Page 2 of A Hunter Born
“On it. Ten minutes.”
As Morgan disconnected the call, she must have still been reeling from the news of Thane’s death. Why else would her target have been able to take her by surprise, as he kicked out his leg and swept her feet out from under her?
Her ass hit the pavement hard as Gibson lurched awkwardly to his feet. With a curse, Morgan leaped upward with preternatural speed fully intending to cut the man off before he made good on his escape. In hindsight, she needn’t have bothered. Her target, hands still restrained behind his back, pinballed clumsily across the alley, bounced off of a dumpster, before running headlong into a wall and knocking himself out. Dumb shit.
With a disgusted sigh, Morgan strolled over and planted the rugged lugs of her boots on the back of Gibson’s neck. Perhaps pressing a bit harder than was absolutely necessary, but until her ass stopped hurting, she wasn’t going to take any chances as she waited for their ride.
Chapter Two
“Ineed a beer,” Morgan grumbled as she dumped Gibson in a corner of the motel room that had been home sweet home for her and her team during this latest hunt. A room currently littered with empty Chinese takeout containers, fast food bags, and pizza boxes – God, they were slobs. “Make that two,” she continued as she went to work shackling the man’s ankles before she rose and began to undo the too-tight French braid that had kept her hair contained while in the field.
She really should cut it. It would be a time-saver not to have to braid it so tightly to her skull before she went out on a mission. Her scalp would probably thank her. Hair in the face was a distraction and a simple ponytail wouldn’t cut it – would actually be an advantage to any of her targets should they be able to grab onto it in a fight, but despite her chosen lifestyle, which roughly ninety-nine percent of her kind would consider mannish and, as many had informed her, ‘unheard of – gasp’, she still had enough feminine vanity to hesitate every time she thought of chopping off her long, dark locks.
“We’re out of beer,” Kane Fletcher, the third member of their little team announced as he flopped into a chair and grabbed up a PS4 controller to resume his game in progress.
“What the hell?” Morgan barked, throwing him a glare despite him being too preoccupied with the onscreen explosions to notice. “Who’s turn was it to buy?”
“Yours,” both Kane and Jamie replied simultaneously.
“Wonderful,” Morgan grumbled.
“So,” Jamie hedged as the blonde vampire settled down cross-legged in the middle of one of the room’s two double beds, her ever-present assortment of laptops and tablets close at hand, “this order that came down…”
Typical of the woman to want details. Her curiosity and need for answers were seemingly limitless. That little idiosyncrasy was why she had made such an excellent addition to Morgan’s team. Jamie could and would dig for every little bit of information she could get her hands on. In her human life, almost twenty years ago now, Jamie Wilson had been a hacker that had managed to put a rather large bee in the government’s bonnet thanks to her computer skills and that driving need of hers for information. She had, in fact, been facing a decidedly hefty prison term for that trouble before Morgan had stepped in with another option. They would fake her death, wipe the slate clean, and in return, Jamie would work for the Hunters doing exactly what she loved. The woman had embraced her new life as a vampire whole-heartedly.
“We’ll get this shit stain back to his Born, collect our payment, and be on our way. They don’t need to know that the order came down before we obtained him.”
“And if he won’t pay?”
Morgan shrugged, unconcerned. “He will.” The Born might be a clever bunch, quick to exploit a loophole or weakness, but pissing off a Hunter was a bad idea. One word from her, and the Born that attempted to stiff them would never be able to contract another team again – a risk that no leader with any sense would take as Hunters were a necessary commodity to maintain order in the vampire world.
Jamie nodded thoughtfully before she raised a finger and said, “I’m curious about the wording of the order – ‘New York has fallen to the angels’ – when they sayangels, are we talking a gang of like motorcycle riding vampires that call themselves The Angels? Or…”
Morgan grimaced. “I’m afraid they were being quite literal.”
“So, like, wings and halos, harps and peace on Earth kind of stuff?”
Morgan’s mouth quirked up on one side with wry amusement at Jamie’s look of befuddlement. “More like sword-happy winged warriors with a shitload of power and a distaste for anything with demonic blood.”
“Oh.”
Speaking of which… “Anything solid yet on the status of the Born that held New York?”
Jamie picked up her laptop, her fingers clicking madly over the keys as her eyes rapidly perused the screen. “Still all rumor and speculation at this point.”
Pulling out her phone, Morgan strode for the door and the relative quiet outside. The vampire community could speculate all they wanted, but Morgan would be damned if she’d write Stroud off without confirmation one way or the other.
Leaning back against the cold, concrete, exterior wall near the ice machine tucked under the stairwell, Morgan scrolled through her contacts of the Born listed alphabetically by the territory they controlled rather than by their names. Her thumb hesitated over New York. Shit. Thane had been one of the good ones. In a society ruled by men, he’d seen nothing wrong with Morgan’s desire to break out of the box she had been placed in thanks to her gender. Primarily because Thane’s sister, Blythe had felt much the same as Morgan. Blythe would have made one hell of a Hunter. The two of them had become fast friends as well. They’d practiced with knives together, honing their skills as they talked and planned, dreamed of breaking free. With Thane’s help, the three of them were going to start a sexual revolution within the Born.
Of course, that was before Blythe’s father had caught wind of their machinations and chose to curb his daughter’s willfulness by assigning her governance over one of his territories. He’d done so, Morgan was sure, in hopes that his daughter would fail so that he could hold her up as an example of why women should remain in their tiny boxes as nothing more than wives and mothers. Blythe, as well as the territory she controlled in Bulgaria, had thrived, however, and Morgan couldn’t have been prouder of her friend. Not that it mattered, the territory was still ultimately held by her father and any and all praise that should have rightfully gone to Blythe went instead, straight to the elder Stroud, the world of the Born oblivious to his daughter’s triumph.
Shit. Blythe would be heartbroken if her brother was dead at the hands of the angels. Had she heard the news?
Morgan was tempted to call the sister first but hesitated once more. It was probably best not to speak to Blythe until Morgan had some solid facts of her own. Her thumb was just about to connect the call to New York when her phone rang. Unknown caller. Most likely a wrong number. Sending it to voicemail without another thought, Morgan quickly connected her own call before she lost her nerve.
Two rings and then, “Morgan Rhys,” was drawled in those unmistakable cultured tones that she had thought she’d never hear again. Her relief was palpable as Thane continued, “What an unexpected surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He sounded fine, one might even say he sounded amused, and suddenly, the worry she’d suffered on his behalf was replaced with indignation. “What the fuck, Thane?”
