Page 72 of Shadow Hunter

For the most part ghosts, while terrifying to humans, weren’t confrontational. But an angry poltergeist wreaked havoc and terror. Damon wagered that the many abandoned asylums of Rochester contained a shit-ton of pissed-off polters.

He typed in “ghosts and poltergeists.”

A lone profile popped onto the screen. The haunted gray eyes of the hunter stared at him from the monitor. Damon could tell that some seriously traumatizing shit had passed in front of that man’s eyes. A small red flag flashed near the profile picture.

He clicked on the flag and the screen flashed “Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder.” Damon raised a brow. Why the hell were there so few ghost hunters? He widened the search.

Damn. Many of them were already assigned to Florida Keyes and Saint Augustine.

He hit the return button to the single profile.

Name: Ashley (Ash) Devereaux

Current location: New Orleans, Louisiana

*Transfer required (P.T.S.D)

New Orleans?Now there was a city with one hell of a ghost population. He hit the add button, and hoped he wouldn’t regret it. If he was still listed after a PTSD diagnosis, then the E.U. saw something in Ash Devereaux that went beyond his stats.

Last one.

Several new species of non-werewolf shapeshifters reported.

After entering “non-were shifters” into the search engine, he pulled up roughly ten profiles. His gaze shot to the profile of one hunter immediately. Two different colored eyes, not a common trait in anyone. Intrigued, he opened the stats.

Name: Trent Garrison

Experience: One year field training, two years full time off-site operative

Current Location: Jersey City, New Jersey

*Transfer requested (Post-facial injury)

He eyed the man’s features. The E.U. had yet to update his profile shot, but it must have been pretty serious to be listed in the report. He respected someone who fought post injury, or post-trauma of any kind for that matter, and since non-werewolf shifters had been rising in population over the past two years, this man had been a pioneer in the field.

A muffled knocking sounded from the other side of the door.

“Damon?” Tiffany called.

He punched in the door code, and the latch clicked open.

Tiffany stepped inside. “You’d better get a move on. We have to prepare.”

In his mind, the walls he erected during every hunt snapped into place. A level head would be the key to the success of this raid. He would not have a repeat of Mark’s death. Come hell or high water, every member of the team the E.U. providedhim with would come home safe. But his main concern, far and away more important than anything else, was ensuring Tiffany’s safety.

He nodded. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Her eyes darted to the main monitor. “Are these the hunters you’re picking for your team?”

He didn’t respond. Was that really what was sitting in front of him? His future division that he’d handpicked? A surreal feeling washed over him. He should have felt honored to lead an entire division, but instead, the knotted feeling in his gut refused to subside. After what had happened with Mark, did he deserve to lead?

A low whistle escaped Tiffany’s lips. “Daaanng. Are all the guys in the Execution Underground hot or what? Is that a requirement? Every single one of these dudes is gorgeous.”

Damon grumbled in response. What was so fantastic about the men pictured on the screen? He didn’t see it.

Tiffany grinned as if she were picking out her favorite Mr. February calendar pin-up. “They’re all easy on the eyes, though I’m kind of partial to that one. He has awesome hair.” She pointed at the golden blonde from Louisiana with the haunting eyes, and then to the wolf hunter. “But he’s definitely my favorite.”

He scratched his head and looked away, trying to ignore her teasing comments.

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