Page 65 of Hunted

‘Sure,’ she says briskly. ‘But if it is her and she was on the run, at eighteen and far from home, she’s not exactly thinking like a criminal mastermind. She’s trying to stick to as many facts as she can remember. Chopping up her middle name is genius actually, if you ask me.’

There is a punch of fire in her tone that almost makes my mouth twitch. Then I remember her brazen invasion of my dreams last night.

My imaginings just now. My mood darkens. ‘I still maintain this is far too thin.’

‘Okay. How about I tell you that you already brushed against it six years ago. You just didn’t recognise what you were looking at.’

I stiffen, knowing in my fangs I will not like what comes next. ‘Explain.’

‘Your own private investigator reported a possible sighting within those three days in question.’

I contain the building fury and tap into Malachi.

Is she correct?

‘Uh-oh,’ Eira says. ‘Your dude is giving me the evil eye. Do I need to run?’

I hear papers shuffle.

The phone cracks in my fist.

Malachi.

A moment, please, sire.

The faintest tremor threads his voice. Then furious clicking.

Then – Yes. It seems the hunter is correct.

Where is this investigator? Find him and bring him to me. Now.

A pause.

I’m sorry, sire. The investigator in question died two years ago. Natural causes.

The oversight is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It still stings enough to volcanize my temper, hard enough that every one of my Twelve will feel it.

Several floors below, Malachi’s apprehension spikes, sharpened by the sting of his failure being exposed by a human woman with ice-cold courage in her veins.

It is almost admirable.

‘Umm… everything okay?’ Eira’s husky voice intrudes. ‘Only I’m getting some weird vibes from your man. Like he’s about to hulk out. Or maybe that’s just you⁠—’

‘What do you intend to do with this piece of information?’ I cut across her.

‘I was thinking of heading down to Louisiana. To verify,’ she says. ‘There’s a pawn shop ticket on the intake form that might get us somewhere. I’ll report when I have something concrete.’

‘No.’

Silence hums between us.

‘I don’t require permission to do my job,’ she says at last.

‘You require my patience,’ I correct softly. ‘And it is fast thinning.’

She exhales, almost amused. ‘I’m beginning to think you didn’t just wake up on the wrong side of the coffin, you slept inside the wrong coffin.’

‘Miss Cross⁠—’