Page 47

Maurice

I recognise that stubborn glint in Njáll’s eye, and it’s what has me moving. The others fall into line when we leave the house behind, and I think he’s surprised when Grant’s the one to order a taxi and they all pile in with us.

He’s even more surprised when Vlad uses his blessing to convince the driver to ignore basic traffic laws—including the fact that there are too many of us in the car—and get to Deacon’s pack house as quickly as he possibly can.

I lean heavily against Njáll’s side, running my fingers over his now-healed arm.

I know he’s still in pain. He’ll manage this, though, because he believes he has to—and he really does. We can’t let this challenge happen, but I’m not sure how Njáll will stop it.

His appearance might be enough. Letting them all know that Augustine is working with Meilyr… That’s going to be trickier. I don’t know if Vlad and Asher will approve of telling them all the truth, even if it is now necessary, what with their world, our world, being under threat.

“We’re here,” Asher says as the pack house comes into view. Vlad is sitting up front, and he grunts his thanks at the driver as we all squeeze out of the car again.

Njáll doesn’t hesitate. He rights his shirt—his jacket was a lost cause in the end, after what I’d done to it to help his arm—and strides up the steps, and I exchange a wry look with Asher before I follow him.

He raises his hand to knock, but before he can, the door swings open and the young wolf on the other side stares at us all with wide eyes. “C-crai, we weren’t—I mean, you’re—”

“Let us in, Noah,” Asher says. “Has it begun yet?”

“No.” Noah steps aside, and Asher pats his shoulder gently as he leads us into the pack house.

Njáll lets him take the lead, which I think is mostly in deference to the fact that Asher so clearly knows where to go and arguing about it will only slow us down. Asher hangs back when we reach the doors to what must be a hall, and I hear the voices from within.

“Augustine Halbrook, you—”

Njáll shoves the doors open and stalks inside.

The room goes silent. I don’t know many of the faces in here, though I recognise Sam and Kieran, as well as Afsaneh, who takes one involuntary step forward before she pauses, eyes suspiciously bright.

“Crai,” Deacon says, recovering the fastest. He’s standing between Augustine and a young, trembling wolf who must be Quinn.

I’m not surprised, all of a sudden, by Njáll’s warnings to Augustine—an old vampire he might be, but Quinn is big and broad even in this form, though he does look vaguely terrified. “You made it.”

It’s a silly thing to say, but considering how stunned everyone still looks, I can’t blame him. Vasile is at the front of the crowd near the wolves and looks for a moment as though he might come closer, but he catches himself quickly, remaining in place.

Augustine sneers and, next to him, Hunter Alwynn shakes her head. “You cannot interfere, crai. Alpha Deacon has agreed to the challenge, as has Mr Murphy.”

Njáll looks at Quinn, I think for the first time. Quinn shakes harder under his gaze, then more when he realises he’s facing other vampires, but his eyes catch on Asher and remain for a few beats too long.

“This isn’t happening,” Njáll says.

There’s no question. No room to manoeuvre. Alwynn opens her mouth again, and Njáll shakes his head firmly.

“It’s not up to you,” Deacon says, and he sounds almost apologetic.

Njáll looks at me once, and I know what he’s asking. I nod. Asher and Vlad will understand. They need to know this.

They all need to know this.

“Maurice and I were held for the past two nights by a high fae who has escaped into this realm and plans to take control of it. Augustine assisted him in this endeavour, presumably because when he kills Quinn during this challenge, which he will certainly attempt, we will all eventually go to war. Regardless of all that, I think you will find that it is up to me. Either Augustine is part of my clan, making me his crai and giving me the power to say that he cannot fight against our allies, or he is a clanless vampire in our territory, which gives me the full authority to run him out.” Njáll’s voice never falters, and his eyes blaze when they land on Augustine. “Or kill him.”

Alwynn shakes her head again. “You cannot simply—”

“I can and I will,” Njáll interrupts. “Augustine has committed a crime in allowing Maurice and me to be kidnapped. He was complicit in his silence, if nothing else. He knew where we were the entire time.” He has never looked away from Augustine, not for a moment, and he might look a little worn, but I know that no one in this room doubts his strength right now.

“Which is it, Augustine? Are you part of our clan, or are you not?”

Vlad gently tugs Grant back, but other than that, he and Asher do not move, silently ready to fight right along with us. I chance a look over at Afsaneh and the vampires with her. They wear expressions just as fierce, as do the members of Kieran’s pack.

We will not be alone in this fight. Meilyr thought to use Augustine to divide this city even further, but there is a chance he may unite them.

“Fuck you,” Augustine hisses, with all the venom he can drag up. “You know what I want.”

He lunges for Quinn. Deacon sees the movement and leaps forward, but Njáll is—unbelievably—even faster. He grabs Augustine around the middle, using his bulk to haul him back and then shoves him, sending him sprawling on the floor.

Augustine pushes up onto his elbows, but he does not stand a chance. Afsaneh and the other vampires—and all the chieftains are here, I realise—surround him, keeping him in place.

He snarls and gnashes his fangs, but it does not take him long to realise there is no way out.

Njáll looks at me. I want him to know that I’ll support him no matter the choice he makes next. How could I not? I’ve killed far more than my fair share, and Augustine hardly registers as someone I would lose sleep over.

But I did not lie to Reijo. Njáll is the best of us. I reach over and skim my fingers across his wrist. He has this situation under control. It is his situation to control.

He nods and lets out a breath, then approaches Augustine. The vampires draw back, but they are still close, all tense and ready to tear Augustine to pieces. Quinn has been folded back into his pack, who seems just as ready to attack should that be necessary.

“Are you going to kill me, Njáll?” Augustine asks, tone mocking. “You told me the wolf would. You won’t even play fair.”

“This is not a game.”

“You think I don’t know that? Kill me then. Get it over with.”

Njáll stands over him, and no one moves. He could do it. They would not judge him for it; I can see that. This is justice within the clan, and there is little they can do.

“No,” Njáll says. “But you are a danger to our city. You’ve proven that by willingly working with Meilyr, and that is a matter beyond any of our scope.

” I grin when I realise where he’s going because I think Augustine is going to like this even less than not getting his revenge.

“I am surrendering you to the Wild Hunt. You are the accomplice of a powerful fae and need to be dealt with accordingly.”

“I—What—” Augustine baulks for the first time, and it is a satisfying expression to see on his face. “You can’t hand me over to them .”

Asher snorts. “Wanna bet?” he says, but as he takes a step forward, Njáll cries out in pain.

At first, I don’t understand. Njáll is standing close to Augustine, sure, but Augustine is still on his back and cannot possibly have—

Magic shimmers in my periphery, and I may not be able to feel it, but I recognise fae magic when I see it. I look at Sam first. “Shield!”

Asher and Vlad are ready, though neither of them is as adept with their blessings as I was. Vlad has Grant at his back and I understand, suddenly, why the Huntsman wants us to keep to ourselves. It doesn’t change that we cannot. Not forever.

I slip my knife from my sleeve and into my hand, fingers curling around the hilt as I scan the room.

Njáll is holding his side, blood pouring between his fingers and dripping onto the marble floor.

Afsaneh is already with him. The hunters are panicking, even the witches among them unsure what to do.

Deacon’s wolves are faring better; he has them under control.

They will all be fine.

Meilyr is out for us. For me .

Magic is usually only visible when a very strong spell is cast, which is why I have not been able to see it since my blessing was taken.

Spectra and Sam working on the wards was not enough.

But Meilyr is angry and injured and wants to cause damage.

I let my vision blur to better focus on unexpected movement, and I have to hope there is enough magic still infused in my blade because it is now an extension of my arm, and I know that as long as I see him, my aim will be true.

Vlad growls. Njáll’s breathing is unsteady, but he will not die. Not here. I turn in a small circle. I feel, somehow, as though Meilyr is mirroring me, preparing to strike.

“Left,” Vlad says, a second before Meilyr flashes into being before me. I dive out of the way, narrowly avoiding a blow, and presumably a burst of magic along with it. My arm curves through the air, blade slashing over Meilyr’s thigh, and he cries out and vanishes again.

The room is loud, panic seeping in where it should not. I daren’t cast a glance at Vlad and Asher, and I know why they’re holding back.

I can kill him.

Even without my blessing, I can kill him. I am a hunter, have been a hunter since I was turned, since I was a witch, since I was a boy.

Meilyr appears again, this time behind me, but I drive an elbow back when he wraps his arm around my throat. He squeezes tight and I tamp down on that lingering instinctual urge to fight for air. I am a vampire, too. Fae might need to breathe, but vampires do not.