Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Stepping out of the shower stall a few days later, Teague wrapped a towel around his waist and padded into his bedroom. Drying himself off, he glanced at the wristwatch he’d placed on his dresser. 5pm.

Larkin would be here in half an hour or so. They often ate dinner together at her place, but Saxon had announced he’d be throwing a BBQ tonight for the entire clan. No real reason; he just felt like it.

When Teague had telepathically let her know about the BBQ, she’d said, “I’ll be there.” Like he’d invited her. Which he hadn’t. And she knew it.

Call him weird, but he liked how she simply stated what she’d be doing in a deal-with-it voice.

As it happened, he’d fully intended to invite her. Still, he might have teased her that it was a guys’ night or something—which would no doubt have earned him an uncaring snort followed by a “See you soon.” But he hadn’t had the chance, because she’d psychically withdrawn from the conversation without a goodbye.

The sound of barks splitting the air made both him and his beast stiffen. Knowing his clan members were outside, he tuned into their telepathic channel and asked, What’s wrong?

Not sure I’d choose the word ‘wrong’,said Leo. More like ‘surprising’. You’re not going to believe this, but Vine is here.

Teague blinked at the mention of their old commander within the Dark Host. Vine?

Yeah, and a few of his legionnaires. He wants to speak with us all.

Swearing under his breath, Teague began to quickly dry himself off. About what? It had been years since Teague had last seen the commander. The demon hadn’t contacted them after they left the Wild Hunt. It wasn’t usual to keep in touch with retirees.

It was Slade who responded, He hasn’t said yet.

I doubt I’m the only one thinking he somehow found out that Ronin has been sending shadowkin after Teague,Archer chipped in. He could be here to assure us that the attacks will come to an end.

It did seem the likeliest scenario. Dry, Teague started dragging on clothes.

I don’t think we need to worry that any shit is about to go down,said Tucker. Vine’s all smiles and back-claps, and he doesn’t have a large force with him.

True. Vine knew it would take more than four demons to bring the clan down. For him to have brought along only a few legionnaires, Vine was deliberately attempting to not appear threatening.

Once dressed, Teague exited the wagon. None of the clan were sitting—a sign that, despite their easy smiles and relaxed postures, they weren’t feeling so blasé. In fact, they’d all stationed themselves around the clearing, boxing Vine and his three demons in.

It wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the commander, but he didn’t seem annoyed by it. He sat at a log near the firepit with his companions, chatting amicably with Gideon, who was dumping dry wood in the pit to feed the fire.

The dogs slowly and casually circled the camp, not looking in the least bit predatory. But Teague knew that each were on high alert and would pounce at a moment’s notice, much like the silent and still ravens.

He lifted a brow at Saxon, who was leaning against one of the wagons, and asked, Everything still all good here?

So far, yes, the other male replied. Vine and his boys are a little on the tense side, as if unsure of their welcome—not exactly unexpected, given we requested that we be left alone when we retired and we’re not exactly giving them a gushing reception—but they’ve been friendly enough.

Good, I’d rather not have to kill Vine,said Teague as he clambered down the stairs.

The creak of the wood made the commander turn his upper body slightly, and his mouth curved into his usual shark’s smile. Vine pushed to his feet—the guy was tall, bulky, and dark-skinned with black-ringed blue eyes that were as sharp as they were unusual. “Teague, good to see you. Shit, none of you have aged one single bit.”

Teague walked to him and shook the hand he held out. “It’s only been roughly sixty years since we settled in this realm.”

“That all? Centuries have passed down below.”

“That explains the gray streaks in your hair.”

Vine shot him a droll look. “Don’t remind me of them.” He introduced his three companions, who all gave Teague respectful nods.

Teague settled on a log, and the four visitors then returned to their spots across from him.

“How’s retirement suiting you?” asked Vine.

Wanting the male to get to the point, Teague only said, “Well enough.”

“You haven’t found yourself bored after so many years of adrenaline rushes?”

“At first, it took some adjusting to. But now? No, not at all. It’s hard for a hellhorse to get bored.” They could find the smallest thing entertaining.

Vine’s lips kicked up. “True.”

“But I don’t think you came all the way here to ask how retirement is treating us.”

Vine leaned forward, braced his elbows on his thighs, and brushed his hands together. “How would you feel about returning to the Dark Host?”

Shock tightened Teague’s muscles, and his beast jerked its head in surprise. It was literally the last thing that he’d expected the commander to say. “Returning as what?”

“As Master of the Wild Hunt, of course. I’d like you all to come back.”

“Why?” The question came from Slade, who stood beside the steps of his wagon.

“The hellhorses that formed the unit after you left . . . Let’s just say they were nowhere near as good as yours,” Vine prevaricated. “They retired a century early.”

Saxon squinted. “By choice, or by persuasion?”

“The latter, but it wasn’t difficult to convince them.” Vine grazed his fingertips over his jaw. “We formed another unit after that, but they too struggled to keep up with the demands of the job. As for the current unit, their record is even worse.”

A low telepathic whistle of surprise sounded down the clan’s mental channel—one that came from Leo, who then said, Okay, this conversation is going in a direction I hadn’t expected.

Maybe he doesn’t actually know what Ronin’s been up to, mused Gideon.

Let’s not enlighten him,said Teague. If we do, we’ll be the prime suspects when Ronin drops off their radar and can’t be found. The clan would ensure there’d be nothing left of him to find.

“We had high hopes for them,” Vine continued. “They’re excellent trackers and have plenty of experience within the Dark Host. They’re also by no means weak. Your half-brother, Ronin, actually leads them, Teague.” Pausing, he rubbed at his brow. “But he fast buckled under the pressure of the job, just as the others did.”

Teague’s brows lifted in a surprise he failed to hide.

Vine sighed. “Yes, I hadn’t expected that from Ronin either. He’d pushed to join the Hunt for so long that I assumed he’d be ready for all that would come with it. You know yourself that being part of it demands much from a demon. It’s not simply a role; it’s a way of life. There’s little to no downtime. No way to be a real partner or parent, which means making sacrifices that demons often don’t realize will bother them until they’re in that situation.”

“What, Ronin wants to breed?” Archer cut in, leaning back against the picnic table. “I wouldn’t consider it a good thing.”

Vine’s mouth quirked. “No, that’s not what ails him.” He paused. “The seven of you are massively respected within the Dark Host. In all of its history, few units have performed and functioned as well as yours. You never failed to capture who you were sent to track, you never left any trace of yourselves behind, you never took too long to complete a mission. You were a team in the truest sense of the word. An excellent team.

“The units that came after yours weren’t able to come close to matching that record, let alone surpass it. In all three cases, a very big issue was that the Master huntsman didn’t have what it took to lead the Hunt.” Vine cut his gaze to Teague. “Ronin has been constantly compared to you by others, and he’s not measuring up in their estimation.”

Tucker puffed out a breath. “Ronin can’t like that much.”

“He doesn’t,” Vine confirmed. “What he likes even less is that Zagan threatened that if his unit’s performance didn’t improve, we would ask you all to return and replace them.”

Teague blinked. He did, what?

Well, shit,said Tucker.

“Zagan thought it might light a fire under Ronin’s ass. It did. But it hasn’t made him any better at his position. He still struggles to handle the pressure, as does the rest of his unit.” Vine blew out a breath. “I think the problem is that you all made it look easy. The reality of the situation was therefore a shock to those who came after you.”

“So you intend to persuade the current unit to retire as well?” asked Leo, sitting on the log beside Teague.

“Yes.” Vine straightened. “A weakness in the Wild Hunt is a weakness in the Dark Host, and it reflects badly on the army as a whole. We can’t have that.”

Leo nodded. “Does Ronin or his unit know you’re here?”

The commander shook his head. “But they’ll learn of it if you return with me. And I’m hoping you will. There are, of course, other hellhorses eager to join the Hunt, but I don’t wish to take my chances on another bunch if there’s a possibility that you all might be willing to come back.”

Teague hadn’t ever anticipated that such an offer would be made to them, since it wasn’t common for ex-huntsmen to be asked to come out of retirement. But despite being flattered by it, he couldn’t say he was at all tempted to grab onto the offer. His years in the Wild Hunt . . . it felt like another lifetime. One he’d moved on from and had no wish to revisit.

Just the same, his beast had no interest in returning to that time in their life. Or to hell, for that matter. It was settled here in this realm now, as was Teague. Neither could imagine leaving their current life behind, or people such as Khloë and, yes, even Larkin.

Teague rubbed at his nape. “I can’t speak for the others here, only for myself. Though I appreciate that you’d make this offer, I have to respectfully decline. As you rightly pointed out, the Hunt demands a lot from a person. I had no life outside of it. Now I do. Now I know how it feels to be free and able to do as I please. I enjoy that far too much. I couldn’t go back to a time when I didn’t have it.”

“Same applies to me,” said Slade, and the others echoed his sentiment.

Vine exhaled heavily. “I was afraid that would be the case. There’s no way I can change your mind? No offer I could make that would appeal to you? I’ve been given the go-ahead by Zagan to promise you whatever you want.”

Teague gave him a wan smile. “My hunting days are over.”

His clan made similar comments.

Vine twisted his mouth, grim. “I can’t lie, I’m disappointed. Zagan won’t be pleased either. But I can understand why you would make such a decision.” He stood, and his companions did the same. “If you change your mind, you’ll be welcomed back into the Dark Host without hesitation.”

Teague gave him a curt nod. “I appreciate that.” Sort of. Not really.

Goodbyes, back-pats, and nods were exchanged. Vine then opened a portal through which he and the legionnaires left. It shut with a whoosh of sound.

Sinking into a deck chair, Gideon looked at Teague. “Now we know why Ronin sent shadowkin after you—if you’re dead, there’s no way you can replace him as Master Huntsman.”

Leo nodded, absently plucking at the golf glove he’d removed. “It makes sense now that he’d be prepared to risk losing the position by targeting you,” he told Teague. “He’s going to lose it anyway—it’s just a matter of when. He wants to make sure he doesn’t lose it to you.”

Yep, because that would only add insult to injury. “Once he’s officially demoted, he’ll lose the ability to direct the shadowkin. That’s when he’ll come for me personally.”

“Definitely,” agreed Slade, taking a seat at the picnic table. “That you don’t intend to be reinstated as Master Huntsman won’t stop him from wanting you dead. And I don’t just mean because as long as you live there’s a chance you’ll take Zagan and Vine up on their offer. Ronin will feel the need to prove once and for all who’s the biggest, baddest brother. He’ll seek to do that by taking your life.”

“He’d be dumb not to try it in any case,” began Archer, “considering he’ll know by now there’s a good chance that Teague’s aware he sent the shadowkin. Ronin will want to cover his tracks.”

“Yeah, he won’t want to chance that Teague alerts Vine,” agreed Tucker before sliding his gaze to Teague. “You didn’t tell the commander about it just now, sure, but Ronin might not learn that Vine came here. Either way, Ronin won’t want it hanging over his head.”

When Reggie nosed Teague’s thigh, he took the hint and began petting him. “I didn’t expect to be offered our old positions. You really didn’t want to return to them?”

Slade shook his head, his brows drawing together. “Like you, I couldn’t go back to following orders.”

“Me neither,” said Leo. “I make my own rules now, and I like it that way.”

Archer stretched. “I’ve done enough tracking and killing to last me a lifetime. Plus, they don’t have mushrooms in hell. I’d miss them.”

“I’d miss the weed here,” said Tucker. “It’s way better.”

Saxon folded his arms. “I can’t lie, I enjoy hunting. I enjoy killing. But I do that here with my current profession, so . . . ”

Gideon pulled a small flask out of what seemed like nowhere. “I don’t think I’d be as good at hunting as I used to be. I’ve been inactive too long. I’m used to late nights and not waking up at the crack of dawn. I’m not inclined to give that up. I’d rather . . . ” He trailed off at the sound of an engine rumbling in the near distance. “Someone’s here.”

Teague’s beast flicked its ears. “It’ll be Larkin.”

“She might as well eat with us,” declared Saxon. “I’m going to fire up the grill now.”

The others headed to their wagons to retrieve foods and drinks for the BBQ. Teague waited on the log for his harpy to arrive. Her car soon pulled up behind Saxon’s truck, and then she slid out.

He felt his brow crease. “You have blood on you.” A lot of it.

She waved that away and stalked toward him. “It isn’t mine.”

That was usually Saxon’s line. “Whose blood is it?”

“Some idiot from our lair who thought that breaking the rules would be tolerated. As if that’s ever been a thing.” She propped her delectable butt on the log beside Teague and landed a quick kiss on his mouth. “I doubt he’ll repeat that mistake—at least not in a hurry. My demon shook him up.”

Teague frowned. “And you didn’t invite me to come watch it at work?”

She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Uh, no.”

“But I want to see it make someone cry.”

“That’s your mental damage to deal with. I’m not touching or accommodating it. Besides, it’s lair business. Just like your business is yours. Right?”

He snapped his mouth shut. Valid point. He hated when she made those. “Come on, you can help me grab some bits from my wagon for the BBQ while I tell you about our recent visitor.”

By the time they were placing the last of said ‘bits’ on the outdoor table, he’d relayed the details of his visit from Vine.

“That explains a lot,” she said. “Being told you might replace him will have been a real hit for Ronin. To then be threatened that you’d be brought back to take over from him has to have been his tipping point.”

Saxon dipped his chin. “His bitterness has been brewing for centuries. He’ll hate that he’s struggling where Teague didn’t.” He placed a platter of buns on the table, his gaze sliding to Teague. “You shone in that position. He’s done the opposite. And if people have been comparing his performance to yours, that has to not only gall him but remind him of how Soren used you as a measuring stick.”

Leo folded his arms. “All those years he impatiently waited to take over your old position, he probably had it in his head that he’d be better at it than you; that he’d earn a level of respect that way surpassed yours,” he said to Teague.

Nodding, Tucker pulled a lid off a pot of potato salad. “He’s such a damn tool he probably convinced himself he’d go down in history.”

“He will,” said Teague. “He’ll be known as the Master Huntsman that mysteriously disappeared, because that’s how it will be made to look after we kill him.”

Larkin tilted her head. “I take it you didn’t tell Vine that Ronin’s been sending shadowkin after you.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Teague confirmed. “If I had, he’d have later suspected me of being responsible for Ronin’s upcoming disappearance.”

Glad he’d thought of that, Larkin gave a satisfied nod. Well, it wasn’t as if he always had his thoughts straight. His version of ‘common sense’ differed from that of most people.

Taking a knife, she began sawing open the bread buns. “Is it typical for huntsmen to be asked to come out of retirement?”

“Not as far as I know,” he replied.

“You weren’t even a little tempted to return to hell and pick up the mantle you once lowered?” Not that she’d have let him. She’d have stopped him. Somehow.

“Fuck, no. I’m good as I am.” He swept his gaze over his camp. “The life we lead is simple and unexciting, but that’s the point. I know some people seem to struggle with retirement; with having no demands on them or their time. Not us. We like it that way.” He shot her a slow, lazy smile. “Why, would you miss me if I left?”

She sniffed. “Maybe a little. At first. Then I’d get used to you being gone. Might even eventually forget your name. But I’d think back on your cock fondly.”

He chuckled. “You’d miss me.”

Totally. “Yeah, well, you’d miss me.”

“And your demon. It cracks me up.”

Her entity practically preened. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only person other than me who actually likes my demon.”

His brow knitted. “Really? People are so weird.”

Eyeing him, Larkin nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

Stepping closer to her, he said, “I have an idea.”

“Will it disturb me?”

“Possibly.”

She reluctantly invited, “Go on.”

“I could convince Gideon to let your demon torture him,” he began, his eyes lit with excitement, “and then I’ll have a front seat to what will surely be an amazing show.”

Torturehim? She placed down the knife. “How, pray tell, could you convince Gideon to agree to that?”

“I’d get him shitfaced first. That won’t be hard. He loves his whiskey. Add in a few glasses of brandy and he’ll. Be. Plastered. He doesn’t handle mixing his drinks well.” He rubbed his hands. “So, what do you think?”

She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d suggest something like this, or that he’d believe she might be up for it. “I think ‘no’.”

The light faded from his eyes as a disappointed frown pulled at his brows. “Why?”

“Why? Lots of reasons. It’s immoral. Mean. Sly.”

“I’m not seeing the issue.”

She felt her eyelid twitch. “Go help Saxon flip burgers or something.” She went back to slicing open the bread buns.

“So it’s a definite no, then?”

“A definite, huge no. Really huge. Like . . . it couldn’t be bigger.”

“A no to what?” asked Archer, sidling up to Teague.

“I said we should get Gideon so blitzed he’d agree to let her demon torture him so I can watch,” Teague explained.

Archer’s brow dented. “Why do we need his agreement?”

Dropping the knife again, Larkin flicked her gaze upward. They could not be for real.

Teague lifted his shoulders. “I thought it might make her feel better about the whole thing.”

Larkin planted her hands on the table. “What will make me feel better is if we end this conversation.”

Archer leaned into Teague. “Maybe it will help if we get her drunk, too.”

“I heard that,” she told him.

Archer gave her a reprimanding look. “It’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“It’s not eavesdropping if you’re right there, where I have no choice but to hear you,” she pointed out, admittedly snippy. “And something tells me you don’t care about ‘rude’ anyway.”

He slapped a hand to his chest. “I’m offended that you would—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

The asshole chuckled.

A few hours later, after the BBQ was over and she was seriously bloated, she and Teague were heading into his wagon.

Peering down at the duffel she’d pulled out of the trunk, he asked, “What’s that?”

“My overnight bag.” She dumped it on the cushioned bench.

His brows inched up. “You’re staying over?”

“No, I brought it for absolutely no reason,” she deadpanned.

He smiled. “Snarky.” The word rang with delight. “It’s like you want my demon to bite you again.”

Rolling her eyes, she took a seat at the table and placed a hand on her full stomach. As he opened the window, she glanced around. “I like your wagon.”

He shot her a sideways look of surprise. “I would have thought you’d find it confining. You’re used to your big-ass apartment.”

“I like my home. But it’s not cozy. I prefer cozy over spacious.”

He tipped his head to the side. “How come you don’t live in a smaller place, then?”

“It’s easier to have Knox as a landlord. I don’t have to pay rent or worry about human bullshit. Plus, my complex is super secure. And it means I’m near Levi, Tanner, and their mates. Though the latter isn’t always a positive, because the guys like to be up in my business, despite having busy lives.”

Casting her duffel a quick look, he said, “I almost forgot to tell you, you left some of your stuff here last time.”

“I did?”

“A comb and a hair tie.”

Humming, she casually stretched her legs out. “I wondered where the comb was. Remind me to toss them in my bag before I leave.”

He crossed to her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth curving. “You know, Gideon has a theory.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask what it is. In fact, I don’t want to know.”

Teague’s smile widened. “He thinks you left your stuff here on purpose. That you did it to put your mark on my territory.”

“Because a hair tie and a comb make a real statement,” she mocked, her voice bone dry. But in the privacy of her own head, she had only one thought: Busted. “Take your jeans off.”

His forehead wrinkled. “What? Why?”

“It’ll make it easier for me to blow you.”

Teague pressed his lips together, squeezing one eye shut. “I really feel like you’re trying to distract me, but I don’t have it in me to choose pursuing this line of conversation over having your lips wrapped around my cock again.”

Success.“Then the jeans need to go. So get to it.”