Page 38 of Hunted in the Shadows
Gwen’s gaze flickered to Hannah guiltily. “Six months. She wasn’t supposed to get mixed up in any of it. Why am I not surprisedyou’dbe the ones to come along and screw things up?”
Tearing her eyes away from me, Hannah gave Gwen a hurt pout. “What were you thinking—keeping this from me?”
“I told you I used to hunt,” Gwen mumbled.
“Obviously I thought you meant, like, deer! Not vampires and werewolves! Should I be grateful I didn’t find one ofthoseplaying fetch with the dogs instead?”
I squirmed. All three of us may have trespassed, but I suddenly felt like the worst offender. “Should I wait outside?”
“No,” everyone other than Gwen said at once.
“It’s fine, honey,” Hannah said, offering the same small smile she’d given me outside. “This is a lot to take in, but I’ll cope.” She stared for another beat like she could force herself to get used to my existence. “I like your tattoo, by the way.”
My hand leaped to my cheek, words failing me for a moment.
“Thanks,” I bit out, combing my hair to curtain the black mark—because it was easier than saying,it was branded onto me by force to permanently ostracize me from my people.
Hannah stood, scooping up her emptied coffee mug. “The omelets should be about done. We’ve got ham and bacon.”
“Sylv’s vegetarian,” Cliff announced, though I had never seen him look so pleased about it.
Although Hannah’s expression puckered, she didn’t recoil this time. “The muffins should be safe enough. Is there anything else I can get you, Sylvia?”
I hesitated—the way she inserted my name felt curiously similar to how Jon calmed victims by saying theirs.Manufacturing a sense of connection, he called it. Still, Hannah seemed sincere.
“Strawberries, if you have them,” I answered.
Hannah gave me a small smile—as though both awestruck and amused that I had requested something so mundane and not some celestial recipe dipped in shimmering blue goo.
“I’ll see what I can rustle up,” she said. With that, she vanished back into the kitchen.
Gwen leaned halfway across the table to glower at Cliff. “I should put a knife to your throat, the way you keep talking toher. You jumped her, and now she’s making you breakfast, for fuck’s sake.”
“I never minded your hands at my throat. But that would ruin this lovely…” Cliff grimaced as he rubbed the trailing edge of the lace tablecloth between his fingers. “What is this, a giant doily?”
Jon tugged the basket of muffins toward him. He picked up a blueberry one and gave it a brief inspection before tearing off a piece to offer it to me. We dug in hungrily, sharing a delighted glance as the distinct buttery sweetness hit our tongues. After weeks of shadowing a hunter’s life, I quickly learned to cherish the rare gift of a home-cooked meal. Notes of cinnamon carried on the next bite, and for a moment, I was sitting in the Elysian kitchen corridors, sneaking extra tarts with Damian and Kyra.
That’s not your home anymore. The harsh voice at the back of my head pulled me back, then grounded me in comfortable numbness.Don’t waste your tears on people who wouldn’t do the same.
Gwen took a long gulp of coffee, moving her guarded stare between Jon and Cliff over the brim of her mug. “If no one sent you, what the hell are you doing in Cypress Hollow?” she asked. “Is it a hunt? Those black-eyed demon kids aren’t back, are they?”
“Supply run,” Cliff said. “Barely got enough silver on us to buy a lap dance, and you know the bayou outpost is the prime place to stock up. Had to make do without any bullets while taking out a vamp coven the other night.”
Somehow, that was enough. The wavering panic in Gwen’s face melted into a weary sort of understanding. “You’ve faced worse odds than that.”
“A couple of dead men walking shouldn’t be giving fate the finger any more than we already do, right?” Cliff offered a good-natured smirk—until he saw Jon reaching for a second muffin. With a betrayed double-take, Cliff tugged the basket away. He glaredtoward Hannah’s distant movements in the kitchen as though we had agreed to sell enemy propaganda.
Jon shot him a look—a resoundingwhat the hell?
“Don’t eat her muffins!” Cliff hissed under his breath like it was obvious. “Whose side are you on?”
I pouted at him—those seconds had been forme, too. Still, I bit my tongue and followed Jon’s lead on treading carefully with… whatever the hellthiswas.
Gwen rolled her eyes at the exchange. “Jesus, I forgot how territorial you can be.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Cliff shot her a look that could strip paint.
Jon waited until Cliff wasn’t looking before pilfering a second muffin. Without breaking his conversational posture, he discreetly tore off another piece, and I flew down to snatch it. I mouthedthank you, lifting my eyebrows conspiratorially as we both took cautious bites like children sneaking sweets after curfew.
