Surveillance photographs of every brother, some in human form, some mid-shift.
Evidence that could destroyeverythingwe’ve built.
The rage that floods through me is arctic and absolute. Ice explodes from my body in a wave that flash-freezes everything within five feet. Trees crack and splinter, and the hunter’s scream dies as his lungs crystallize. Even Scar takes a step back, supernatural speed is the only thing saving him from frostbite.
“Who else knows?” The words emerge as something between speech and a dragon’s roar, resonating with enough power to shake ice from overhead branches.
The hunter can’t answer. Wreck’s grip has shifted, fingers digging into pressure points designed to cause maximum agony. The wendigo’s hollow eyes are alight with something beyond hunger, beyond satisfaction, feeding on suffering itself until the hunter’s fear becomes a tangible thing that seems to leach from his skin like sweat.
Scar steps in close, so smooth it barely disturbs the air, his shadow swallowing what little space the hunter has left. He leans toward the man’s ear, voice low, conversational, like he’s sharing a secret meant only for them.
“I’ve been alive for over five hundred years,” Scar murmurs. “In that time, I’ve learned a great many things. Languages, wars. How pain works on the body.” A soft smile curves his mouth as his fangs slide down, lengthening until they gleam inches from skin. “Most of all, I’ve perfected the art of extracting information from people who don’t want to give it.”
The hunter shudders, a broken sound tearing out of his throat as Wreck tightens his grip just enough to remind him how fragile he is.
Scar’s breath brushes his ear. “So, here’s how this goes. You can make it easy and tell us everything you know.” His fangs lower another fraction, close enough to scrape bone if he so much as breathes wrong. “You’ll die quickly.” His smile sharpens. “Or you can make it interesting.” Scar’s eyes glow red as he pulls back just enough for the hunter to see what’s waiting for him. “Personally, I’m hoping for interesting. It’s been averyboring decade.”
“No… no,no—” The hunter gasps, panic detonating as his composure finally shatters. “Okay, okay… I’ll talk. I’ll tell you everything.” Words spill out in a ragged rush, tumbling over each other between shallow, desperate breaths.
“There are four of us. Four total,” he pants. “Small team. Independent. No government backing, I swear. No agency, no black ops, nothing official. Just… just guys who’ve seen things. Ex-military. We document, track, and eliminate when necessary.”
Scar tilts his head. “Necessary according to whom?”
“Us,” the hunter chokes. “We thought… Christ, we thought if we didn’t do it, someone else would. That it was only a matter of time before you all went public, before things got out of control.”
“How noble,” Scar drawls.
“The fourth guy, he’s dead,” the hunter rushes on. “The kitsune killed him. He got the drop on us before, before—” Hesucks in a breath that turns wet and painful. “Before he took the iron rounds. That’s it. That’s everyone. I swear.”
Silence settles over the clearing as the truth lands.
Four hunters.
Two already dead.
No handlers.
No support.
No backup.
Everything dangerous enough to expose us fits into one messenger bag and four corpses.
Wreck shifts behind him, and something inside the hunter gives way with a sickening crunch. Blood spills from his mouth as he coughs, eyes glassy, focus slipping.
“Please,” he wheezes, the word barely holding together as it bubbles past his lips. His voice drops to a rasp. “Please… just make it quick.”
Scar looks to me, fangs still bared, expression almost hopeful.
I meet Scar’s eyes across the clearing. His face is carefully composed, centuries of discipline holding his features still, but beneath it I see the hunger coil and tighten, sharp and expectant.
This ismycall.
Myterritory.
Myvengeance.
“Make it slow,” I say quietly. “Let him understand what happens when you come after the Kings.”
