Page 25 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

Asher

W hen my third call to Quinn’s phone goes straight to voicemail, I tighten my grip so hard on my phone that the case cracks. Vlad peers over at me, expression entirely impassive.

“You seem concerned about the wolf.”

What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

I stick to nothing, clenching my jaw so tightly my teeth ache.

Of course I’m concerned about Quinn. I’m pretty sure he won’t do anything foolish, and I’m pretty sure his pack are looking out for him in their own way, but that doesn’t mean anything in the face of all that I’m feeling.

“Asher?”

“Leave it alone, Vlad.” I settle against the wall, keeping my gaze fixed firmly ahead. I’ve brought Vlad here. Maybe I can convince him to let Maurice take my place? Might be for the best, anyway; he’ll have a better idea of who the vampires going inside are than we do.

Not that there are many vampires tonight. Mostly fae, coming in ones and twos, and I haven’t seen another wolf, either.

I really hope the twins won’t ask Quinn to fight tonight. I don’t believe what he said on the phone; not a word of it. He’s not fully healed, and something has happened, something that had his voice sounding all hollow and haunted.

I also can’t count on keeping my cool if I see Quinn arrive. I already know I’ll do my best to follow him inside. And that’s the one thing the Huntsman told us specifically not to do.

“If we capture the twins and send them back, you know that will void any deals they have made on this side of the veil,” Vlad says, apropos of nothing.

I glance at him sharply. “What?” No, I don’t know that. It’s why I’ve been planning to kill them.

He shrugs.

“Doesn’t count for the Huntsman, does it?” I say. “He comes and goes all the time.”

“With permission. We revoke it when we send the fae through. All their bargains become nothing again.”

I frown. “How do you even know that?”

“How do you not?” he mutters, and my eyes widen, a laugh barking out of me before I can stop it.

“Grant’s been rubbing off on you, seems like.”

Vlad huffs. There’s just a slight flush of colour to his cheeks as he resettles against the wall.

“I’m glad you turned him,” I add. “I like him.”

Vlad nods tightly. We’re silent for a moment, and then he says, “I truly do not know what possessed me to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had finished a job. I thought I would walk back to where I was staying because it was still dark, and then I found him.”

I try to keep myself still, to hide my eagerness because I fear Vlad might stop speaking if I show any interest.

“I should not have walked that way,” he says, gaze distant. “I was heading in entirely the wrong direction. But I did not realise that until I had spoken to him and convinced him to let me turn him.”

“Convinced?”

“He was… hurt,” Vlad says. “That or death. It did not take much work on my part.”

“Do you think…” I trail off and watch as two gancanagh wander up to the troll watching the alley entrance. They all chat for a few seconds, and then the gancanagh slip into the shadows.

“Do I think what?”

“Do you think Maurice and Njáll truly bonded? Like the fae do?”

Vlad frowns. I don’t know if Maurice has told the Huntsman about this new development, but I don’t think he has. They don’t truly trust each other. Oh, the Huntsman trusts Maurice to do his job, and Maurice trusts the Huntsman to give us information we need, but…

There’s a reason only one of us was a witch, I think. A reason only one of us was a wolf.

We don’t resonate well with the fae.

“Yes,” Vlad says eventually. “And I worry about what that means for Maurice.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something Grant said,” Vlad says, with the faint softening of his eyes that happens every time he says Grant’s name. I don’t think he knows that about himself. “Maurice’s magic is tied to Njáll now. What happens if the Huntsman tries to rescind his blessing a second time?”

I growl. “He’ll kill them both.”

“Or not. The Huntsman has no power over Njáll. No blessing. No bargain.”

Huh. I let the words sink in, and when the inevitable question rises in my mind, I push it aside because I know Vlad won’t answer.

Is it the same for Grant, too?

“If it gets busy enough…” I begin, but Vlad shakes his head sharply.

“The Huntsman is not wrong about this. We were no match for the twins last time. This time, they have the advantage.”

“They don’t know we’re here.”

“No. They will be waiting for us, though. They know we do not give up so easily.”

I scowl, sulking just a little because he’s not wrong. How long can Bryn have left now? I feel a pang of guilt that I haven’t been back to check on him, but what can I do?

“The wolf,” I say.

Vlad sighs. “I know.” He does. He can be as ruthless as the Huntsman, though, when he wants to be. “We cannot even be certain they are keeping his wolf in there. Or that they have kept it at all.”

“Why did they take it, do you think?”

“I am not certain,” Vlad replies, shrugging one shoulder. “Perhaps just for the fun of it. Perhaps Bryn made a deal he could not keep.”

I try to keep my expression as still as possible, staring at the alley entrance again. Quinn’s done that, too. Without him able to tell me, I don’t know how long he has left before his bargain will come to fruition.

I have no doubt the twins will try to trick him.

They won’t have offered a deal they don’t think they can benefit from.

But what’s the benefit of stealing wolves?

Deacon’s pack are more angry than scared.

Lone wolves are more panicked, but their nature means they’re inherently wary, so I’m surprised Bryn came here at all.

“Asher?” Vlad says.

“Hm?”

“Do you know something about this? Something you are not sharing?”

“Nothing important,” I reply. Half true. Quinn isn’t important to him, and my speculations are no good without evidence. Still… “I think there might be some purpose behind this.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Feels too neat.”

“They took his wolf and dropped him in front of a pack. It smacks of theatrics.”

“Yeah, all fae are theatrical. It’s just…” I make a frustrated sound in the back of my throat. “I don’t know. Maurice should probably talk to Sparrow.”

They were there, after all. Maybe they have a different view.

“All right.”

We’re mostly silent for the rest of the night, though I check my phone every few minutes until I worry about the battery dying. Quinn doesn’t call back. He doesn’t come to Mischief they’ve clearly warped the inside of the pub, so they may not need to.

“Send him to me,” I reply. “I’ll wait here.”

Vlad studies me. “Get some rest once he arrives.”

“I will.”

“I mean it, Asher.”

I quirk my lips, almost a smile. “I will.”

Vlad leaves with a wave and I settle back against the bricks. My blessing has been quiet tonight, bolstered by Vlad’s, but once I’m alone, it tugs as though wanting me to go somewhere else.

Not inside the pub, at least. I desperately want to see if Bryn’s wolf is there, but I don’t know where I’d begin the search, and if I get caught—

I can’t fight them both. I don’t know that I’d beat just one of them. And truth be told, I don’t know what I’m looking for.

The sun is bright by the time Paxton arrives. He settles easily next to me, blessing falling over us both like a second skin.

“All quiet?” he asks.

“Boring,” I reply, and when he smiles, I smile back.

“What am I looking for, then?”

“High fae. Most of the patrons have left, but I guess the night will be over once he’s gone too.” I indicate the troll, still standing sentinel at the end of the alley, with a jerk of my chin. “One’s got green hair, one red.”

“I’ll know them when I see them?”

“I should fucking hope so.”

Paxton snorts a laugh, wriggling a little like he’s trying to get comfortable. “Vlad said to send you straight back.”

“You want me to stay?”

“For this? No. Jeremiah’s going to bother you, though, you know that.”

“What’s the problem, then?”

Paxton’s eyes slide to me. “The wolf?”

“Bryn?”

“No. You forget how long we were there.”

Quinn. Of course Paxton knows Quinn—or at least has seen a lot of him. From a distance, but still. I ignore the way my face gets hot. “Is there a question hiding in there somewhere?”

“Is he your mate?”

“I—You—What do you mean?”

“You were a wolf before the Huntsman gave you his blessing, right? That’s what he was getting to last night.”

“I don’t think he was getting to it.”

“Made it obvious, anyway. To me.” Paxton’s eyes narrow, and he purses his lips. “Maybe to Grant, too.”

I struggle to breathe. “And Jeremiah?”

“Eh, he’ll get there when he gets there.”

“It’s not… I don’t talk about it.”

“Yeah, got that. Have you told him?”

“Who?”

“Quinn.” Paxton sounds exasperated. “And are you mates or not?”

“He knows,” I admit. “We can’t be mates.”

“Why not?”

“I lost my wolf. Or did you miss that part of the conversation?” My tone is too sharp, dripping with self-loathing.

Paxton ignores it. No wonder he and Jeremiah are together; he can steamroll when he needs to, and I imagine it’s a skill that comes in handy.

“He’s got one,” he replies simply, and I try not to think about the fact that Quinn’s so out of touch with his wolf he can’t shift.

“And we know plenty of people who don’t have wolves but have mates, don’t we? ”

“The pack?”

“I meant Maurice and Njáll, but whatever works.”

“That’s a fae bond.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s not,” I snap harshly enough that Paxton looks over at me in surprise. I sigh when he raises his eyebrows. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

He turns his gaze back on the alley, and after a moment, says, “Jeremiah’s upset.”

“At me?”

“No. Of course not. He won’t—He’s not going to say it. But I know him. So do you.”

I exhale heavily. “He’s upset about the bond?”

“Yeah. He wants one, too.”

“I don’t think they work like that. I don’t know how Maurice and Njáll bonded at all.”

Paxton makes a sound of agreement. Is he upset, too? Maybe. It’s not like any of us think what they have is less than what’s between Maurice and Njáll. With the Huntsman’s blessing, Paxton will live a long, long life. And if they want more than that, then maybe Jeremiah can turn him.

“Well, it is what it is,” Paxton says. He looks at me again, smile smaller than usual but still present. “You should get back and rest. I don’t know if we’ll move on this place tonight, but we should be ready for it.”

I don’t want to go, but he’s right, and it’s not like we’ve heard a peep from the twins all night. “Call me if you spot anything, okay? Anything.”

“Aye, aye,” Paxton says, smile a little bigger, and I hit my shoulder against his before I walk away.

Mates. I never had a mate while I was a wolf, even though they seemed more common back then. Around half my pack found their mates, and I was looking forward to meeting my own.

When the Huntsman offered to save me, I was so focused on the loss of my wolf that I didn’t consider the rest of it.

And even then, it didn’t occur to me for the longest time.

We keep an eye on the fae, which usually means keeping a distance from other wolves, and aside from Rook and Saide, all the rest of the Hunt were alone and…

I shake off those thoughts and take the tube back to my flat, but they’re still lurking there as I clamber into bed and try to fall asleep. Quinn was here. He still hasn’t called me back. He was upset, wasn’t he, and he could have—

I toss and turn and as soon as the sky begins to darken, I get ready and head out again. Vlad sends me a text to let me know I should be at the base later on tonight—he and Maurice are watching Mischief & Mayhem, looking out for any vampires who might go inside.

It’s hardly surprising then that I find myself waiting outside Kieran’s pack house. Is Quinn in there? I don’t think he’ll leave the city until whatever deal he struck with the twins has come to fruition, and I didn’t see him go to the pub last night.

An hour passes before Quinn sneaks out of the side of the building. He clambers down the fire escape, all hunched like the very first time I saw him, and at least he looks like he’s healed from his beating the other night.

I don’t let him out of my sight this time. Fuck knows how he managed to hide before. He hears me, though, and stops once we’re around the corner, eyeing me like he’s about to get into trouble.

Words fail me, at least for a second. The physical hurts have healed, sure, but Quinn’s dark eyes are wary, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“How are you?” I ask.

He frowns. “Fine. I’m fine.” He turns to walk away, and I lunge forward and grab his wrist.

I don’t hold on tight, but he jerks to a stop and looks back at me.

“What are you doing, Asher?”

“You called me last night. You were upset.”

“Well, I’m fine now.”

“ Quinn .”

His pulse jumps under my fingers, breath catching in his throat. He might be young, but there’s no denying the fact that the way I’m looking out for him is more than I’ve felt the need to look out for anyone else.

There’s a difference between the desire to protect a pack member that I feel when I look at Grant, for instance, and this urge I have now to tug Quinn closer and promise to keep him safe.

“I need to go,” he says, the words tight and fast. “I’m fine, okay? You don’t need to worry about me.”

I’m sure I’m wrong, but still. “Was it because of the kiss?”

“What?”

“Were you upset because we kissed? Because I kissed you?”

Quinn shakes his head. “You didn’t. I kissed you.”

“Yeah, but you—you were hurt, and I—”

Quinn lets out an irritated breath but takes a step closer. It’s my heart’s turn to skip a beat, then to run a little faster.

“Stop it,” he says, and I don’t know if he means the command to be harsh, but I hear affection beneath that. “I shouldn’t have called, okay? I’m sorry. I’m fine. And I really, really have to go.”

“To…” Fuck. Of course he does. Where else does he go? The words rush out of me before I can stop them. “Vlad and Maurice are watching the place tonight. Maurice won’t tell your pack. He’s there for the Hunt, but you should know, in case…”

In case he wants to hide. Quinn’s eyes widen when I press my lips together, swallowing everything else I want to say. Everything I want to ask .

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Be careful, okay? Please?”

Quinn twists his wrist, and for a moment, our hands press together. “I’ll be careful. I’ve got to go.”

I nod, and he lets go. I watch him walk away.

Whatever we have to do tonight, I’ll meet him afterwards. He’s not running off anywhere, not without saying goodbye.