Page 82 of Gray
“I’ll be right here.”
***
The lighthouse stood on a hill in the distance, the bright glow bleeding through the dense fog before fading as it shot back out to sea. A ship’s horn wailed from somewhere offshore, the sound piercing the otherwise silent night as we ambled through the wooded area not far from the waterfront.
Monsters lurked in the shadows. I sensed their energies, and the stench of dirt and rot lingered in the air. Ghouls.
Mason surveyed our surroundings, gun in hand. Silver bullets filled the chamber with more rounds attached to his belt, and he had a dagger as backup. The spring night had a slight chill, so he wore a light jacket over his black tee, looking hot as hell. For such a big guy, his steps were barely audible as he walked beside me.
It was the first hunt we’d been on together. Well, second if you counted the first night we met.
“Remember the manananggal?” I asked, stepping over a rotted branch. I gently swung my sword at my side. “You were almost demon food that night, and I saved you.”
“No one saved me.” Mason fought a smile as he swept his gaze around the area. “I had it perfectly under control.”
“Uh-huh.” I bumped against his arm.
“Focus,” he said as we approached a rackety shed up ahead. Old headstones jutted from the ground, covered with moss, grime, and tall dead grass. The land used to be a family-owned cemetery but had been forgotten over the years. “Think we’re in the right place?”
“Yep. I can smell them. They’re close.”
Alastair had learned of a pack of ghouls that had made their way into Echo Bay. No human deaths yet, but there had been reports of freshly buried dead bodies being dug up and mutilated. Really, they’d been eaten, but that was something most humans didn’t consider unless it was to say it was animal related. Bodies had been stolen too—more than likely taken to the ghouls’ nest and also eaten.
“Hey.” I looked at him. “If you had a theme song for when you kicked monster butt, what would it be?”
Mason snorted. “It’s impossible for you to stay quiet for more than a minute, isn’t it?”
“Impossible? No.” I grinned. “But talking is more fun. You should know this about me by now.”
“‘Begging for Mercy’ by Bullet For My Valentine,” Mason said. “My theme song.”
“Ah, so you like the heavy stuff.” I was tickled he’d answered the question. I hadn’t expected him to. “You and Daman would get along. Before he moved to Russia, he’d blare his music so loud I thought my eardrums would burst.”
“Now you got me curious. What would yours be?”
“Only the greatest song ever made. ‘Africa’ by Toto.”
He choked on a laugh.
“God, Mason, you’re so loud,” I said in exaggerated annoyance, trying my hardest not to smile. “We gotta focus.”
That only made him laugh harder.
The sound enveloped my heart like a warm, fuzzy blanket. When we’d learned this mission was to dispose of ghouls, a haunted look had surfaced in his eyes. I knew where his mind had taken him—to the night his men died. When Kinkaid died.
It was one reason why I kept talking. I wanted to distract him from those painful thoughts.
“I’m surprised Al let me come on this mission.”
“Why?” Mason asked.
“My brothers think I’m useless.”
He stopped walking. “I doubt that’s true. They’re just overprotective.”
“Maybe.” I frowned at the dirt beneath my Converse. “I’m kind of a liability. A distraction. It’s hard for them to focus on the fight when they’re worried about me passing out somewhere. And I refuse to take someone’s energy again, no matter how sleepy I am.”
When I continued through the graveyard, Mason kept pace beside me. He didn’t try to say anything, but his actions told me he was with me—that I wasn’t alone.
