Page 2 of Hunted

“It’s just us,” I said. “Highway buzz five miles out.”

“Let me know if anyone approaches.”

“Okay, but just saying. Creepy corn field in the middle of the night kind of has assassination attempt written all over it.”

My uncle sighed. This wasn’t the first time we’d been over this. It wasn’t even the first time we’d been over it in the last hour.

“We’re out of options.”

“We’re really not.”

Guillermo pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Vampire Nation has no wish to make an aggressive move,” he argued patiently. “It isn’t in their best interests. Without us, they will be crushed by the U.S. military within weeks if not days. The enemy of our enemy is, for the moment, our ally.”

Which was pretty effed up, considering we’d spent the last century and a half fighting to free shapeshifter blood slaves from vampire prisons, but whatever. His pack, his rules. We’d go with his fortune cookie wisdom. At least for the moment.

“And what about the factions within the Tracers?” I began just as a sharp gust of wind swirled dust and dry corn husks into my face.

When I glanced up, two vampires had materialized in the field ten yards from where we stood.

The male, Cristof, narrowed his eyes in my direction, immediately doing a sweep of the area. Yeah, motherfucker, I wouldn’t have trusted your security either. Like all vampires, Zara’s oldest son had the sharp features and broody look that allowed the undead to easily lure in human prey. Pretty boy’s one useful skill? Cranking me up.

“Nice, Caldwell,” he sneered. “Maybe next time we can schedule the meet in a feed lot.”

“Why, looking for your next girlfriend?”

Cristof bared his teeth, starting towards me.

“Enough.” Zara said. “There’s no time for this. I assume we’ve all seen President Payne’s address?”

The leader of the Vampire Nation was tall and athletic with dark wispy hair that she wore short and cheekbones that could have cut glass. It was easy to see her resemblance to Cristof. They both had a ruthlessness that no amount of charm or party manners could conceal. Which, come to think of it, was probably what a lot of people said about me. Zara had two younger children, Vlad and Rowan, both of whom had defected from the Vampire Nation to fight alongside the Blood Moon pack. If I looked hard enough, I could find echoes of Zara’s daughter Rowan in the way she tilted her head or narrowed her eyes. It was Vlad who was impossible to nail down. Ever since the day he’d disowned his mother and become infamous in the traffic stop that outed vampires to the world, leading a rebellion against the Vampire Nation had required changing his appearance more than an A-list celebrity on the run from the paps.

Zara pulled out her phone. As she moved towards Guillermo, I shifted fractionally to intercept her.

“That’s close enough,” I growled.

Guillermo might trust them. He paid me to be the asshole and keep him alive. It would take half a second for one of them to grab him and dematerialize the leader of all the werewolves to some underground bunker where it would take weeks for us to find him. Not on my goddamn watch. And not when both vampires were blocking my ability to read their thoughts.

Zara raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this paranoid? How interesting.”

I bared my teeth. “It’s not paranoia when you kept my father locked in your dungeons for the past two years.”

Eyes narrowing, Cristof moved to cut off my access to his mother. His lip curled, white fangs bared in silent warning. If he or Zara tried anything, I could reach into their minds, shred their memories before they could dematerialize away.

Maybe.

The problem with vampires was that their mental shields were incredibly hard to crack. I could do it, had done it before on ops where we had to get into an underground compound where blood slaves were being held, but I was as likely to do damage to myself as one of them.

Shifters regenerated. I would heal. And no question, I would do whatever it took to protect my uncle, including putting my own life on the line. But neural manipulators also had to be careful when we performed rewrites. Use too much power, do too many rewrites, force yourself into the head of a target who was too powerful and fighting back when you knew you were in over your head? Over time you could slowly damage your own neural pathways.

Guillermo stepped in. “We agreed beforehand that the subject of Ben Caldwell would not come up tonight.” This was delivered with a reproachful push in the back of my mind, the closest he would come to reprimanding me in front of them.

Still, I ground my teeth as if he’d grabbed me by the ruff at the back of my neck and disciplined me like a pup in front of the entire pack. Zara said nothing, appraising the interaction with keen interest. Cristof smirked like the subject of my father being tortured for two years deserved popcorn and malted milk balls. Bastard. I’d make a necklace out of his fangs.

“Play the damn video,” I snapped. “We’re at risk every second we’re exposed out here. They could track our position at any time.”

“I’ve got it.” Guillermo turned up the volume on his phone where the President’s address was already playing.

“—unprovoked attacks against humans in urban areas, in our suburbs, and in the farming communities that our nation depends on for the safety of its food supply.” President Payne paused as a reporter shouted a question. “Our intelligence sources have confirmed from surveillance footage, forensic evidence, and from enemy agents apprehended at the scene that these terroristic attacks are being carried out by the Vampire Nation.”