Page 6 of The Enemy to the Living (The Wild Hunt #2)

Asher

I know Quinn wants to run. It doesn’t take a genius to see it. But he doesn’t, and if he tries, I won’t let him.

No point going to a café if we’re not going to buy anything, so I lead Quinn down another street, to a patch of grass in front of a block of flats that will serve us well enough.

Quinn frowns when I drop into the grass and folds himself down slowly.

He holds himself stiffly, apparently nervous to be anywhere near me.

That doesn’t surprise me, though I find I do not particularly like it. I’m not sure why. I want him not to be afraid of me, I suppose.

I want to see that wolf I saw last night.

“What do you want?” he asks, voice pinched and small. He still looks as though he might run at any moment. I cross my legs in front of me and lean back on my hands.

“I need to know more about the fights you’re involved with.”

Quinn’s eyes widen. His entire body tenses; he’s ready to bolt. I don’t move. If I’m too quick, push too hard, then I’ll get nothing from him. He’s our best bet for finding out where the high fae have gone, or when they’ll be back again.

“What do you need to know?” Quinn asks eventually. He stops looking at me, turning his attention to the grass, running his fingers through it. There’s not a mark on his hands, of course, even though he was fighting just last night. No sign he was ever there at all.

“If they’ve moved. Where to, if they have. Why there are wolves and vampires fighting with fae. Anything the high fae who run the place have said to you, or promised you in exchange for fighting, or…”

I trail off when I see the way Quinn has paled. He is still not looking at me, but the hand he has moving through the grass is shaking.

“Quinn?”

“I don’t know all of that,” he says. “I don’t think I know any more than you do right now.”

“Yes, you do. Even if you don’t think so, you do. How many fights have you done so far?” I try to remember what the bartender said. “Three? Four?”

“Last night would have been four.”

“So you’ve been there a bit,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle. I can’t understand why. Whatever Quinn is getting out of these fights is not at all evident to me right now. None of that wolf I saw last night is in him at all. “What do you know about the high fae?”

“You mean the twins?”

“Yeah.”

Quinn shrugs. “I dunno. I met them when I first went in. They’re kind of weird, I guess.”

“And they run everything in there?”

“Yes.”

“Have you heard them talk about any other places? Somewhere they might stay when they’re not at the pub?”

“No.” Quinn darts a quick glance at my face, shoulders tense. I frown. I don’t like that. There’s no punishment for not giving me an answer, especially if it’s an answer he doesn’t know. “I thought maybe they stayed in the pub, to be honest.”

“And the non-fae fighters? What do you know about them?”

If Quinn was reticent in telling me anything about the fae who run the fights, he’s even more so now.

“Nothing,” he says, and this time I know he’s lying. “Why are you after them?”

“We’re not.” It doesn’t matter to the Hunt whether or not the fae are fighting each other.

Doesn’t really matter if they are fighting vampires or werewolves, either.

Wolves are not truly human and never have been, so it is not our place to protect them.

And while vampires might have once fallen under our jurisdiction, from my experiences with them, most would rather chew off their own arms than ask for help.

“Not the fighters. The twins.”

I sigh. Obviously, Quinn was still at Deacon’s pack house after we all left—he knows what Maurice asked the Huntsman when he got his blessing back. It doesn’t mean he understands the true gravity of it, of course.

“They’re high fae.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“They shouldn’t be here.”

Quinn frowns. “Why not?”

“Because high fae aren’t allowed to come and go through the veil as they please. They’re too dangerous. They’re supposed to stay in the Otherworld unless it’s been agreed they can come here.”

“So…” Quinn trails off. He’s plucking at his jeans, but he darts me a look that tells me he has a question that needs answering.

“So?”

“Your Huntsman,” he says, and somehow the words don’t sound quite right. “He’s allowed to do what he wants?”

“He founded the Wild Hunt specifically to prevent humans from being manipulated. He doesn’t often cross through the veil, but when he goes back to the Otherworld, it’s on Hunt business.”

At least, as far as I know, it is. I don’t know that he has any friends there, that he had any family. I don’t know anything about him.

I don’t want to. Things are easier that way.

“One rule for him and one for everyone else?” Quinn asks mildly. There’s an undercurrent of distaste in his voice, though; he doesn’t like it.

“Yes. To an extent.”

“So why are you after the twins then? Just because they crossed over?”

“Yes. They should have stayed where they were.”

Quinn runs his fingers through the grass now. “I really don’t know where they are,” he says and doesn’t add not that I’d tell you if I did , which I appreciate. “I don’t know if they’re planning to move the fights, either.”

“Will you tell me if they do?”

“I don’t want—”

“I just need to know if they’re back on. If they’re in the same place.”

“What about all the fae who take part in the fights? The ones who come to watch?”

I shrug. “If they’re not threatening humans, they’re not my concern.”

“And the rest…?”

“If they’re not fae, they’re not my concern, either.”

“I-I don’t…” Quinn scowls down at the grass.

“Let me just give you my number then,” I say. “If you want, you can text me to let me know if the fights have changed their location.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

I hand Quinn a scrap of paper with my number scribbled on it.

I’ve had a few handy since Grant first gave me the damn phone because the fae we end up dealing with might like pretending they’re above us and have completely adapted to this world, but most of them are about as inept with technology as I am.

We’re all doing better than Maurice, I suppose.

“You don’t have to,” I say, realising the silence has gone on for too long. “But I’d appreciate it.”

Quinn takes the scrap of paper from me and when he does, our fingers brush. A shock goes up my arm, startling me and making my hand drop. Quinn frowns.

“I’ll do what I can,” he says. “But they haven’t hurt anyone, and I don’t think they’ve tricked anyone into fighting there, either.”

“Not even you?”

When our gazes meet this time, there’s a flicker of flame in his eyes. No sign of his wolf, but then what I said is hardly the gravest of insults.

“Especially not me,” Quinn says, and before I can ask him to stay and explain what he means, he gets to his feet, brushing his jeans down. “Do you need anything else? I need to go and meet Drew.”

I tip my head back, looking up at him. “No, I suppose not.” I smile as he turns away. “Don’t forget to put that number in your phone!”

Quinn waves me off and keeps walking down the street. I watch until he goes around the corner and out of my sight. My blessing sloshes in my chest, like wine overflowing from a goblet. I rub the spot, frowning at the mild ache.

It is a good reminder. I should return and rest more because if we do get a lead on those twins, I do not want to put myself—or anyone else—in danger. I groan and get to my feet. Time to head back then.

When I arrive back at the Wild Hunt’s London base, I’m surprised to find Grant still awake and sitting on the sofa in the living room. Naturally, the windows are all covered, but he should not be awake at all.

My understanding is that the pull of the sun is what has vampires snoozing the day away. Younger vampires—fledglings, which Grant is, or at least should be —sometimes fall asleep where they stand in the first few years because they are that sensitive to it.

But Grant appears… unconcerned. He has another old book in his hands and frowns at whatever he’s reading, not noticing me at all.

That is the more concerning part of this picture. He should always be aware of his surroundings, whether he is in the base or not. What if someone else had come in?

“What are you doing awake?”

Grant doesn’t look up. “Was gonna ask you what you’re doing lurking in the doorway like that.” He turns a page. “You’re making the place look untidy.”

I sigh and drop onto the sofa next to him. “Where’s Vlad?”

“Bed.”

“Shouldn’t you be there, too?”

“What, in Vlad’s bed?”

“In your own .” I debate asking about that—about what, precisely, is between Vlad and Grant.

Vlad insists there’s nothing but won’t explain why he turned him.

At first, I thought that was because I’m not a vampire and he didn’t expect me to understand.

But then I heard Jeremiah ask too, and Vlad didn’t tell him any different.

But there’s no point. Not tonight.

“Not tired,” Grant says with a shrug. He snaps his book closed and looks over at me. “Where’ve you been?”

“Nosy.”

He grins, but it’s too sharp. “Really. You didn’t go out looking for them alone, did you?”

“No,” I reply. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“So you…?”

“I went to meet someone. It’s all okay. All safe.”

Grant doesn’t look as though he quite believes me, though he should. Quinn’s no threat to me; even if he wanted to be, he couldn’t.

“Things are going to get worse, aren’t they?”

“What do you mean?”

Grant pulls his knees up under his chin.

He and Maurice were probably a similar age when they were turned, but Maurice carries the confidence of hundreds of years, and his magic, besides.

Here and now, Grant looks young , painfully so.

I don’t want him to be burdened with all that the Hunt is, but how can he escape it?

Why did Vlad turn him? He’s not known for acting upon whims, and I cannot understand why he would calculate this.

“The fae. All of it. It’s getting worse.”

“We’ve not… The twins escaped, but we’ll get them. We’ll find out where they are and send them back through the veil.”

“Like with Meilyr?”

“Yes. Well, kind of.” The Huntsman took Meilyr personally. Whether he’ll do the same with the twins remains to be seen. “But either way, you’ll be safe.”

“It’s not about that.”

“What is it then?”

“You were…” Grant screws up his expression as he tries to get the words out. “Before, I mean. You weren’t human like I was.”

I swallow hard. Only the Huntsman knows exactly what I was before he gave me his blessing. The others have never asked. I have never shared.

It is easier that way.

Why does Grant sound as though he knows ?

“I wasn’t,” I say. My throat is tight.

“Everyone I knew before, they’re still alive,” Grant says. He’s not dwelling on me; what I might have been is not important. “You get that, right? I’ve seen all of you. You don’t have friends, not really. You’re barely friends with each other.”

“Grant…”

“I worry that it’s not enough.”

“You think we won’t protect this world? It’s ours, too.”

“It’s not enough.” Grant snaps his mouth shut and wraps his arms around his legs. His eyes are feverish and, above us, I hear the creak of Vlad’s bed as he gets up.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It means that my family’s out there,” Grant says, voice hushed because now we can both hear Vlad coming down the stairs. “My friends. I haven’t seen them in fifteen years, but I know they’re still there, and I know they don’t know about any of this.”

“They’re the ones we’re protecting. They are the ones the Huntsman charged us to protect.”

They’re human. That’s what the Huntsman truly concerns us with. Not vampires. Certainly not wolves. Humans.

Grant’s frown only deepens—whatever he truly means, I feel I have not understood—but before he can speak again, Vlad pushes the door open and steps into the living room. He’s wearing a thin dressing gown over his pyjama bottoms and lets out a resigned sigh when he sees Grant is still fully dressed.

“The sun is high. You should be asleep.”

“I’m not a child.”

“It is not—” Vlad shakes his head. “You need to rest.”

“For what?” Grant gets to his feet, movements sharp and irritated. “So I can not go anywhere all night?”

He pushes past Vlad and thumps up the stairs. When his door slams shut, Vlad looks at me. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” I reply, bristling at his tone. “I don’t think it’s me he has a problem with.”

Vlad growls and turns on his heel, making his own way back upstairs. I lean against the cushions and scrub a hand over my face.

Well, fuck me very much, I suppose.