash into the slush. “Is breakfast ready yet?”
Grace piles another scoop of egg onto his plate. “Yes, you beast.”
“You love me,” he says, closing the door and grabbing the plate Grace holds out for him.
“I do,” she says, and I hand Grace her teacup, china chattering against the saucer as we make our way to the table and clamber onto the benches.
Grace runs a hand over my shoulder, sipping her tea with the other.
Riot speaks around a bite of toast. “Have you sent the call to the outfit yet for Lou’s?”
I huff a laugh. “I was trying to let Hunters sleep until a reasonable hour.”
