Page 8

Njáll

“ I need to be certain that the clan is taking this seriously.”

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to rub my temples every time Hunter Alwynn opens her mouth.

It’s not that I don’t like her—I do. I think, in fact, that she is the best possible person to head up the Council right now and that one day she may even prove to have been a better leader than Moreau could hope for.

I could also do without the condescending reminder, though, that the clan should take attacks on hunters seriously.

“Where is she now?” I ask.

A vampire attacked a hunter last night. I was informed at midday, by which time she had been held by the hunters for several hours without our knowledge, which only adds to my irritation.

I had two of our human clan members dispatched immediately, of course—guards, not donors—but she still spent hours alone.

She is young. I have already checked with Briar, who confirmed she is not the same vampire as the one who drank strange blood a few days ago.

No. This one is from Afsaneh’s district, and the only reason Afsaneh is not here with me is because the heat of her rage crackled down the phone when I called.

It is just me and my shadow.

“In the cells,” Alwynn replies. She lets out a sigh. Another hunter is here, a younger man whose name I do not know. He stands ramrod straight behind Alwynn’s chair, eyes fixed on the back wall.

Maurice has been subtly edging across that wall since we came into the room. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he is trying to plant himself in the hunter’s line of sight.

“Did you ask her anything?”

“Of course,” Alwynn says, and when she sits back in her chair, the other hunter’s attention shifts to her. “But she was out of it, wasn’t she?”

“Yes,” the hunter says. “We were just patrolling, me and Arty… She came out of nowhere. He knew something was wrong right away.”

And she’s lucky he did. I know of Arty; he’s one of the older hunters. He wouldn’t hesitate to stake a vampire actually out to kill him.

“And now?”

“She appears to be… coherent,” Alwynn says. “Whatever had come over her has worn off.”

Maurice shifts his weight behind me. He knows something about this—which I’ve suspected, again, since Briar’s report. There is little point in asking for details; his lips are sealed when it comes to the Hunt, which I am beginning to resent.

I am not without my own knowledge. “Did she seem intoxicated? As you might expect a drunk human to behave?”

Alwynn and the hunter exchange a look. “Yes,” Alwynn says slowly. “How did you…?”

“She ingested magic-laced blood,” I reply because Alwynn might never have seen that before, but I am well aware that some hunters have. “I am not certain why that would make her attack hunters, but I would wager it contributed to her actions.”

“That doesn’t get her off the hook, Njáll,” Alwynn says. “How did she get blood with magic in it in the first place?”

“That is for us to uncover,” I reply.

“Not if she fed from an unregistered donor, it isn’t.”

Alwynn crosses her arms over her chest, and I sigh.

She’s not wrong, as much as I hate to admit it.

There are so many rules surrounding how we feed and when we feed and who we feed from…

And I understand very well why Vasile agreed to them—why all the chieftains, including myself, agreed to them back when the treaty was signed—but that does not mean I have to like them.

It does not mean they do not chafe from time to time.

“I understand,” I say, aware my voice is getting far too terse. “And if I catch a hint of any wrongdoing in that regard, I will let you know. But for now, I need to take my vampire back to her chieftain and ensure that this happens to no other member of the clan.”

“Fine,” Alwynn says. “Even a hint , Njáll. I will hold you to that.”

I do not doubt it. Her eyes are flinty when I nod; she will be investigating for herself. I am sure of that.

“How is Arty?” I venture as I stand.

The young hunter frowns. Alwynn gets to her feet, too. “He will be fine,” she says. “She caught him off guard, but he expects to be patrolling again soon.”

“Good,” I say.

I think I mean it.

We retrieve the vampire—when I ask, she timidly tells me her name is Samantha—and escort her back to the clan house. The entire journey, I feel I can see the wheels in Maurice’s mind turning.

Part of it may be that he is sitting up front with the driver. Not that I believe he prefers to sit next to me. No. But he does not like that I am alone back here with a vampire who attacked a hunter less than twenty-four hours ago.

It does not help that we learn nothing from her that we have not already heard from Briar.

She remembers nothing. She does not know why she would feed from someone who is not a registered donor.

She was not even planning to be out for the night; she had plans with another clan member to spend time together.

Afsaneh sweeps in and takes her away when we arrive. No doubt she will subject her to a much more intense and useful interrogation, though I doubt there is much Samantha knows at all.

“You have the same suspicions I do,” Maurice says quietly as we enter my office. He closes the door behind us and then leans back against it, watching me through hooded eyes.

The most frustrating thing about him is that he is impossible to read, and therefore impossible to get rid of. I know he has left the clan house on more than one occasion, but I never hear about it in time to leave myself.

And I need some time alone, now. I need to grapple with just what I have agreed to—with the fact that I have been breaking the rules for years and that if I do not do so again soon, I might lose my mind.

“You seem stressed,” Maurice says, instead of following up with whatever he clearly wished to say before. I shake my head and drop into the chair behind Vasile’s desk.

My desk.

“I am fine. Suspicions?”

Maurice smirks and pushes off from the door. “Hunt business.”

“You think she fed from one of the fae?”

He gives me the faintest of nods but does not verbally confirm again that our suspicions align. Very well, then.

“Are you investigating?”

That gets me an incredulous, offended look, and I throw my hands up into the air in frustration.

“I cannot assume, Maurice. You tell me nothing.”

“I cannot.”

I snort. “As if you never break the rules.”

“Do you?”

I freeze, and Maurice sees it. He pauses, one hand on one of the armchairs as if he is just about to sit down. His eyes glitter, and when he speaks, his voice comes out a purr.

“Oh, crai. I didn’t know that was something you were into.”

“I am not,” I say, far too quickly, and Maurice’s smirk only widens. He lowers himself into the chair, crossing one leg over the other.

It is not that I did not think I was breaking the rules—only that I was being careful about it. The donors I have fed from the longest have always known. Have always enjoyed it.

And as chieftain, it was never so difficult a desire to fulfil. I was removed enough from the inner workings of the clan that, if found out, Vasile would have retained his position. At least, it felt that way.

But the truth is, I like to chase before I feed. All vampires do. We are hunters, at our core, and that chase… It is all I desire.

I have not found a suitable donor since the attack. I am not sure I ever will again. The crai cannot indulge this way, and if I were caught, I would risk the future of our entire clan.

“I have no need of you for the rest of the night,” I say, aware that it is far too early to be trying to dismiss Maurice that way. Particularly now, when he looks like a shark who has scented blood in the water. Oh, I do not doubt him. Give him enough time, he will find out my secret.

Still, he appears to have something he would rather be doing because he shrugs off his glee and gets to his feet with a decisive nod. “Very well. If you do, make sure to call.”

He very sheepishly gave me a phone number two nights ago. I received the same number in a text from Deacon a few hours later, so it would appear that our bodyguards are in some amount of contact.

“I will,” I say. I think we both know I’d rather cut off my own arm than do that.

Maurice leaves my office and once I cannot hear the faint pulse of his heart, I sigh and lean back in my chair, speculatively eyeing the window at the other side of the room.

I think I can fit through it.

Two hours later, I find myself in The Green Man, a quiet pub in the centre of neutral territory. Although it is in Westminster, it stands out to my eyes. From the outside, it looks dark and shabby—which is not actually a contrast to how it is within, only it is much larger than it seems.

Vampires spot me and quickly turn their gazes away, ignoring me with an exaggeration that I do not truly mind. This is not the place to be recognised, perhaps, but then none of us are likely supposed to be here.

I make my way to the bar, spotting a handful of wolves as well as a group of hunters who appear to be off-duty.

There are humans, too, and though I think perhaps some are witches, many are not.

After all, there are plenty of humans in our orbit who have no magic of their own, who are dragged in by circumstance of birth or action.

And there are fae, too. At least I believe there are. They look as human as anyone else in here, but their hearts beat like hummingbirds’, and their gazes are sharp and assessing. Dangerous, some part of me deep inside knows, even as another part of me wonders what their blood might taste like.

I jerk my gaze away from a pair I’ve been staring at down the bar and focus on the very human bartender standing before me. He gives me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “What’ll it be?”

“Blood.”

The tick of his eyebrow tells me that was a foolish answer. “Spiked or not?”

I lick my lips. Spiked is…

A bad idea.