Page 54

I resumed my customary position against the wall, knees pulled up to my chest and arms wrapped around both my legs. The diminutive gesture did little to hold myself together. My body was in shambles; my soul had fallen to shreds the second the gun had went off.

We weren’t normal men, though.

We were hunters. Monsters. Dangerous individuals. If we were to lose our humanity, our reason for living, the entire world would pay.

There would be no survivors.

* * *

Declan

I couldn’t just stand by and watch the woman I loved fade away. I wouldn’t.

As the sun dipped beneath the boughs of trees and the sky turned a metallic violet, I hoisted my bag further over my shoulder. It held an assortment of supplies we had gathered - maps, canned food, and water bottles.

Nobody noticed when I slipped outside and made a beeline towards the truck. Paint was chipped away, both from the rain and from vandalism I suspected. Rust was beginning to form around the tires, a russet brown that contrasted greatly with the midnight black exterior. The corroding death trap wasn’t an ideal form of transportation, but it was all we had. The van was in worse shape.

Nobody noticed when I stared once more at the house. It was dark. Only one room had candle flames flickering intermittently behind the closed blinds. I knew that an angel would be lying on the bed in there, fighting for her life.

Nobody noticed me leave.

Nobody, that was, except for Sarge.

By the time I slid into the driver's seat and started the car, he had slipped into the passenger side. I jumped, startled, at seeing his shadowed profile.

Fuming with an almost incandescent fury, I reached up to switch on the car light. It illuminated the dark, heavy bags beneath his eyes and the white pallor of his normally tanned skin. His hair was wildly disheveled, slipping free of its usually immaculate ponytail. To be honest, the man looked as if he was inches away from death. He looked as if he should’ve been the one fighting for his life, not Addie.

The thought, once again, caused my hands to clench over the steering wheel, the veins bulging. Reluctantly, I wrenched them free and turned to face Fallon fully.

“What are you doing here?” I signed.

He gave me an exasperated look. It was the look I received often when I was a child, and he had first taken me under his wing.

“What are you doing here?” he countered, his hands moving rapidly in agitation.

I saw no point in lying to him. After all, he was perceptive enough to know I was leaving in the first place. I once joked he had eyes in the back of his head, but that was wrong. The man had eyeseverywhere.

“I’m leaving.” Shrugging, I reached into my pocket and grabbed a yellow slip of paper. Written in delicate script that we both knew belonged to Addie was an address. Nikolai’s address.

Her brother.

Fallon’s eyes narrowed into thin slits as he read what we had all already memorized. According to the maps, it was just south of downtown Atlanta. Addie described the house as a tiny bungalow style more than a farmhouse. Thirty or so minutes away from the city.

I couldn’t save Addie, but maybe, just maybe, I could save her brother.

“You’re going after him,” Sarge signed, and even I could see that it wasn’t a question. He knew my intentions, but his apathetic front gave nothing away.

Instead of answering, I settled for a nod.

“Alone.” Again, I knew innately that it wasn’t a question. This time, I didn’t humor him with a response, but instead leveled him with my best glare. Was he going to stop me?

There were many reasons I had to go to Atlanta.

Nik was one of those reasons. The other?

My father.

Sarge must’ve seen the resolution on my face, for his body sagged in defeat. His fingers tapped against the center console, hinting at whatever lurked beneath his seemingly impassive exterior. After a moment, he nodded and tugged his seatbelt on.