Page 125 of Huntress

Something cold and savage stirred inside her. The winter king’s blood had finally reared its ugly head as the predator that was her fae half awakened. Broken dark moon magic she didn’t know how to use seeped out of her, leaving wisps of shadow in her wake.

Her whole body reacted, uncoiling like a big cat finding another gear. Leaning into her run, Elsie reached speeds she’d never been capable of before. Prey was before her, and nothing else mattered.

Trees and their branches blurred past, and within a few minutes, she ran him down. Elsie climbed higher as she pursued, then gathered her legs under her and pounced, crashing into Murphy like a missile and sending him hurtling to the ground thirty feet below.

Attempting to break his fall, he brought down branches thicker than his thigh; each ripping crack! resounding through the air. He landed heavily on his feet, buckling to his hands and knees on impact. Elsie’s fall was controlled, and she aimed the heel of her boot at the back of his head.

He twisted, getting a hand up to catch her foot; Murphy jerked her sideways and dropped her with a heavy thud, knocking the wind out of her. She wheezed, forcing breath into her lungs. Murphy pulled a knife, but before he put it to her throat, she kicked him in the balls, rolling out of the way as he doubled over.

Saint hit the ground and moved in fast, landing punches to Murphy’s face, white moon magic glowing around his fists, giving Elsie time to recover. The old man got his guard up, blocking the worst of Saint’s attack.

Elsie bounced back, but not before Trenton arrived, streaking through the trees, sword drawn. Murphy’s knife sliced across Saint’s calf, giving him space long enough to get to his feet. He got his knife up fast enough to block Trenton’s strike, forcing the assassin back a few steps before getting a knee into Saint’s stomach.

The man was bigger than Grady, with strength to match Saint blow for blow. His muscles were solid, built from years of work as a weaponsmith, working side by side with the humans of his home nest.

Elsie traded places with Trenton, dagger in hand. Her second-in-command ducked back and moved to Murphy’s side. She feinted, shoving her palm into his shoulder, then uppercutting with the dagger, but one of his huge hands closed around her wrist.

He dragged her closer and squinted into her face.

“You’re barely more than a child. What the hell are they playing at?” He growled. “Go back to your masters, girl. Tell them they’ll have to send a better assassin than you.”

He blocked another of Trenton’s hits with his knife, then shoved Elsie hard, using her as a shield against Saint. The demon caught her and spun, easily switching places. The glow around his fist intensified, the light growing dense and solidifying into hard crystal spheres that protected his hands.

Murphy pulled his magic, the tangy taste of copper heavy in the air. He had red moon magic, and according to his file, he knew how to use it.

Elsie drew his attention, kicking his thigh and getting a cut to his arm while Saint landed a solid blow to his jaw. Murphy reeled backward onto Trenton’s sword. The assassin yanked the blade out, flashed it to the defector’s throat, and ended it. Murphy’s brow creased heavily, and he hit his knees, hand flitting up to his neck in confusion.

His knife fell from his grip, the glitter of steel catching Elsie’s eye. It moved in slow motion. If she wanted, she could reach out and catch it. It clattered to the ground, bounced once, and broke her focus, snapping her back to the moment.

“One of my sisters will come for you soon,” Elsie said. “They’ll decide what to do with your soul.”

Murphy’s lips moved soundlessly, but she turned away, refusing to accept any curse he might send her way. He let out a groan, and his body slumped to the ground. His death wasn’t pretty, not that any death was, but he hadn’t gone as quickly as she would have liked.

“Nice job. You worked like a team,” she praised both Saint and Trenton at once.

A green leather toolkit was strapped to her thigh. Elsie flicked it open and took out a map to carefully log their coordinates. Someone may want to come and inspect the scene later.

Then, she hacked off a small lock of his hair, tucking it away before reaching inside one of the pouches for an ink pad with small squares of paper. She pressed Murphy’s still warm thumb to the ink, then to the paper, taking his thumbprint. Repeating the process, she printed all ten of his fingers, then she fished through his pockets until she found his gold identification coin. She tucked it into one of her little pouches. It was all the proof she needed of a completed job.

“Do we bury or burn him?” Trenton asked.

Elsie planted her hands on her hips, a frown on her face. Certain their chase was at an end, they’d left all their gear in a makeshift shelter that morning. She hadn’t wanted anyone burdened at a pivotal moment. And that meant their collapsible spade was miles away.

“We’ll burn him.”

Elsie seized one of the branches Murphy had taken down, and dragged it over to his body. They piled on brush, tree limbs, and dried grass as kindling. Trenton crouched down and lit a match, starting the kindling on fire. The area was in its third month of drought, so it didn’t take long before the fire was roaring.

“Madre, Santa Muerte juzga esta alma como quieras,”1 Elsie prayed over the flames. They watched until the end, making sure his remains were nothing but ash.

“It went better than I expected,” Trenton said as they walked back to camp. “That guy was huge.”

“We got lucky because he underestimated us. If he’d used his magic from the start, we might have had a different outcome,” Elsie said. The thought rolled around in her head. He’d known they were coming for him, and why, but he hadn’t acted like a man fighting for his life. It was as if he’d been going through the motions, resigned to his fate.

“I’d rather be underestimated if it works out in my favor.” Trenton grinned, then threw a begrudging nod at Saint. “You didn’t suck.”

The demon side-eyed the hunter and said nothing, per usual.

Elsie’s squad was slowly cutting back on their outright disdain for Saint. Even Marley had switched from being outright hateful to just plain rude most days. He still showed no interest in getting to know any of them, and they generally left him alone.