"We are not most people. And our last hunt was a disappointment. We need a good challenge before we move on."
I studied him for a moment, wondering why he was so damn confident that he felt no qualms about telling me everything, then said, "So why have you been hunting them? Why not just shoot them, then slice off their heads, like you did your first victim?"
"Because we were young then, and blind to the prospects of the hunt." He paused. "Was Adrienne the reason you appeared on the island and the Directorate began investigating the club?"
"Yes." Better to let him think the Directorate had been wise to their ways, when in fact I'd only been investigating thanks to Blake's blackmailing insistence. God knows how many other women they would have taken before the Directorate had become aware of their activities. The number might even have been as high as the seventeen that went missing in England. "Is that why you left the UK and came here? Because the authorities got wind something was up?"
"The regular authorities we could have handled. It was only when the Directorate took a serious interest that we had to move on." Annoyance flickered—a brief, black cloud in his otherwise cheerful expression. "We had hoped to source quite a few more hunts here before we were forced to go elsewhere."
"So why Adrienne? She looked nothing like the woman who killed your father."
Something flicked through his eyes. Anger. Or madness. It was hard to tell which. "We had no option when she appeared on the island asking questions. Plus, she had that sketch."
"Which was you, I take it."
He nodded. "Unfortunately, it turned out your pack-mate had an interesting psychic skill that allowed her to read a person's past. She ran into me at the club, and apparently caught glimpses of our murderous little habit."
"She told you this?"
He smiled benignly. "Of course she did. She thought it would help her live."
"So she and the others are dead?"
"Yes. Though they do live on in our memories. And through our trophies."
I stared at him for a minute, my stomach turning as I remembered the fact that the head of their first victim had never been found. "You take trophies?"
He chuckled, and it was a cold, inhuman sound. "Of course. All hunters do. The heads of all our prey line the walls of our lodge, so we and others can admire the beauty of their death. Although Adrienne has not yet joined them. Our taxidermist went on holidays."
Oh God, that was just… beyond sick. These weren't just animals we were talking about, these were people.
Living, breathing human beings. Or rather, nonhuman beings.
And how in hell did they find a taxidermist who'd even do such a thing?
"You will pay for those trophies," I said, my voice flat, devoid of the anger that was running through me. Just like Rhoan, when he stepped into his guardian shoes and became the efficient killing machine he'd been trained to be.
A shiver went through me, and deep down something screamed no. But I had to wonder how much longer that voice would last if I kept getting thrown up against the psychos of this world.
"That's the whole idea," he said cheerfully. "We hunt. You try to make us pay. Of course, there are rules."
I snorted. "Like I'm actually going to obey any of your rules once I'm out of here?"
Perhaps not the wisest thing to say, but hey, if he knew anything about guardians, then he knew rules didn't often figure in our actions.
"You will obey, or your partner pays."
Yeah, like that was a surprise. And of course, I would obey their rules because there was no way on this earth I'd risk my brother's life. "The problem you're faced with is the fact that if you do manage to kill me, there is nothing left to make my partner obey your rules."
"There is no if in the equation." He dug into his pocket, and pulled out what looked like one of those keychain garage doors openers. "And we have this as our security on your partner. He has a miniature bomb planted in his armpit. If he disobeys the rules, the top half of his torso will be blown apart. Hard to get revenge when you only have half a body and no brain."
I stared at him, wondering what was worse—his matter-of-fact tone or his obvious delight at his handiwork.
"The first thing any sensible person would do is rip the device out of their body."
"The device's power is sourced from the body's heat. Disconnect that source and it will instantly detonate."
"That's not very friendly."
"We may enjoy our hunt, but we are not fools." He glanced at his watch then pushed away from the bars. "We will release you at five. Walk down the path and out the red gate. Go anywhere else but out that gate and your partner will lose his life. We will give you a ten-minute head start."
"Gee, thanks," I said dryly.
"Use the time wisely."
He turned around and walked out of the barn. I flicked to infrared vision, watching his body heat push through the thick shrubbery to the left of the path before disappearing from my line of sight.
So the hunter had become the hunted. Nothing new in that situation. Question was, why was he so damned confident?
Granted, he and his twin had a good number of kills under their belts, and those kills were either weres or shifters who were traditionally stronger and faster than humans.
But Rhoan and I were guardians. Trained killers. Well, Rhoan was. I was still very much the new kid on the block, and more than happy to stay that way. Yet Jorn had showed no fear of either of us. Had absolutely no doubt that he could track me down and kill me.
Why?
He obviously knew what guardians were capable of—they'd moved out of England to get away from Directorate interest there.
So why the confidence?
Was it just another pointer to their obvious insanity? Or had they done to me what they'd done to Rhoan?
I felt under my armpits, but there didn't seem to be anything foreign there. Which didn't mean there wasn't a bomb somewhere inside me, just that I couldn't feel it. And I couldn't remove something I couldn't feel. Though if what Jorn had said about its power source was true, then removing it wasn't the best option right now anyway.
Which left me with only one thing to do—nothing. Just wait for the hunt to begin.
Another hour went by. I rose and began stretching, readying muscles but trying not to think about the hunt that was coming.
Then, finally, the door clicked open. I remained where I was, nostrils flaring, trying to catch any scent that would indicate that either Jorn or Yohan was close. There was nothing. Just the freshness of dawn.
I stepped out of my cell, the concrete cold under my bare feet as I looked at the ceiling. No cameras. Nothing to tell them I was on the move. What would happen if I waited here? The barn might not be the best fighting arena, but there were plenty of shadows to hide within. How would they know just where I was?
Unless, of course, there was a sensor at the red gate he'd told me to go through.
I blew out a frustrated breath, then walked forward. I couldn't afford to risk Rhoan's life on what-ifs, If Jorn and Yohan wanted a hunt, a hunt they would get. And this hunter fully intended to see the tables turned.
Hints of red and gold touched the predawn sky, and the air was crisp, holding the scents of eucalyptus and sea. I padded along the edge of the path, keeping to the shadows, ears attuned to the growing hum of the day, listening for any sound that was out of tune. There was still nothing to indicate either man was watching. Maybe they were intending a fair hunt.
And maybe tomorrow I'd become human.
Yohan and Jorn might want a good hunt, but in the end, they also wanted—needed—to win. Which meant, if it got down to the nitty-gritty, fairness would go out the window.