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I paused in my inventory of silver ammunition. “How bad are we talking?”

“Remember Dublin?”

My blood ran cold. “Ah, shite.”

“Yeah.” They pulled up another window, this one showing wavelengths that pulsed like heartbeats. “So maybe call your fed friend? Something tells me we're going to need all hands on deck for this one.”

I wanted to argue, wanted to say this was hunter business and we didn't need government complications. But Juno's words echoed in my mind: Not all monsters deserve hunting.

“I'll think about it,” I said finally, which made Skye snort.

“Sure you will. Just like you'll think about why you can't stop checking him out when he's around.”

“Coffee privileges revoked.”

Their laughter followed me as I headed out, but their earlier words kept circling in my head. Something big was coming. Something that made Dublin look like a warm-up act.

And whether I liked it or not, I had a feeling I knew exactly which federal agent I needed to call.

The training areawas exactly what you'd expect from a hunter's gym: bare concrete floors scarred from countless fights, worn mats that had seen more blood than sweat, and a weapons rack that would make most military installations jealous. After the night's revelations, after Juno's questions about monsters and mercy, I needed something simple. Something that made sense.

I needed a fight.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one.

“Been a while since we sparred,” Juno's voice echoed off the concrete as she emerged from the shadows. She tossed mea practice blade, the metal catching fluorescent light. Even in training gear, she moved with that peculiar grace of the turned.

I caught the blade one-handed, testing its weight. “Stalking me now? That's cute. Just can't stay away, can you?”

Her laugh held echoes of the hunter she'd been, but the predatory edge was all vampire. “Cocky little bastard, aren't you?” She unsheathed her own sword in one liquid motion, the blade humming through the air. “Let's see if you've learned anything since Dublin.”

We moved at the same moment, muscle memory and trained instinct taking over. I struck first, a testing blow meant to gauge her defenses. She countered with brutal efficiency, turning my momentum against me. She was stronger now, vampire reflexes and inhuman speed making her deadly in ways that had nothing to do with skill.

But she still fought like a hunter. Every strike was meant to kill, every movement economical and precise. No flashy vampire tricks, no supernatural showing off. Just the pure, lethal grace of someone who'd spent years learning the best ways to end a fight permanently.

She caught my blade with hers, the impact jarring up my arm, and smiled. “Losing your edge, Sean? Too much time playing nice with federal agents?”

I tasted blood where I'd bit my cheek, used the sharp pain to focus. “Just warming up, sweetheart.”

I switched tactics, trading power for speed. Her vampire strength gave her the advantage in direct confrontation, but it also made her overconfident. I broke her stance, forced her onto the defensive, used every trick I'd learned about fighting stronger opponents.

It worked, right up until she stopped pulling her punches.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, concrete cold against my spine and Juno's blade kissing my throat. Her eyesgleamed red in the harsh light, power rolling off her in waves that made my hunter instincts scream.

“You're good,” she said, pressing just hard enough to draw a bead of blood. “But you're still fighting like a human.”

I met her gaze steadily, refusing to show the fear that any sane person would feel with a vampire's blade at their throat. “And you're still fighting like you've got something to prove.”

For a moment, I thought she might actually do it, might finally answer the question of whether our old friendship meant more than what she'd become. Then she stepped back, lowering her sword with a grace that made the movement look almost lazy.

“You know,” she said, studying me with that unnerving stillness only the dead could achieve, “you talk a lot of shit for someone who hasn't had to make a real choice yet.”

I pushed myself up, wiping sweat and blood from my face. “What the hell does that mean?”

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she moved to the weapons rack, replacing her blade with the kind of care that spoke of years of training. When she finally turned back, her expression was unreadable.

“One day, you'll have to choose between the hunt and someone you care about,” she said simply. “When that happens, I hope you remember what makes a real monster.”