Page 51

CHAPTER 50

G eorge Brown, or Demon, as the other hunters call him, is the epitome of what I hate. He hunts anything and everything, regardless of what their crimes are. He is relentless and messy. If Shamus’s research is anything to go by, then he doesn’t care who gets hurt in the process, which doesn’t surprise me. I still remember the hardness of his gun at my temple as he marched me into the abandoned bakery to leave me as bait for the troll we were hunting. Well, my father and George were hunting, but not together—it just so happened they’d run into each other. My dad made a friendly bet, as most hunters do, and George made it unfriendly. He didn’t care if I lived or died.

It was only because of the skills my father had taught me that I survived that encounter. The troll got away, and George was so angry, he backhanded me. When my father turned up with the troll’s head, he was furious, and for the first time ever, I saw fear in George’s eyes. He managed to escape my father’s wrath, not without that scar, but I knew then what lingered inside a man like that—bloodlust, the type that is never satisfied.

He feels no sanctity for human life nor monsters, just a need to kill. He isn’t a hunter because he wants to protect humans. He’s a hunter because he’d be a serial killer otherwise. He’s gotten away with it for a long time, mainly because his superiors are too scared to say anything so they cover for him.

Not anymore.

He doesn’t scare me. He’s just a man with murderous intent—one that will learn there’s always someone bigger and stronger than him.

I’ll make him regret his ways and show the other hunters how serious I am when I return with his head in tow.

The portal spits us out in a small town in the middle of nowhere. “What is he hunting here?” I ask curiously.

“His superior reports he is chasing down a wendigo,” Shamus replies as he appears at my side.

“Then he’ll be in the woods. I know how men like him think. He’ll be watching and waiting, probably luring locals or hikers in as a trap. Let’s go.” We cross the small, empty road and head into the woods that border this tiny town. Its population cannot be more than a thousand, but the woods seem to span many miles—perfect for a wendigo to hide.

Once they have tasted flesh, there is no going back. He is hunting an actual monster for once, but it’s how he’s hunting it that worries me.

There is a ripped tent six miles into the vast forest, just off the hiking trail. Reaching down, I press my fingers to the cinders of the fire. “Still warm. They haven’t been gone long.”

“Boot tracks,” Shamus points out. “Big, has to be him. Two smaller ones are near it. He probably led them away.”

I nod as I scan the area before placing my hand on the tent to see it. I have to be sure I don’t just rely on my training anymore, but my powers as well. I’ll use every advantage I can get.

Gritting my teeth against the terror that saturates the images, I focus on the flashing, distorted visions. They are tainted by panic and adrenaline, which makes them harder to understand.

“Two women,” I say. “They were sleeping this morning when he slashed open their tent, tied them together, and frog-marched them away. He explained in detail what would happen to them. He wants their fear.” Pulling my hand away, I point in the direction they went. “Let’s go.” I pull out my shotgun and set off into the trees.

Fury fills me. Nobody should be made to feel fear like that. They are innocent. They weren’t hurting anyone, just enjoying nature and their time together, and now it will always be tainted by this memory.

My team spreads out around me, and every now and then, I touch a tree in passing and alter our course accordingly. We move silently, Shamus knowing exactly where to move and how to work at my side even without working together before. His steps are silent, and he moves like a wraith. Even in the bright sun and knowing where he is, he’s hard to spot, using the coverage perfectly.

No wonder they call him a stalker.

It’s strange seeing him in this mode. He will always be the commander to me, sitting behind his desk while pulling the strings, so it’s easy to forget he is a hunter too. Now that I see him in action, I realise there is a reason they all fear and respect him. He earned it.

Letting out a low whistle, I grab his attention and alter our course farther north. The trees are older and bigger here, the foliage growing everywhere. This is true wilderness, not a hiking trail or path. It’s clear that aside from George, his captives, and us, it’s not been explored or walked through in many, many years. It’s a perfect place for a wendigo to hide. Its den must be deep in the woods, below the earth, where they feel safe.

Another mile in and Addeus catches my arm, his voice low. “I smell blood. Fresh. Human.”

“He’s right,” Tem supplies, closing his eyes as he sways. “Female, young, definitely human.”

“Which way?” I ask. They both point in the same direction, and Shamus appears at my side.

“We are close,” I tell him, and he nods. “George will have set a trap, and we can’t spring it. We need to be unseen as we creep up on him. I want you all to spread out. Use every power you have, but I don’t want anyone to be seen at all. The humans are to be left alone. They are innocent. George is mine, but capture him if you must.”

“And the wendigo?” Shamus asks, trusting me to take charge like we agreed.

“Let’s hope we get there first. Deal with the hunter then the monster.” I shrug. “Shamus, you’re with me. I want silence from the rest of you. Close in, leave no room for escape.”

They nod and fade into the wilderness.

“Let’s go,” I murmur to Shamus.

“You’re hot when you’re hunting,” he responds quietly.

“No flirting on hunts,” I murmur, but a smile curves my lips.

“Whose dumb rule is that?” He winks as I roll my eyes, but he falls into silence then, moving away so we create a net. We walk in sync, not even breaking branches under our weight.

Ten minutes later, I hold up my hand, and he stops. I point at the ground, seeing the trail, and he nods as we search the area. They seem to disappear, and I glance up, realising why. I jerk my thumb up in explanation, and he nods in understanding. He holds a knife between his teeth as he starts to scale a nearby tree, and I do the same. We need to see him before we act. I have to trust the others to follow my orders and focus on George.

The tree is wide, but it’s easy to climb, and just below the canopy, I inch along a branch. I perch there and scan the area. The trees open up slightly, and I only see him because of my training.

He’s in all green and brown, pressed against the trunk of the tree, holding a sniper rifle in his hand. It’s aimed at the clearing in the woods below, where moss and fallen trees seem to create a natural break in the foliage.

That’s where I see his trap and bait.

The women are tied to a tree stump with deep cuts across their necks. The scent of their blood fills the air, no doubt to lure the wendigo. He must have tracked its den to around here and hoped that would be enough. Even now, filled with fear and hopelessness, they hold hands, their heads pressed together and eyes closed as their mouths move, speaking just for them.

They must know death is coming, yet they face it together.

My gaze goes back to George before I find Shamus. I point at the women and back to him. He nods in understanding. He’s going to save them. George is mine.

Creeping across the branch, I leap over the short distance to the next tree. The branch trembles under my weight, so I quickly cross to the trunk and scale around it before moving down the next branch and over to the subsequent tree. I repeat it three times more before I’m behind George on a tree. I need to get across without him hearing me, so I head down a few branches and leap. The tree sways, and I press to the trunk, waiting. He either doesn’t notice, which means he’s not as good of a hunter as he thinks, or he ignores it. Either way, it means he’s getting old and his hearing isn’t good. It’s a trait with hunters from too many explosions or weapons firing near our ears. We don’t have long shelf lives.

When I’m sure he’s not heard me, I silently make my way up to the branch he’s lying across. There are a few bundled together, creating a perfect arch for his body, which is probably why he chose it. It also allows me to creep up behind him and perch directly next to him. I expect him to turn, sensing me, but he’s so focused on the scope, he doesn’t even move.

I follow his gaze to the clearing below in time to see Shamus emerge from the trees.

He moves into the clearing brazenly, trusting me to take care of the issue. His back is to the sniper rifle as he crouches in front of the now struggling women, their eyes wide with terror at the sight he makes.

George snarls and swears, his finger tightening on the trigger as he takes aim.

He will not get to pull it. “Hey, George,” I whisper behind him, tapping his shoulder with my blade. He whirls, and I slam my hand into the rifle so it’s pointed at the sky just as it goes off. I snatch it from his grip and toss it away as he stares at me in shock. “Remember me?” I grin.

“Havelock,” he hisses. Despite the fact that the last time he saw me was over ten years ago, he clearly remembers my face. “You look more and more like that bastard who did this to me, but now I get to return the favour. It’s a shame he died before I could.” I see the flash of silver before he jerks his arm up, and I knock it away.

“You’re getting slow in your old age.” I grab the branch above me and kick him from his perch. He flies backwards, a yelp escaping his lips, and I hear the moment he hits the ground with a grunt.

Swinging down the branches, I roll when I hit the ground and stop before him where he’s sprawled in the clearing.

Crouching, I tap his leg. “Don’t tell me you’re already dead. I came all this way. It would be such a disappointment.”

He blinks and slowly lifts his head before he seems to realise what happened and scrambles to his knees. “You bitch.”

“Really? I expected something much wittier.” I sigh. “Oh well, I guess I could give you the spiel I gave the other hunters, but the truth is, you’re not worth wasting my breath. George Brown, I sentence you to death for your crimes.” I reach for my blade, but he’s already coming for me faster than I expected.

I lift my arm to block the blow, and his blade pierces it. The pain is sharp, but I don’t let it show. He laughs as he falls backwards, but I arch my brow, grip the slippery handle with my blood, and pull it free, holding it in my other hand. There’s a huge wound, a through and through, but it’s bleeding a lot. I hold it up, however, trusting them to understand, and with my eyes on George, I feel the magic move across my skin and heal it like it never happened.

“How?” he exclaims, his eyes wide. “You’re fucking one of them! You’re a monster!” he roars.

“Not quite, though I guess maybe I am half monster, but would you like to meet some true monsters?” I tease. I whistle, and then I feel them appear behind me. He tries to grab a weapon that isn’t there. Zeev dances out of reach with a laugh as he tosses his blade into the forest.

George spins, taking in my monsters surrounding him. “What is this?”

“The new elite team,” Shamus says as he steps from the forest. “Specifically created to hunt scum like you—those who betray the code of hunters, flaunt the laws, and hurt innocents. I’m sure you remember Tate Havelock. Well, she’s their commander.”

He looks from Shamus to me. “I’m one of you!”

“No, you’re a killer with a patch.” I grip his arm, ripping the patch off then holding it up for him. “And that patch does not protect you anymore. You are no longer a hunter, which just makes you a killer. Would you prefer to die on your knees like the weakling you are or on your feet? It’s your choice.”

“You want me dead? You’ll have to fight for it,” he bellows as he leaps at me. I sidestep him and hold up my hand to stop the others who are moving forward.

“He’s mine. Keep your eyes out for the wendigo,” I call as George turns, his gaze landing on me again. He knows I’m smarter, faster, and stronger. He’s at a disadvantage, and he recognises it.

“I hear your dad died screaming your name,” he hisses. “He was eaten, and there was nothing left. I bet it hurt.”

I know he’s trying to make me sloppy, so I rein in my anger, arching a brow. I know how my father died. It haunts me to this day.

“Did he cry like a little bitch? Beg? I bet he did. He always was a pussy. You loved your daddy, didn’t you? Loved him a little too much. It was always strange how he wouldn’t let you out of his sight. Tell me, Tate, did your daddy love you a lot? Did he love his precious daughter in all the right ways?” He leers at me. “Did the great William Havelock like little kids? I bet he did.”

My nostrils flare as Shamus’s voice fills the air. “I wouldn’t,” he warns George. “You’re just making it worse for yourself.”

“He’s right,” I agree, my voice dead and cold. “I was going to kill you quickly. Now, I’m going to make it hurt.”

I hold daggers in both hands as I head towards him. His eyes track my movements, and when I get close, I feint left then right and spin around him. Gripping the back of his head, I shove him to his knees. He struggles, but I dig my thumb into his mouth and force it open, slipping my blade inside as he screams and fights

“I hate hearing his name from your mouth,” I snarl as I rip out his tongue. “Now, I never have to hear it again.”

Stepping back as he screams, I hold his tongue up. “Now your mouth is as useless as the rest of you.” He covers his mouth, his face pale. “You can dish out pain, but you can’t take it. You’re the weak one. Look at you. One little wound and you’re down. I expected more.” I look to Shamus with a laugh. “You tagged him red for nothing. He’s pathetic.”

He crashes into me, and I laugh as he tackles me to the ground. His fist pummels into my side, and I let him. My ribs crack, but I let him get his best shot in before I jerk my fist up. It hits him square in the face, bursting his nose as he falls backwards, and I sit up. “Is that really the best you have?”

The noise that leaves him is a mixture of a laugh and a cough, and I follow his gaze to the dagger sticking from my side. I didn’t even feel it thanks to the layers I’m wearing. “Really? This is my favourite shirt,” I snap as I tug it free and throw it at him with a flick of my fingers. It embeds in his bicep, and he makes that horrible screaming noise again as he holds up his arm.

Sighing, I climb to my knees. “This is just boring. I expected more.”

“Then stop playing with your food.” Zeev chuckles. “Play with us instead.”

“Fine.” Reaching over, I pull the dagger from his arm and grip his chin. “This is for my father.” I drive it into his eye. It doesn’t go as deep as one would think, but as he falls to the ground, writhing, I drive my boot into the handle over and over until he stops moving.

Reaching over my shoulder, I tug my father’s sword free. It seems apt that it will deliver the final blow. Hoisting George up, I grip his hair as I press the sharp edge of the blade to his neck and start to carve. His arteries burst, spraying his hot blood across my face.

It’s not as easy as one might think to cut off a head. It’s messy and tiring, but when it’s done, I pry the last string of muscle keeping it on his spine away and hold it up victoriously, just as a mighty bellow fills the air.

“That would be the wendigo,” Shamus casually remarks.

“Shit.” I glance down at the head and drop it, keeping hold of the sword. “Anyone remember how to kill a wendigo? I’m a little rusty.”

“Silver to the heart is the best bet,” Shamus answers instantly.

“Do you have any pure silver?”

“Of course.” He grins as the trees shake on the other end of the clearing and then finally part to reveal the wendigo.

“Good, we’re going to need it,” I mutter as I stare at the monster. This one is old and too far gone to care what or who is on its land. Its head lifts, scenting the blood. It’s more monster than man, which is why I can guess its age. Its huge, talon-tipped hands drag along the ground, its skeleton head lifting to show me black, soulless eyes. Fur covers its warped back and limbs. I can see its ribs protruding from its side, and I even see a flash of bone where someone tried to kill it before. This one won’t be easy.

It roars again, swinging its head to me. Of fucking course.

It barrels towards me, and I realise why—I’m covered in blood.

“It wants the blood. I’ll be bait!” I shout to Shamus. “Make sure to aim true.”

I whistle loudly when it jerks to a stop as Fang throws something at it, catching its attention again, but only for a moment before it turns to Addeus. Snarling, I grab my dagger and slice my palm. The cut bleeds, and I squeeze it, then it turns. “That’s right. You want me. I’m tasty. Come and get it, you cannibal.”

“Angel,” Shamus yells.

“I’m trusting you!” I shout back. “Don’t let me die, stalker!”

He nods and races to catch up to the wendigo as it heads towards me. I stand with my hand out, using myself as bait, trusting Shamus to keep me safe. My instincts scream for me to run, but I stand still, eyeing the monster who could kill me with one blow.

It’s almost on me when Shamus flies through the air, holding a long silver spear in his hand. His eyes are hard and determined.

Shamus leaps onto its back and stabs the silver spike into its spine. It roars and spins, throwing him off, the weapon still impaled in its body. It turns back to me.

Fuck!

Shamus climbs to his feet unsteadily and sees it the moment I do—its claws are coming towards me. Shamus leaps quicker than I could anticipate and lands before me. Its claws swipe through him, and I watch with wide eyes as he goes flying, but within seconds, he’s on his feet. I throw my blade at the wendigo, and his attention is back on me. Rushing towards it, I duck under its arm and slash its chest, opening a shallow wound that seems to annoy it rather than hurt it. It plucks me from the ground and flings me around in the air until I feel my brain rattle in my skull. It lifts me higher, and I glance down to see its mouth opening to swallow me whole.

Fuck that.

I drive a blade into its hand, and it drops me, then I roll to avoid its feet.

His arm comes up for another brutal strike when Shamus appears. He rolls across its back, pulling his spear with him, and then dances under its swing. It spins to keep him in sight, and I watch as he avoids those wicked claws until he can drive the spear into its ribs at the side. It tries to run away, but with a mighty yell, Shamus slams it in deeper, and the wendigo freezes. Its whole body contracts before it falls to the side, dead, the spike sticking from its corpse.

Clapping fills the air as Shamus stumbles towards me and takes us both to the dirty ground with a groan.

Chest heaving, I turn my head on Shamus’s chest, and our eyes meet. My lips curl into a smile, and I burst into laughter. He laughs with me before he groans. “Shit, that wendigo hit hard.”

My laughter cuts off, and I sit up, opening his shirt to see the epic claw mark across his perfect chest. “Shamus?—”

“It’s not life-threatening. Besides, I have plenty of scars.” He grins up at me. “It’s nice to see you worried for me though.”

“I’m not worried. I just don’t want to be blamed for your death,” I grumble as I touch the ragged wound. “Let me ask Zeev to heal it—” I look for him, but Shamus catches my hand.

“No.”

I jerk my gaze back to him.

“It’s not because I don’t trust them, but I got this saving you, the person I love. I’ll wear them with honour.”

“You bloody fool,” I snap, even as I twine our hands together.

“Rude, your commander is injured. Kiss it better,” he teases.

I scoff at that as Zeev appears at my side. “He’s right. They are warrior wounds earned while protecting someone he loves. He should wear them. Not doing so would be a dishonour to his feelings for you. I, however, can heal them enough that they will scar, but you will be able to move like normal.” He looks to me. “Shall I, little mortal?”

I sigh. “What’s the cost?”

“No cost. Anyone willing to sacrifice their life for yours deserves my magic.” He nods seriously as he looks at Shamus. “May I?”

He nods, and within seconds, the wounds have closed, looking months old rather than fresh. Shamus blinks incredulously as he touches the scars and looks to Zeev. “I would thank you, but I know better.”

“No thanks needed. You protected the only thing that is important to me.” Reaching over, I grip Zeev’s neck, tug him closer, and kiss him. His smile is charming and soft, even if his eyes are still cold, and I glance up and around.

“Let’s clean this up and get back.” I look to Shamus. “Get up, commander. Don’t be such a pussy.” I go to stand when I’m yanked back down and his mouth crashes onto mine in a possessive, hungry kiss that leaves me gasping.

“My thanks,” he murmurs.