Page 151 of Hunted

When he is gone, the Tower feels fractionally less crowded, though the tension remains lodged beneath my skin like a splinter.

Eira exhales. ‘Well. That was… dramatic.’

Her eyes are bright, cheeks faintly flushed with adrenaline and the lingering burn of being looked at.

‘Do not mistake his theatrics for harmlessness,’ I say.

‘I wasn’t,’ she replies. ‘But I also wasn’t expecting you to go full feral.’

A muscle tics in my jaw. ‘He provoked.’

‘He breathed,’ she corrects.

Amusement threatens but dies just as quickly as Malachi’s mind brushes mine. But he holds his tongue. Aaron watches Eira with that careful stillness.

‘So we have missing sireds breaking cover, a connection to Ireland, old wards, someone pruning the edges of your search. All meaning what, exactly?’ she asks.

‘Someone is either going out of their way to get my attention or to make trouble.’

‘Or throw stumbling blocks in your way?’ she adds.

I dismiss my vampires and rise, needing motion more than speculation. ‘I have a club to visit,’ I say. ‘You’re coming with me.’

Eira blinks. ‘Club. As in… music and drinks?’

‘As in my territory,’ I reply. ‘As in I need to be seen. Need to listen. Remind people what it costs to stir my city.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘And you’re bringing me because…?’

‘Because you are useful,’ I say blandly.

She scoffs. ‘Charming.’

My gaze drops to her mouth, then lifts again. ‘A useless insult since I cannot lie. Get ready. Ten minutes. Do not keep me waiting, little hunter.’

She hesitates, then that feisty courage snaps into place. ‘Fine. But if anyone offers me a blood cocktail, I’m leaving.’

‘I would not permit it.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘You really love that word.’

As she peels off towards her apartment, I watch her go and feel the echo of Rafael’s grin like a knife turning.

Because I know what my brother sensed when he looked at her.

And I know what I’m going to do about it if he or anyone dares to take even one step closer to my hunter.

31

EIRA

Leather always makes me feel like myself again.

More hunter. More weapon with a pulse. Less woman-who-can-still-taste-a-vampire-in-the-back-of-her-throat.

I tug on the trousers and let the snug bite of them settle my nerves. The bustier goes on next, black and structured, enough cleavage to be a statement, enough support to be practical, and enough armour to remind me I’m not here to be decorative.

This is not a fucking date.