Page 2

CHAPTER 1

Four years ago . . .

I hoist my duffle higher, and the material catches on the worn shoulder of my trusty leather duster. The other shoulder houses my patch, which identifies me as a hunter. Some of them aren’t smart, so it’s better to make them aware of who I am right off the bat so they don’t shoot first.

It’s cooler up here, which is nice because my leather gloves aren’t filled with sweat.

My waist-length ginger hair is held back by two braids interwoven with my trusty wire—easy to conceal and even easier to use. I prefer my guns and blades, but in a pinch, the wire is useful in cutting off heads or choking people. You can never have too many weapons.

My bright eyes zone in on the base. It looks like any other skyscraper, apart from the fact that it’s in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, not on any maps, and surrounded by trees and grass. It’s the hub of the northeast sector. All new recruits pass through here for training. This land is covered in traps, cages of monsters to hunt, and everything a new hunter could need—all owned by a shell company that is listed as some form of resort to keep prying eyes out.

It’s been two years since I passed basic, but watching the newbies run drills brings back memories. It isn’t easy being a female in the hunters’ guild. Nearly all members are males, but I never had a choice. My father was a hunter, and even though he wanted a son, he got me and he trained me just like he would have taught a son, so when it came time to apply when I turned eighteen, I didn’t hesitate. He is gone now, but his training remains with me, as does the need to carry on our legacy and honour him and our beliefs.

Blowing out a breath, I quit stalling and set off towards the sixty-floor glass skyscraper. The building is heavily fortified for both ground and air attacks. We have bases scattered across the country, but only four main hubs—north, south, east, and west. They’ve been attacked in the past, and they always fail, but this base is the longest standing tower of the four.

It’s where the best of the best come.

My dad wasn’t top brass, just an everyday hunter, and that’s how he liked it—not because he was no good, but to keep me and my mother safe.

I keep walking until I reach the entrance, a concrete wall stretching as far as the eye can see, making this the only exit and entrance. Turrets and outposts with guards are positioned on the sides, and I sense the current of electricity in the air that alerts me to alarms and cameras.

It isn’t normal for humans to be able to sense that, so I keep my ability hidden. Some of us are just . . . sensitive, as my dad liked to call it. Either way, it’s a trick I use often. I’ll use everything in my power to keep myself and my team alive, even the things they don’t know about.

Stepping under the arched concrete gate, I feel magic flow over me—stolen or traded magic. We look the other way if they help, a necessary evil when you are fighting monsters.

The sign above makes me grin.

STALKERS’ REST

Here, death rejoices and life is given.

Poetic, but very true. Hunters do not tend to live long, and the ones that do . . . Well, there is a reason why, and it tends to leave them a little less than sane.

I wonder what that says about me.

A whistle cuts through the air, and the unit training to my left stills as all eyes turn to me.

“Well, look at this, boys, we got a new recruit, and a girl at that,” one remarks as he steps forward. I almost sigh at the predictability of his comment. Men love to measure dicks, especially against girls. His head is shaved, showcasing new nicks and scars on his skull. His eyebrows are thick and arched as he surveys me, his cool gaze running over me from head to toe. His tongue is caught between his lips as he flips a knife back and forth in his hand, trying to show off.

Only fools show their hand like that.

I could gut him before he even knew I moved.

He’s muscular, a few inches over my six-one frame, and he obviously cannot read body language because he doesn’t stop until he stands before me. His unit follows, sensing an impending commotion.

Hunters are gossips, and they love a good fight.

“Did you come to play with the big boys and be a hunter?” one teases.

“I don’t think we have a female recruit,” another adds.

“She sure is hot though,” Baldie comments, his eyes locked on my legs encased in my combat trousers. “If you want in, newbie, then you have to fuck me first.”

Laughter breaks out, and more of them move closer, everything else forgotten as they focus on me. Like I said, there aren’t many women in our ranks, and this right here is one of the reasons. Men who like to kill monsters aren’t always good men.

Dropping my bag, I push my duster back as I smirk at them. “Yeah? I’d rather fight you than fuck you. Let’s make this quick, shall we? I have places to be.”

“I don’t fight girls,” he sneers. “At least not pretty ones.”

“Too bad because this one fights men bigger than you every day,” I retort, and before he can respond or react, I lunge at him. I knock his blade from his hand, sinking it into the bullseye of a target, then I sweep my leg out. He goes down hard, and I step back, grinning.

“Still don’t fight girls?” I ask. “Because right now, you look like a fool.”

His lips thin as he leaps to his feet, shaking his hands out as he walks towards me. “Fine. If you want to fight, let’s fight. After I break you, I’ll fuck you and then let my entire unit do the same.”

“Not if I fuck you first. Don’t worry, I brought my strap-on.” I dodge under his meaty fists. He’s fast and well trained, but I’m faster.

He doesn’t stand a chance. I leap over his next leg sweep, predictable as it was, wrap my legs around his throat, and spin us. He flips, and I kick his back so he falls to his knees, and then my boot meets the side of his head, knocking him on his side. Pressing my boot to his neck, I reach down, wrench one arm up and around, and press on it until it almost breaks as he cries out.

“Still want to fuck me?” I grin down at him, digging my boot into his neck until he taps out. Dropping him, I step back and look at the gathered hunters. “Does anyone else have a problem and want to work that out with me?”

“Lieutenant Tate?” a voice calls, and we all turn to see a brown-haired hunter. He’s young, maybe even younger than me, with glasses pushed up his nose as he looks at me and then the crowd. “You are Lieutenant Tate?”

“That’s me.” Grabbing my bag, I wink at Baldie and his unit. “It’s been fun. Thanks for playing with me.” I step towards Glasses. “Is my new major waiting for me?”

“And the commander.”

I raise my eyebrows at that. Commanders do not meet with hunters, not unless you are high, like a major. It took me two years to reach lieutenant, so to meet the commander?

Well, colour me fucking curious.

A path forms between the recruits, and I follow after the young man as we head towards the glass doors of the building. Once there, I have to put my bag in a scanner, and their eyebrows rise at the number of weapons in it as I spread my arms and let them search me.

“All weapons must be surrendered. You only need them outside,” Glasses says. He nods at another box. “Put them there. You can collect them when you leave.”

Even though I knew it was coming, I’m not thrilled. I take off my duster and fold it, holding it out to him. “Hold this for me?” He takes it, his nose wrinkling as he holds it as far from his torso as possible.

Ah, this must be an intelligence officer, not a ground hunter. Makes sense. Both are important. Hunters wouldn’t get anywhere without our information, and their job is to keep all hunter colonies in contact, gather reports, and map them.

Pulling my pistols from each hip, I carefully unload them and pop the bullets from the chambers, then I put them all in the open box. Whistling to myself, I reach down and tug my mini gun from my boot and add that before slowly pulling each blade from my leg sheaths—eight on each—then the two up my sleeves.

“Is that everything?” the hunter behind the box asks, wide-eyed.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching back, I pull the sword from the sheath down my spine and hold it out. “Where do you want this? I don’t think it will fit in your little box.”

He blinks, reaches out, and takes it. “Um, I’ll put it in another one.”

“Thanks. Take good care of it. It was my dad’s,” I warn him, and he gulps, nodding seriously.

“The ones in your bag?” Glasses comments, passing my coat back. I slide it on.

“Those too? Seriously?” I mutter before walking over, my boots squeaking on the shiny floor. Ripping open my zip, I pull out my sawed-off shotguns and put them in, adding my blades, my homemade UV grenades, and my holy water. “What about poisons and herbs?” I query. The man just blinks again and nods. Pulling out my vials, I add them along with my electric arc I won from a pixie and my blessed blade from the fae. “Okay, that’s all.”

They scan my bag again and hand it over.

I watch the man struggle to shut the box, and I point at him. “If you lose any of those, you’re the one I’m coming for. Consider that a friendly warning.” I turn away and face Glasses, who sighs.

“Come with me. I will explain the base as I lead you to the meeting.”

I have to shorten my strides as I walk with him towards a bank of elevators. I scan everything. The armouries are locked with only a hatch to look inside, and to the right are the emergency stairs and exit, as well as a security room.

“Here at Stalkers’ Rest, we have state-of-the-art equipment. All of the glass is bulletproof, with shutters that will come down over the building in an emergency. Newbies sleep on the lowest floor.” That’s typical. In case of an attack, they are fodder. “The higher rank you are, the higher you go,” he explains, eyeing me curiously. “The shooting range is outside to the left, and the gym and training grounds are to the right. The armoury is on the ground floor—well, you passed it. You must have an ID and security checks to receive any equipment.”

“And if you lose or break it, it comes from your pay.” I arch a brow. “I know the drill. I heard the commander here is a real hard ass.”

He snorts as he scans his card at the elevators. Another scanner comes down, taking his fingerprint and a retinal scan before an elevator opens to the left. I follow him inside, watching him through the reflection of the shiny doors as it shuts and we rise.

“Commander Vilaran is the youngest commander ever. He moved through the ranks from a newbie in under five years and was given control due to his exceptional skills and intelligence. He is the best.”

“He’s not a legacy?” I ask. Not much is known about him, especially if you aren’t under his control, but I’ve heard enough rumours. He’s young, brutal, and can be a real prick. You would have to be to reach his position, especially if he joined and wasn’t born into this like most.

“No, he joined with his friends before serving in the military, then he came back,” Glasses snaps, and my eyebrows rise.

“Defensive much?” I scoff. “Are his friends here with him? Are they still a unit?” Commanders don’t hunt. They hold down the base, but once a hunter, always a hunter.

“They are all dead,” he answers darkly as the doors open. He stomps out, throwing me a dirty look. “If you want to live, don’t mention it.”

Well, damn, I guess not everyone is feeling friendly. Keeping my comments to myself, I follow him down the carpeted hallway to a double door at the end. He knocks and waits.

“Come in,” someone calls, and I follow Glasses inside before freezing when I see the two men waiting for me.

I’m so fucked.