Page 107

A cold wind blew off the ocean, rattling the shutters on the windows.

Darien blinked his Sight into place and did a once-over of his surroundings, checking for anyone who might be lurking behind the mossy rock wall spanning the coast, or the pin oaks sheltering parts of the old road. The deep orange rays of a setting sun bled across the ocean.

They’d almost made it to the towering front doors of the House on the Pier when those doors groaned open, and he and Max found themselves face-to-face with Lionel Savage and his son Harley. At Harley’s side was Valary Sternberg, gripping the Huntsman’s tattooed arm with red-painted claws. The glaze of her eyes suggested she’d had a little too much to drink tonight.

Harley and Lionel didn’t appear too sober themselves, which meant tonight might go really, really badly.

Lionel was the first to speak, his words all for Darien, dark eyes glinting with hate. “You want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?” he growled, square jaw flexing under his dark beard.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Darien replied coolly. He glanced at Valary, who looked torn between feeling enraged by his presence and surprised by it. “Since when do you fuck with Wargs?” he said to Lionel.

“That’s none of your business.”

“If your business isn’t mine, then mine isn’t yours. Step aside.”

Lionel didn’t budge. Neither did his son, who shared very few of his father’s features. While Lionel had dark hair that was flecked with gray, Harley’s was a thick sheaf of dirty-blond, the straight locks swept up off his forehead. The only similarities between the two men was their body type—lean and strong, barely any body fat on them.

Lionel said, “I think you owe us an explanation.”

“Regarding what exactly?” Darien’s question was glacial.

“Your father’s sudden death. The last anyone saw him, he was with you. And several days later, rumors of his death start to spread. You’d better hope you’ve got a believable alibi—”

“Or what?” Darien seethed, lurching up close to Lionel. The Huntsman tensed, lifting his chin.

“Watch it.” Harley’s arm shot out, bumping Darien in the chest.

Darien snarled in his face, “Don’t fucking touch me.” His attention went back to Lionel, who wore a small smile. “I would save your threats for someone you can beat in a fight, Lionel.”

Amusement played on his mouth. “Are you challenging me?”

Darien’s blood electrified with adrenaline as he became acutely aware of a handful of shadows walking across the driveway—four Huntsmen, their hunting dog Familiars creeping along at their sides.

Max assessed the threats, hand drifting toward his hip. His eyes shone a deadly black as he called upon the stores of salt in his blood.

“You boys are outnumbered,” Lionel drawled. “Best be running back to Hell’s Gate now.”

“It’s hard to outnumber someone who can take six of your men at once,” Darien replied.

“Care to prove that statement?”

Darien bared his teeth. “I’d be thrilled.”

The Huntsmen drew closer, waiting for their signal, Familiars foaming at the mouths.

Darien kept Lionel pinned with a cold stare. “You don’t want to mess with me, Lionel. I’m not a teenager anymore, and in case your memory has grown dull, I was able to hand your ass to you back then, and I can do it again now. If your men take one more step, they’ll be scrubbing your blood off the ground while you meet my father in hell.”

Lionel’s smirk merely grew.

Three seconds passed. Three.

And then the hunting dogs were leaping for their throats.

Bandit and Grim were out instantly, dog and mountain lion bursting out of their shadows in blurs of black mist, barks and growls ripping through the night. Familiars collided in midair with a clash of teeth and claws, smashing into the front steps and the hedges near the house just as two of Lionel’s men were upon Darien and Max.

By the time Max had disarmed the one, cracking his head against the steps, Darien had flipped the other over his shoulder, throwing him to the ground so hard the pain rendered the Huntsman instantly useless.

During that time, Lionel didn’t even get his weapon drawn. And just as the Huntsman was reaching for the gun, realizing his cocky mistake at last, Darien had Harley by the throat, a knife pressed to his jugular.