“Who gave you that name?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is you know it too. Which means I’m on the right track.”
“You think he’s responsible for what happened here?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s another clue.” The hunter crosses his arms, a picture of nonchalance. But a pulse beats too fast in his throat, and the knuckles of his hidden hand are white. His eyes miss nothing.
Of all the hunters I have had the displeasure of meeting, reluctantly, this one is one of the most skilled. And the most dangerous. He’d sooner stake me through the heart at the very first wrong twitch than trust me with information.
Whatever truce we had agreed to, it’s a precarious one.
“I want to know if you saw him.”
So. He likes to trade in information. Fine. I have some he could use. Maybe it’ll keep him busy enough to stay away from my Daisy.
Although I still owe him for earlier.
I shake my head. But offer something else instead.
“The wounds inflicted on your brethren are not vampire in nature. No blood taken, no puncture wounds, only clean slices with either claws or blades.”
Zach looks around, now noticing what he hadn’t earlier in his anger and shock.
I can see him swallow back emotion, then steel himself with a clench of his jaw, anger resurfacing.
“There’s something else,” I add.
He refocuses his attention on me, one blue eye cold with assessment, the other dark with something feral.
“There’s more than just guild magic here too. There’s another kind. One I’m not familiar with.”
Zach presses a rune on his elbow, and it flares with a brief light. A fresh wave of that chemical scent washes over me—a poison to unmake my kind. Every instinct screams to retreat.
But I ignore them. After all, I am the bigger threat here. Even if the cocky asshole doesn’t believe it.
“It’s not demon magic. It feels and looks like Guild magic and yet…” He cocks his head, surveying something I cannot see, which makes me more curious than I should be.
Clearly this is Guild business, except it’s happening on vampire turf.
A cold certainty settles in my gut, heavy as a tombstone.
“It feels warped, different. Shifted.”
His choice of words—shifted—sends a jolt through me. Casey. The venom. It’s not a coincidence. It’s a message.
“There’s a message too. And it’s addressed to you.”
A stillness falls over me, the kind that precedes an earthquake. Very rarely do I get surprised. But this? This is all wrong.
Or perhaps it’s all going right in someone else’s plan.
I wait for the hunter to continue but he seems to enjoy his current upper hand.
A low growl builds in my chest, a pressure demanding release.
“Well, tell me what it says.”
“You need something from me?” He smirks, the bastard. He’s going to use this. “First, you still owe me for the Jeep. Second, this message comes with a price. I want something in return.”
