Page 9 of Hunted Ink

The house’s front door opened, and Pater’s silhouette appeared. Even though I couldn’t see his face the way he was backlit, I could tell he was in a foul mood. His back was straight, shoulders rigid, chin set high.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I forced my body to move. I got out of the truck and grabbed my gear from the back. The storm had passed, but the air still held a crackle of electricity, a promise of violence. “Pater,” I said in greeting from one step below him, wood groaning beneath my boots.

He said nothing, just arched a brow, a reminder for me to lower my head in respect. My muscles fought the action as I forced myself to bow. His eyes missed nothing. When he held his hand out for my quiver, I handed it over without a word.

Examining the clean blades, he frowned. “You were not successful?”

His judgment weighed heavily on me, and years of striving for his approval left me feeling like a failure. But the thought of telling him the truth set my teeth on edge. Lie, the voice whispered to me, and for once, I was inclined to agree. I settled for, “The storm interrupted my hunt.”

He grunted, then reached out and grabbed my chin roughly and tilted my head up, fingers digging painfully into my jaw. “Your runes have washed off.”

My hand came up, and I touched the skin of my brow, now clean and smooth. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed.”

He narrowed his gaze, assessing, perhaps searching my answer for a lie. “And you’re feeling well?” he asked carefully.

Could he tell that I was falling apart inside? Did that have anything to do with the runes? I affected a casual shrug. “Sure.” Keeping it simple was best.

Pater eyed me suspiciously, waiting for me to crack, but after a silence filled only with frog song, his stony expression morphed into a kind smile, the one he used to dole out so generously. “Well, it’s been a long night, and you no doubt need some sleep.” He reached into his robe and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a murky green liquid. “Here, this should help settle those nerves and give you a dreamless sleep.”

“Thank you, Pater,” I said, keeping my voice from shaking as I took the vial. It felt icy against my heated skin. I waited for him to move aside so I could enter, but he remained blocking the doorway, his eyes still on the vial. He expected me to drink it now.

Stomach churning, I uncorked the vial and upended it into my mouth. It was cold at first, before it slowly began to burn against my tongue. The taste was bitter, and my throat locked up, refusing to swallow it. I kept my face neutral and moved my throat to let him believe I’d choked it down.

Pater finally nodded in satisfaction, then took the empty vial back. “Sleep well, son.” I nodded solemnly, my lips pinched tight to keep the herb tonic in.

He let me inside, squeezing my shoulder on the way by, and it was all I could do to keep from spewing this shit out across the floor at his feet. How I managed to keep my gait steady and my mouth shut all the way to my room, I would never know. I breathed heavily through my nose, fighting my gag reflex. But as soon as the door was closed behind me, I lurched toward the basin on my dresser and spat it out, rinsing and spitting until the bitter paste was no longer coating my tongue.

In all the years I’d lived with the Order, I’d never questioned Pater’s commands or those of the elders. I’d been their perfect soldier through it all. But tonight, with the full moon’s energy electrifying my veins, a mysterious voice whispering in my ear, and the image of a certain green-haired, blue-eyed man running through my brain, I found myself filled with doubt.

What was in this so-called sleep tonic, and why didn’t I feel safe enough to ask—or to decline? Who’d assigned us the task of saving the human race? And who were we really saving them from? Monsters? I’d never seen evidence of their supposed violent nature, not even when fighting for their lives. Would the monster/wolf/man have really harmed me tonight if I hadn’t fled?

Once the house settled into its usually creaky quiet and I was sure everyone was asleep, I dumped the basin out the narrow window into the weeds below, ditching any evidence of my disobedience. Because while I wasn’t sure what to believe anymore, I knew with certainty that I would be punished for not following a direct order. Then I crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling.

I felt the voice more than heard it at first. Its presence in my head was more stable than it had been before. It felt… soft, gentle. Like the wind through my hair or velvet against my fingertips. Certainly not malicious in any way. I was expecting another round of mate, mate, mate, but instead, it asked, Are you okay?

It was so strange to be invited to interact with it. Did it make it better or worse that the voice in my head wanted to be friends? It felt like important advice not to make eye contact to avoid unwanted interactions, but maybe this disembodied voice could give me some answers.

So, instead of ignoring it like I usually did, I found myself asking, Who are you? Though I couldn’t help but wonder if the real question I should’ve been asking was… Who am I?

Because if I wasn’t a hunter of the Divine Order, then what kind of monster had I become?

Chapter 7

Kedi

When I got home from work at the garage, hands covered in grease and smelling like motor oil and tires, Joel was lying in wait, ready to pounce. “Spill!” he blurted as soon as I got through the door. “You’ve been dodging my texts all day like you have something to hide.” And even though I’d smelled him from down the hall, I still flinched. I’d slept for shit last night, reliving meeting Conroy for hours on end, and after a full day of telling myself it didn’t matter that I’d been rejected, a headache had blossomed inside my skull like an atomic mushroom cloud.

“Can you tone down the enthusiasm by like a thousand decibels?” I said, wincing, as I kicked off my work boots and left them in a heap by the door. I froze when Norman gave me a pointed look from where he sat on a stool at the counter eating something green, his textbooks open beside him. With a sigh, I went back and straightened my boots on the little shelf he’d bought for our shoes. The things I did to maintain the peace around here.

Not like he was pulling his weight around here. Glaring at Norman, I pointed at Joel. “Did you let him in?”

He shook his head. “Apparently he still has a key.”

Joel crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes at me. “Quit acting like a child. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”

I didn’t even acknowledge what he said, and instead, headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

But when I went to swing the door shut behind me, Joel was there, pushing his way into the tiny room. “You can’t get away from me that easily,” he snarked.