Page 50 of The Enemy to the Living
“We will wait,” Vlad says, “but the wolves are likely to come to us with questions after our announcement at the challenge. They will know fae are behind this.”
“Let them. Tell them we are investigating.” I can imagine the Huntsman’s careless shrug. “If they would prefer to speak with the Guardians themselves, they are welcome to do so.”
I grimace. That won’t go well. They don’t like to be disturbed; they have their task, and since they added their latest member—their final member—they prefer to focus on that.
And each other, I’ve heard.
“Anything you discover in the meantime, report to me,” the Huntsman continues, “but do not engage the twins alone. How is the wolf?”
Vlad looks at me. I haven’t seen Quinn for two days, but I’ve visited Bryn each night. Maybe he has a day left. Maybe.
“Dying,” I say flatly. He hasn’t woken, which is some small comfort, at least. Comforting because we don’t know what he dreams of.
“You serve the Hunt, Asher,” the Huntsman says, and Maurice jerks his head up, staring at me with wide eyes. A flicker of surprise crosses Vlad’s face, too.
Grant studies me, expression for once unreadable.
“I serve the Hunt.”
He hangs up. Silence lingers for a second, and I swallow the bitterness that pools on my tongue.
I serve the Hunt. I have served the Hunt without fail since the Huntsman took my wolf and gave me his blessing. I haven’t turned anyone or fallen in love with anyone or become embroiled in matters the Hunt should not concern itself with…
“What was that about?” Maurice asks, but I get to my feet.
“I’ll go take another look around,” I say. “At least if we know where they are, it’ll make things easier when he’s done.” I wave my hand absently at my phone. Maurice scowls, annoyed I’ve avoided the question.
Vlad nods. “Fine. Donotgo inside, Asher. Even if you find this wolf—”
I’ll want to. I should. We help humans, and we’re helping fae, so why can’t we help wolves, too?
“There’s no telling if it’s even still around,” Maurice says, and I frown at him.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “We don’t knowwhythey’d take a wolf, but they have. I have to assume they have a reason for it.”
“Might just like to fuck around,” I mutter.
“We do not know why,” Vlad says firmly, overriding us both. “And it is pointless to speculate without evidence. Asher, if you find out where they have moved their pub to, then let us know. Do not go inside. We will await the Huntsman’s order.”
I swallow. How much leeway do I have with the Huntsman? Not as much as Maurice, with his mate—more-or-less—and hisability to withstand the loss of his magic. More than Vlad, with how he cares for Grant.
Would the Huntsman even hurt Grant? He seems curious about him. That curiosity might run its course.
But I wouldn’t survive. I’d be that wolf, wasting away to nothing.
I swallow down the bitterness of it and nod once. “Fine. I serve the Hunt.”
Maurice pulls a face, but Vlad only nods in reply.
I’m careful not to storm out of the house, but it’s a near thing. Out on the dark street, I take a deep, calming breath.
It doesn’t calm me that much. I stalk away, not wandering in any particular direction. I’ll be surprised if Bryn makes it through the night, truth be told. Yesterday, his breaths were rattling in his chest. A few other lone wolves have been to visit, saying they know him but don’t know what he was up to.
Only one of them I didn’t believe, but when I pressed him, he clammed up the same way Quinn did the other night. I think he’s been fighting at the pub, too. I think he’s been threatened.
And the rest of them are worried. They don’t want to join a pack, but they want to feel protected. I frown, slowing my pace. Did I see any pack wolves aside from Quinn when I was at Mischief & Mayhem? Not as though I could tell.
