Page 19 of Blood of a Huntsman

Scent of Blood

Seven years ago

Bash usually partneredup with Bat on his missions, but tonight, Jack Hunter had asked for him.

Though he was also twenty-one, Jack had already earned all seven stars any huntsman could get, tattooed on his skin with spells and ink. Endurance, courage, knowledge, loyalty, power, empathy, and the elusive one few huntsmen ever achieved: magic.

Bash only had two. Endurance and empathy.

Given his prowess and current position as one of the minds running the London headquarters, Jack could, and usually did, choose to go on solo missions. When he wanted a partner, he usually chose his cousin, Tris—though Jack called her Blade to get on her nerves.

But Jack had requested both Blade and Bash today. For the very first time, he'd asked for extra backup.

Bash didn't need to wonder why. He'd seen the details of Jack’s plan; without someone securing an escape route, it was nothing short of a suicide mission. Any other agent would have called a dozen guys for help, but Jack was just that good. Blade would accompany him into the belly of the beast while Bash secured the exit.

A vampire was picking up drunk girls outside of clubs in the middle of the night, and they were never seen again. Jack's preliminary investigation had located him in a den he intended to raid.

Most vampires were loners, scattered anywhere around the world, but some lived in respectable, established clans, like the old families who'd remained in their lands longer than any mortal king.

Other covens were formed much more recently. Out of loneliness, or worse. Power lust. Blood lust. Lust for something else entirely.

These were the vampires who kept the huntsmen busy. Usually, their order hunted down wild shifters gone rogue or black witches sacrificing to increase their strength. They had few dealings with immortals.

Bash considered himself lucky to be picked. He could guess why. While he had learned to use a sword and mace, and could take most huntsmen in a fistfight, his main strength, his best skill, was his eye. He could nail a target fifty yards away with a handgun. Half a mile away with a rifle, in any wind. Against vampires, guns were little use, but arrows dipped in spells and curses could work well enough. For a time.

They wanted him on the roof opposite the Elephant and Castle den to ensure they were covered when they got out.

And so, he watched them sneak in through a ground floor window, and then he waited, bow at hand, for at least an hour.

Jack came out of the building first, slowly. He didn't look concerned. No one was following, other than Tris.

After observing for a good three minutes and seeing no movement, Bash joined them in the street, jumping down from the four-story townhouse holding on to gutters and balconies.

"Well?" he asked.

Jack didn’t answer.

"There were corpses,” Blade told him. “Piled up in a room, dumped there, stinking up the whole house. Two dozen, at least. It was fucking disgusting."

Bash gasped. "Who was responsible for that?"

"All of them," said Jack, after a while. "We made them talk. They took turns bringing in women, betting on who could seduce the prettiest one every week. Then they took them, one after the next, spelling them so they couldn't say a word. And after they were done, they drained them too."

Bash had felt sick.

He never asked what had happened to the den, to the twenty-three vampires reported to live there. He never asked about the bites to Blade and Jack, either. Over their dark huntsmen gear, he could only see a couple of bites, but who knew what was hidden beneath the leather and reinforced fabric.

The two young huntsmen had eradicated the entire den.

Before then, Jack had been fair to all races, friendly and diplomatic. But after, there was always an edge to his smile, a shadow behind his gaze when he talked or interacted with vampires.

Two years ago, the man who'd officially taken over for Bash's parents as head of the London headquarters retired. The next logical successor was Jack, who'd led most of their raids for eight years. But some stupid laws said that their leaders had to be professors. Something to do with appearances. As far as humans were concerned, they were a guild of wise, knowledgeable ancients protecting their world. Having a young man representing them was bad. But the High Guard named him leader all the same, demanding only one concession: that he earn a PhD.A suitable title to present to doubtful mortals.

So Jack went to the Institute, and Bash, along with dozens of huntsmen, did what they did best.

They followed their commander.

People who didn’t knowJack often thought that his appointment was nepotism, but the young agent had genuinely earned the British huntsmen’s respect. The thought of disappointing him was unbearable. Bash didn’t want to see the look in Jack’s eyes when he saw him, his best friend, now a bloodthirsty freak.

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