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“Yes, it could be, until you explain that the angle of the cut identifies that whoever did it was shorter than him.” He pauses. “Muchshorter and there were zero hesitation marks. A clean cut, through and through.”

He knows, I realize.He knowsI killed Armand.

“That is a problem,” Graves notes.

A shadow falls over the closet door, filling the small gap. I wait for the door to open, to be exposed, for all of this to be overonce and for all. Instead, the gap vanishes with a hard click, as it latches into place.

Softer now, muffled from the closed door between us, I strain to hear him add, “A problem that could destroy everything I’m working toward.”

16

Hunter

“Geschäft.”

Ares bolts into the dark, grassy area in front of the chapel, happy to be out of the house.

I feel the same, needing a moment of quiet. The frat meeting went well, it’s just that forty college-aged men are loud as fuck. The tension building up to the Hunt had eased considerably, the members of the group happy to have the leadership settled. I still feel out of place, like I can’t actually believe this has happened to me, but I’ve spent a fair amount of my life feeling like the odd man out, so really, this is nothing new.

Now I just have power.

I pat the inner pocket of my jacket, a subconscious move from the days when I smoked a lot more than just during my shift at the radio station. It’s not even the nicotine I crave. It’s the routine–something to do with my hands.

The meeting ran late, meaning Ares had to hold out for a trip outside. Now he’s exploring, rustling under the hedges. We’re both nocturnal, even on the nights I don’t work at the station.

I’d found him last winter, half-dead in the alley behind WXFU. Soaked through, limping, one eye swollen shut, and completely covered in fleas. Just a skinny shadow of a shepherd with more ribs than muscle. No tags. No collar. Just a quiet kind of desperation, like he’d been running from something worse than the cold.

I didn’t need a dog. Didn’t want one. I was already stretched too thin with class, the station, my projects. But when I crouched down and held out my hand, he didn’t flinch–just looked up at me like he’d already decided I was his.

I wrapped him in my jacket, brought him home, and gave him a warm bath. I never said out loud that I’d keep him. Sometimes you find a stray and sometimes the stray finds you, and when you’re both a little broken, it makes sense to stick together.

He’s smart, protective, and took to training well. But that doesn’t mean he’s not slow as hell when he’s trying to find the perfect spot to piss.

Fuck. I really want a smoke.

“Hier,” I call, followed by a sharp whistle. In the pitch black that surrounds the house I see his eyes first–the yellow reflected off the light over the doorway. He trots toward me, stopping one last time to lift his leg, before we go back inside.

We head down the hallway that leads back to the room DK and I share. Ares’ ears perk up just as I see a shadow cross the far wall. Not a Shadow, but the actual shadow of a person. “Sitz,” I command quietly. He drops to his haunches with a low growl. A moment later, Arianette tiptoes past, looking over her shoulder.

“Huh,” I mutter, looking down at my dog, who has visibly relaxed now he recognizes her, “what do you think she’s up to?”

I’d actually planned on seeing the Baroness tonight, but the meeting ran long. “Komm.” We walk down the hall and turn toward the south wing of the building. There are two bedroomsdown here. One for the Barons and a separate one for the Baroness. There’s also a den with comfortable couches and an entertainment system. A small kitchenette sits off to the side. I’d explored everything the first night we moved in, wanting to get my bearings. But other than the ride to and from school, this is the first time I’ve seen her outside her room.

Down the hall, her door closes with a soft click.

I pass by and enter the den. Ares darts ahead, rushing to see DK, who is sprawled out on the couch, playing a video game.

“Hey, bud,” he says, rubbing his palm over Ares’ head. They get along, which is good. Dogs feel better when they have a pack and it’s been just the two of us for a while. He circles around and lies down at DK’s feet. I walk over to the cabinet and grab a glass. “You feel good about the meeting?”

“I think so.” I shove the glass under the lever for the ice maker and the motor churns. Ice falls in a rush, the cubes clanking loudly against one another. “You okay with the Fury decision?”

That had been the big topic during the meeting: who was going to represent BRN during the next Friday Night Fury. Traditionally, one of the Barons steps up, but neither DK nor I have any interest in the ‘traditions’ of this place. Mateo fought last year, and was eager to defend his win. Works for both of us.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes trained on the game. I notice that when he’s concentrating his teeth toy with the hoop in his lip. “There’s plenty of time to get our faces smashed in by one of those lunatics.”

“Agreed.” Getting punched in the face increases the chances of a concussion. I need my brain to be fully functional, not impaired by choice.

He holds up the controller. “You want to play?”