Page 3 of What Fools These Immortals Be
“And…?”
“These have been tumultuous times, Maurice. He had fae blood and caused much strife. Now we need to ensure that nothing similar happens again.”
“Why do I have to go?”
“I need you to watch over the clan’s crai.”
I pull a face. “Vampires.”
Something sparks in the Huntsman’s eyes. Amusement? “Vampires,” he says, inclining his head in agreement. “I thought you might be well suited for it.”
“Vlad is…”
“Well. But he has other commitments.”
“Why do I—”
“Maurice.” The Huntsman’s voice is firm. “You serve the Hunt.”
You serve meis unspoken but there. I bite back a reflexive growl. “I do.”
“Then your assignment, in serving the Hunt, is to travel to London and watch over the clan’s crai.”
“Is that all?”
“No.” The Huntsman looks back out at the lake again. “That one should never have made it through. That much power should have been detected. More and more fae are through the veil, and many of them are travelling to the cities.”
“Why?”
“I do not know. But that is something we also need to uncover.”
I nod, a little less irritated this time. Tracking down fae? That I can do. Still… “London.”
“If you no longer wish to remain in the Hunt, that can be seen to,” the Huntsman snaps, and I flinch at the ice in his tone.
He means it.
All these years, and he—
My face burns with humiliation and rage. “I serve the Hunt,” I bite out, and he holds my gaze for a second too long before he nods.
“Go to London. Protect the crai. Find the fae.”
“Yes, Huntsman.”
“And remember, Maurice. Our business is our own. Involving the vampires or—worst of all—the wolves will only make things more difficult for you.”
“I understand.”
He comes closer and I hold myself perfectly still. His expression is still unreadable, but I fancy I see some tightening around his eyes as though he is tired.
“You have served the Wild Hunt well, Maurice,” he says, and I think he means it. “Do not fail me now.”
I swallow hard. The Huntsman saved me when I thought I would never be my own man again.
“I will not,” I promise, dropping my gaze.
His hand lands softly on my face, ice-cold fingers digging in for just a second before he lets go. When I lift my eyes again, he is gone. The moon is beginning to set, but still, I see no evidence he was ever here—no footprints in the mud.
