Page 27

M y sleep was troubled that night. I dreamt of being trapped in a dark, damp space, bound so tightly that I could only move my head. The air was thick with the smell of damp and something metallic. Shadowy figures moved across what little light filtered through, but when I tried to call out, my throat burned and no sound came. Each breath was a struggle, my head swimming from lack of oxygen. I fought against whatever held me, my muscles straining until they shook, but nothing gave. No help came.

When I woke, I could still feel phantom rope burns on my skin, too vivid for just a dream. I sat up, rotating my shoulders to prove I could move as I tried and failed to shake off the claustrophobia. My collarbone ached with the motion. The curtains were pulled tightly closed, a solitary ray of sunlight peeking through a gap beneath the sill, filling the room with warm pinkish light.

Tom was watching me from the chair by the door, his head propped on one hand. He looked worse than I felt – his clothes from yesterday were creased and untidy from sleeping in the chair, unwashed black hair falling across his forehead. The wound on his throat caught my attention, standing out livid and raw against his skin. My stomach twisted at the sight.

“You’re awake,” he stated, but there was no hostility there. I’d missed that.

I swung my legs out from under the duvet and wrapped myself in my dressing gown. “Finally. Are my parents still here?”

Tom shifted in his chair. “No. They left not long after you passed out. They’re…”

“Furious?” I asked, settling on the end of the bed.

“They’re glad you’re alive, Erin,” he corrected, voice hoarse with exhaustion. His fingers traced the wound on his neck. “We all are.”

I nodded, unsure if I agreed. “What did you tell them?”

“I fobbed them off reasonably well, I think. It was probably easier to hear my lies for a change. I said it must have been a police mix-up, you needed to rest, blah blah,” he smiled weakly. “Your mum was pretty sceptical, but your dad… he knows how it is, I suppose?”

“He knows when to leave it.” It was my turn to correct Tom. “He doesn’t want to know more. Neither of them do.”

“I had to call them.” It was almost an apology. “I thought you were…” He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, not meeting my eye. “And after Jon, too.”

I ran both hands through my hair, closing my eyes against the threat of tears. The morning traffic was picking up outside, the rumble of engines mixing with the scrape of next door’s bins being dragged out. “This is so fucked up, Tom .

“Yeah,” he exhaled loudly, stretching. His joints cracked – he must have been sitting there for hours. “It made me think about when my sister broke her arm climbing the oak in our back garden. My parents were away at some conference, and I was supposed to be watching her.” A faint smile touched his lips. “She made me promise not to tell them before I drove her to hospital. Like they weren’t gonna find out the second they got home.”

“You never mention her,” I said. There was still something tentative about the way we were talking to each other, so I was surprised he’d brought up his family, of all things.

“Priya,” he murmured, his expression softening. “No, I suppose I don’t. She’s the only one who still speaks to me. Sends birthday cards sometimes.” He shrugged, but I could see how much the situation hurt him. “I miss her. She came by the shop once… before everything.” He glanced away, composing himself. “Anyway, what I meant was your dad took it better than mine would’ve. He was worried, but not… you know.”

I nodded, understanding what he meant. There was a quiet resilience about my dad that I’d always appreciated, even when we weren’t on the best terms.

“It has to have been them, though, right?” I changed the subject, seeing how the mention of his sister had affected him.

He rubbed at the wound on his neck. “What else could it be? All this—” he gestured towards me, “it had to be for a reason. But why go to so much effort just to throw you off your game or whatever?”

“If that was their goal, it worked,” I said, pursing my lips. “ Last night, I walked into a room filled with people grieving for me. I mean, how am I supposed to react to that? It’s like attending your own funeral.” My eyes filled with tears despite my efforts to hold them back, and I wiped them away impatiently.

“How did it happen?” Tom asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… the police had a body and what was left of your car – but you were nowhere to be found. They checked the area for other casualties and the usual, and it sounded like it was the same bridge you described. You weren’t there,” he explained. “So, where did you go?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I was in the stream when I woke up. My head was… messed up. That’s it. I might not have even crashed the car,” I said, realising it was true. “The last thing I remember was heading into the valley. I had a headache, and maybe wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been.”

Tom scowled. “It was sunny. I suppose if they waited until you got under the trees, they’d have had some shade. But how did they know where you were going to be?” He looked like he hadn’t properly considered the idea before.

“Maybe they were following me?” The thought settled uneasily in my stomach. But it was the one thing that made sense. And Tom was right, it had been sunny. I remembered the image Adam had shown me before the crash – the woman who’d been coming into Jolt, and during the day. I filled Tom in on the revelation.

“Great. One more thing to worry about.” He shook his head. “So, if they caused an accident, you might have already been unconscious when it happened – but not for long, not with your abilities.” He paused and shrugged. “If this woman can get about in the day, maybe she drugged you?”

I thought about it. “The car smelled strongly of something. I assumed it was petrol, but… my head was pounding, the sun was in my eyes…” I shrugged. “I just don’t know.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. A car went by in the street outside, its engine rattling.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually. “For everything that’s been said between us recently, and…” I hesitated. “For being dead. Or you having to go through that. Thinking that.”

Tom chuckled, his warm brown eyes crinkling. “Only you would apologise for dying, Erin.”

I laughed with him, shaking my head again, but I was glad he was there. That things were starting to resemble normal again.

I stared at the patch of sunlight on the floor, trying to piece it together. “It’s weird, though, right?” I asked. “They had me there – unconscious, helpless. Why put me back in the stream? They could have finished it then and there.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.” Tom’s voice was quiet. He touched the wound on his neck again. “Honestly? I think they’re playing with us. Showing us they can take you whenever they want, however they want. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

The chill that had been building spread through my chest. I remembered Isabel’s words about revenge. “Fuck. You’re right.” I looked up at Tom. “This isn’t about killing me at all. Kidnapping me wasn’t even about me.”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s about Nicholas. About showing him he can’t protect me – that I can’t protect myself, or anyone else.” I swallowed. “They’re making him watch while they pick apart my life. Making him feel helpless.”

Tom’s jaw tightened at Nicholas’s name, but he didn’t argue. The silence stretched between us, heavy with implications neither of us wanted to voice.

“We need to put an end to this,” he said, finally. “It’s about time we mounted an attack instead of half-arsing a defence while they chip away at our lives.”

“If we understood their motives better, maybe we could find a way,” I said, getting up to search for my jeans. The familiar routine felt strange after everything that had happened. “Pissing off Nicholas seems to be at the top of that list.”

Tom pushed himself up from the chair. “Top of a lot of lists,” he muttered, glancing away. He watched me rummage through my drawers for a moment. “Let me think about it. I’ll email Adam or whatever – get them to meet us after dark.” He sized me up with something close to his old smirk. “You get a shower first, yeah? You could do with it.”

The attempt at normal banter felt fragile, but I was grateful for it. Maybe we could find our way back to how things used to be. If we survived all this.

???

I t was early afternoon by the time I made it downstairs and managed some breakfast. I enjoyed the normality of making scrambled eggs; whisking the mixture and turning it over and over on itself in the pan as it cooked. To absolutely nobody’s surprise, after days without eating, I was ravenous.

As I went through the motions, I had a lot to think about. By the time I piled my plate high with eggs, bacon and mushrooms, something that should have been completely obvious clicked into place in my mind – and it was something I could use.

I’d learned a long time ago that the best way to let an idea come to fruition was to look away and ignore it for a while. This one was… risky, and I didn’t much like it. So instead of dwelling on it, I let it stew while I sat at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of fresh coffee, breakfast and Nicholas’s first diary.

Maybe it wasn’t the best time to get to know him better – but it was the distraction I needed, and I had to start sometime. I pulled his jacket onto my lap while I read, pushing my arms through the sleeves and breathing in that uniquely appealing scent of his that lingered in the lining.

The soft, worn leather of the diary flopped away from the pages as I opened it, but it didn’t contain anything close to what I’d expected. I’d been prepared for the out of control violence and slaughter I’d seen so many times from newborn vamps over the years – but here, Nicholas was young, only fifteen, and still very much human. It was a part of his life I’d never expected to learn about.

My fingers traced the faded ink where his immature scrawl filled the earliest pages – complaints about his father’s demands on his time, when all he dreamed of was glory on the battlefield. The musty scent of centuries-old paper filled my nose as I turned each delicate page, discovering how it had been decided he should learn to read and write to continue the family’s tailoring business.

When he finally ran away from home, the pages began to overflow – his guilt and confusion clear in the words and the smudged ink where he hurried them, desperate to explain himself. His desertion took a harder toll on him than he’d confessed to me before, and it wasn’t long before he was back in battle, throwing himself into war in search of redemption.

The sun was getting low in the kitchen window as I reached for another diary, unable to stop myself from pushing through to 1657, the year he’d become a vampire. The spine cracked as I opened it, the crumbling pages revealing how his siring had brought him an unexpected clarity, though his words were no less conflicted. There was no relief from his guilt. Instead, he wrote of how he believed he was being punished: for deserting the military, and for being weak enough to run, after he’d abandoned his family to be there.

His strangely lilting voice seemed to rise from the yellowed pages as I read his entry:

31st October 1657

near Dunn’s River Falls

I cannot understand what has happened to change me so. The world is the same as it was before, and yet I see more with these eyes than I had ever dreamed was present on Earth. Everything is so much clearer than it was.

As I write, I’m surrounded by the stench of the unwashed soldiers in our tent, and though the stink of their sweat and filth repulses me, I’m drawn to their flesh despite it.

Yesterday, we lost men. Those who remain are grieving for their fallen comrades despite our win. The Governor does not believe we’ll have more trouble, but it is all I can do to focus on anything but the bloodshed.

A new hunger claws like a demon within me when I pass the lines of the dead, as yet unburied. Their blood seeps into the earth below, feeding it, and I cannot turn away.

I fear I won’t be able to control myself much longer.

Maybe it was odd, but my first response was more sympathetic than anything, as he described becoming a creature he didn’t understand, and dug deep within himself to find the strength to show restraint. I couldn’t ignore the parallels between his struggle and my own – yes, I was a hunter, not a vampire. But the desire to give into my darker side, to follow through on the visceral demands of my body and kill… it wasn’t all that different.

I ran my fingers over the dry, fragile pages, absorbed in his description as he fed for the first time on a living person and fell into despair for his immortal soul. As he grew more and more certain that with the act of killing, God was showing him who he really was, and promising him he’d never find salvation.

If nothing else, it was easy to tell from these entries how much he detested the person he was becoming – though his handwriting and vocabulary had improved, his words became more detached with each day.

I pushed through the early years. These entries were closer to what I’d been expecting, his actions becoming more despicable – and often described in more detail than I really wanted. But I was determined to work my way through everything I could. It was almost as if he was trying to force himself to remember each victim by confessing the crimes to paper.

The sheer scope of his existence grew more overwhelming with every page. The decades that had shaped my entire identity were barely a blink to him, and I had to wonder what my life could possibly be to someone who had witnessed centuries – a brief spark in the darkness of his endless night. Even if we survived all that was happening, would I eventually become just another memory in his impossibly long existence? I was a hunter, but I was still mortal. The thought sent an unexpected pang through my chest.

Immersed as I was, I didn’t notice the sun setting and the kitchen growing dark around me.

“Reading anythin’ interesting?” A familiar accent came from behind me. I jumped at the sound, spilling cold coffee across the table .

Nicholas stood in the doorway, the lamplight from the living room casting shadows across his face. In black jeans and a dark blue shirt that clung to his broad shoulders, he was practically a shadow himself, but I caught the glint of amusement in his green-gold eyes. I didn’t want him to think I had been prying, even though I definitely had been.

“I didn’t realise what time it was,” I said, ignoring his question as I switched on the light and crossed to the sink to get a cloth for the spillage, quickly untangling myself from the sleeves of his leather jacket.

“Aye, tis easy to get lost in a good story,” he agreed. I peeked over at him as I pushed the diary aside to clean the scrubbed wooden table. He was watching me, a smile playing on his lips like a secret.

“A story implies fiction,” I said. “Are you saying what you wrote was a lie?” It amazed me I could still tease him.

“No,” he laughed, but he seemed unable to hold it on his face. “I wish it were.

I shrugged. “We all have a past. This is yours. I need to know about it, if…” I trailed off.

Nicholas ran a hand through his dark waves, his eyes never leaving mine. “Aye, and ye deserve the truth of it,” he replied quietly. “Whatever comes next, I ken that much. There’s no path to… well, I dinnae expect your forgiveness, Erin. But the truth is yours, to make of what you will.”

His shoulders tensed slightly as he continued. “Thinkin’ you were gone, I’ve realised tis better for ye to hear the darkest parts, shameful as they may be. I’d rather ye see them and the man I’ve fought to become, even if in the end, you choose to walk away. At least that way, I’ll ken – that my centuries searching for ye wisnae in vain. That you existed after all, and twas my own folly that led to a lonely fate.”

“I think it’s too late to walk away,” I murmured, surprised at my own honesty.

For a split second, a smile lit up his face, transforming his features with a warmth that made my breath catch. “I winnae blame ye if that was your decision, love. But…” His eyes darkened. “I’d fight for ye.”

He looked away, staring at something beyond the kitchen window and the small, dark garden outside. “I’ve learned to trust my senses above all else. But these last days, after they found the body… the car, the clothes… she may have looked a wee bit like ye, but it wasnae you.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Somethin’ inside me knew. And I searched that damned road a hundred times over, til Adam dragged me away.

“I could feel you, in here,” he said, pushing the heel of his hand into his chest. “I cannae explain it, but my heart knew ye’d come back to me.”

The words hung between us, weighted with his hope. His… No. I couldn’t even think it. It was too much, too intense. How was I supposed to process a faith in me that had existed since before I was born?

I glanced down at the diary still on the table, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt. Pushing it aside, I crossed the small space, flicking the kettle on at the switch as I scrabbled for a safer topic.

“Do you drink coffee? You know, beverages? ”

He nodded, grinning again without reacting to my awkward change of subject. “Aye, I do.”

“Oh. Well then, would you like a coffee or a cup of tea, Mr… Murray?” I paused, unsure. “Or Mr Baird Murray? Is that right?”

I couldn’t take my eyes away from him as he chuckled, the emerald of his eyes twinkling across the kitchen at me.

“I dinnae think we need to worry about formalities at this point. Besides, I’ve gone by many names. I winnae wish to confuse ye.”

“I’ll stick with Nicholas.” I laughed with him, leaning against the counter while I waited for the kettle to boil. He closed the space between us with his usual fluid grace, resting his hands lightly on my waist. His cool fingers found the skin just above my jeans, and every nerve ending came alive at his touch. The contrast between his chill skin and my warmth made me want to press closer.

“And a cuppa would be lovely, my midnight wanderer,” he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. “Though I can think o’ sweeter things to taste.” He traced a long finger along my throat, and I shivered – despite all I’d read today, I didn’t think it had anything to do with fear.

“Am I interrupting something?” The words cut through the kitchen, Tom’s voice as sharp as broken glass.

I jerked away from Nicholas, my fingers fumbling with the ceramic mugs. The spoon clinked loudly against the porcelain in the sudden silence.

“Erin is makin’… ah, beverages.” Nicholas’s rich brogue was st ill silky-soft, and he took an unhurried step back.

“Right,” Tom said coldly. “Well, we need to get started, so hurry up.”

I glanced through the glass doors to the living room and saw Isabel and Adam had arrived. Nicholas’s presence had distracted me more thoroughly than I’d realised. I rushed to pour out the drinks and hid a smile as a reluctant Nicholas followed me through.

Adam was drawing the curtains against the early evening, shutting out the wind that whistled through the bay window. The radiator ticked over beneath the windowsill, fighting back the winter chill that was almost as pervasive as the silence.

I settled myself in my favourite armchair, and without a word, Nicholas perched himself beside me on the arm of the chair. He leaned back into the wing, close enough that his pine-and-earth scent made it hard to focus. It was all I could do to resist resting my head on his shoulder.

“Shall we begin?” Isabel asked, removing diaries from a leather duffel bag. The deep red silk of her blouse caught the lamplight as she moved, highlighting the warm tones in her loose hair.

Tom’s chair wheels scraped against the floor as he reached for his mug. I caught the tension in his jaw – he clearly didn’t like being told what to do by a vampire, but Isabel didn’t react.

“Izzie, perhaps you should update us all on exactly what you’ve learned since we last spoke, before anything else.” Adam appeared at my elbow, settling himself beside Isabel on the faded velvet sofa. His blue eyes found Nicholas’s in silent communication .

“What? What have you found out?” My heart picked up speed.

“It is nothing of great consequence.” Isabel’s fingers traced the edge of a diary, her short, clean nails stark against the leather. “Though it brings us no closer to unveiling the truth, it may be of interest.”

My eyes darted between the three immortals, waiting for an answer.

“The body they found in your car.” Nicholas’s lilt softened his words. “Twas a woman named Lauren Truelove. She was the same age as you, of a similar height and build,” he added, looking to Isabel for confirmation. “No too dissimilar to the other woman who was left at Adam’s.”

Tom reached up to touch the half-healed wound at his throat. “I know that name from somewhere. I’m sure I do.”

Isabel handed a piece of paper to Adam. It looked like a police report.

“You may,” Adam agreed, taking the paper and glancing at it. “While social media might not be my forte, Izzie has done a little research, and it would appear she had a brief dalliance with Jonathan last year. She also applied for the manageress role at Jolt.” He frowned at the photo on the paper, then looked up sharply. “Wait. Nick, isn’t this…?”

Nicholas took the paper and went very still. A muscle in his jaw tightened.

“You fed from her at the club,” Adam murmured. “Last week.”

Tom’s chair creaked as his head snapped up. “What? ”

“And the woman on your doorstep,” Nicholas said, his voice hollow. He passed a hand over his face, almost human in the gesture. “I thought I kent her, but I couldnae be sure. I left them both alive.”

I tried not to react to his words, but my fingers tightened around my mug. The idea that he’d still been feeding, after everything… but I knew what he was, didn’t I?

“Had you interacted with Jon or Maggie before they died?” Tom pushed away from the desk to face him straight on. “If the killer’s targeting people you’ve been in contact with…”

Nicholas shook his head. “I never met either of them.”

“But there might still be a pattern,” Isabel said, inching forward. “Was there anything notable about how they died? Similarities?”

Tom gave me a long, questioning look. If there was ever a time to trust them with what we knew – what he’d found out – now was it. I held his gaze, and he nodded. Turning back to his laptop, the blue light from the screen cast shadows across his face as he pulled up the older files with a few taps. “Jon was isolated in that hotel room for days. The staff said he wasn’t eating, didn’t respond to calls or knocks, never left his room. We’ve got no idea if that was down to him though, or if he was kept there by force. And Maggie…” He swallowed hard, his throat working. “Brad said her death was weirdly precise. The water temperature controlled to stop her blood from clotting.”

I watched Nicholas’s face as Tom spoke. He’d gone pale, his hands gripping the knees of his jeans until I thought he’d rip right through the fabric .

“Three redheads who look like Erin,” Tom said slowly. “And Jon being Nicholas’s descendant… but the methods seem all over the place. Different kills, different styles.”

“Unless the point isn’t the killing itself,” Adam murmured, his gaze fixed on Nicholas. “The precision, the drawn-out nature of it… Perhaps they merely intend to make Nick watch as people connected to him are systematically destroyed.”

“But I haven’t even opened the applications for the job yet,” I said, pushing back against my chair. “So how did they know Lauren had applied?”

“It seems they have been watching more carefully than we thought,” Isabel said. “And of course, there is still the matter of the bridge incident. Suspicions will have been aroused with the police – particularly now they know you are alive, Erin.”

Tom set his mug down with a loud clink. “They haven’t been to speak to us at all. I’d have thought they would.”

“As would I.” A small crease appeared between her eyebrows, as she watched him closely. He broke eye contact first, picking up his mouse and fiddling with it. “One might assume someone was preventing them from doing so.”

No one had anything to say to that. I ran a hand through my hair, wondering how to bring up my idea, but Isabel broke the silence for me.

“I believe Adam is correct.”

He studied her, his eyes wide. “I often am, though to which matter are you referring?”

“This is… torture, of a kind. Psychological warfare.”

Tom frowned. “It’s not exactly pulling teeth and fingernails… ”

“Not all torments are visited upon the flesh.” She returned his curious look before addressing the rest of us. “It seems clear at this stage that the killers are playing a game – toying with you, Erin, as a means of targeting Nick.” Nicholas frowned at her as she continued. “He is certainly the strongest common denominator, which leads me to wonder if your meeting at all might also have been orchestrated – though one wonders what they might have to gain from such an action, unless they had hoped you might kill one another.”

“But—” I began.

“Of course, the moment Nick saw you, he knew who you were. What you might mean to him,” she went on. “He would never hurt you, or let harm come to you. But it is unlikely the killers could have predicted such a scenario.”

Nicholas barked a bitter laugh. “I havnae exactly kept her safe so far.”

“No. And yet she is physically well enough. Mentally though…”

I gazed at the floorboards. She wasn’t wrong.

“They could have killed you already, and they chose to give you back.” Adam surprised me by agreeing with Isabel. “It may have been a test of your limits, but it was also an effective way to make Nick suffer, just like leaving a body that looked like you on the doorstep for him to find. If even temporarily, they made him believe you were dead.”

Tom made a low whistling sound, staring at Nicholas. “I don’t even want to know what you did to deserve this.”

Nicholas said nothing. He’d done plenty – everyone present knew as much. But was it any more than Isabel, or anyone else?

I cleared my throat to break the awkward silence that fell, choosing my next words carefully.

“Okay. So they brought us together. They’ve done… awful things,” I paused. “And they’re escalating.”

“Go on,” Adam encouraged.

“They’re one step ahead, watching us. They know everything about us, apparently.”

“I’m not sure you need to reiterate—”

I cut Tom off. “Give me a minute. So why has it worked? Why haven’t we done something, or learned more by now?”

Isabel looked thoughtful. “I suppose we have been hindered by a lack of cooperation,” she mused, glancing at Tom. “The killers have chosen to remain in the shadows, using false identities… And of course, Nick and I sleep during the day, which has likely had an unfortunate effect.”

“Lack of cooperation is a funny way of putting it,” Tom chimed in.

“Yeah, but she’s right.” I gave him a hard look. “You and I have barely been speaking since Maggie died. I’ve been trying to manage on my own – so Jolt’s taken a downturn – and you’ve only shared your giant genius brain with these guys in the last few days.” I smiled a little to soften my words. “Everyone in this room has had some kind of conflict with at least one person here.”

“You’re suggesting our continued discord has allowed them to remain one step ahead,” Isabel murmured.

“Yes!” I nodded. “It’s why they’ve been playing dress up as you two,” I gestured to Isabel and Nicholas. “They convinced Tom that Nicholas attacked him, and both of us that you guys were behind everything that happened in the beginning. It’s probably the reason all the women killed were redheads, too.”

Adam looked impressed. “I rather think you’re right.”

“And what would you have us do with such knowledge?” Isabel raised an eyebrow. “We are no longer at odds – mostly – but I would hardly call it an advantage on our part.”

“It is and it isn’t,” I edged. “If they’re paying as much attention as we think, then they’ve probably figured out the gig’s up, and it’s only a matter of time before we’re on to them. Whatever their ultimate move – probably to kill Nicholas – it’ll come soon.”

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. “But we still don’t know how to find them. And if that’s the case, we don’t have time to go digging any more.”

It was time to tell them my big, kind of stupid idea – and I already knew they weren’t going to like it.

“We have to try something different,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my coffee mug, dreading what I was about to suggest. Every instinct screamed against deliberately creating vulnerability, against putting anyone else at risk. But sitting back, doing more pointless research while these bastards stayed one step ahead, manipulating us, torturing Nicholas… “What if… what if we gave them what they want?”

Nicholas froze beside me, the slight pressure of his leg against my arm vanishing. The loss of contact was like a physical ache, but I pressed on.

“A rift between us. Something big enough to make them think they’re in the clear.” The words tasted bitter in my mouth. “They want us divided because it’s easier to torture us that way. But if we can trick them into thinking we hate each other while actually working together , we might be able to buy ourselves time to make a real move.”

“You would have us feign a quarrel?” Isabel’s liquid brown eyes watched me intently.

I nodded. Nicholas was staring down at me, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. “If they think they’ve succeeded in turning us against each other, they won’t go for the big finale.” I swallowed hard. “I know it’s a massive risk – they’ve killed to drive wedges between us before. But they’re going to keep killing anyway, and at least this way we’ll still be around to fight back. We’ll just have to work fast. Like, faster than they do.”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Tom burst out. “After what happened to Maggie? To Jon? You want to give them more targets? Maybe they’ll go after Brad, or your parents. Maybe they’ll come for me .”

“No!” The word came out sharper than I intended. I forced myself to take a deep breath. “Hell, no. Of course I don’t want that. But that’s why we need to coordinate. If we can set up extra protection for anyone they might target – my parents, you , Bradley. Maybe even people Nicholas has met at the jazz club recently…” I swallowed loudly, pushing myself to keep going. “We’ve got some idea how they’re picking and choosing victims now. We have to do something . ”

The room fell silent. I could feel Nicholas’s eyes still burning into me, but I kept my own fixed on my hands. They were still shaking, and I clenched them into fists.

“It could work, at least for a little while,” Isabel said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “But the cost…”

“I know.” My voice cracked. “Believe me, I know. But what’s the alternative? Wait for them to kill someone else and hope they leave a clue? Keep reacting instead of acting?” The thought of more innocent deaths made my stomach turn. I hated myself for suggesting something so… cavalier with other people’s lives. But the darker part of me – the hunter part – had been itching for a real fight for weeks. “This way we set the battlefield. Buy a little time.”

“Erin’s right.” Nicholas’s voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it. “We cannae keep playin’ their game, now we ken what the rules are.”

I finally looked up at him and saw the same painful understanding in his eyes that I was feeling. Neither of us wanted this. But sometimes protecting others meant making impossible choices.

I glanced at Adam and Isabel – his face carefully controlled, hers thoughtful. At Tom across the room, dismay in his eyes but determination around his mouth. It didn’t exactly feel like a triumphant moment. Or like a plan that had a snowball’s chance. But it was what we had.

Nicholas stood abruptly, the sudden absence of his cool presence leaving me oddly bereft.

“I need some air. Adam?” I caught a slight tremor beneath his usual accent. The smile he gave me as he passed held a hint of his usual warmth, though something darker lurked beneath it.

My skin prickled with awareness as he moved past my chair, and I gripped the armrest tightly, resisting the urge to follow him out. Instead, I forced myself to meet Tom’s troubled gaze.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Erin.”

So did I.