Page 3 of Hunt Me

“I know.”

“And overprotective.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And infuriating.”

“It’s a gift.”

She mutters some colorful words, and I brace myself for more of an argument, but in the end, she says, “Fine. I’ll see you at home.”

My shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you.”

“Just be careful,” she grumbles.

“Love you, punk,” I say, using Dad’s nickname for us.

“Love you, too, punk.”

I end the call and slide the phone back into my pocket. The fact that she returns the endearment means she’s not as mad as she pretends. With a steadying breath, I scan the shadows for any sign of someone lurking or listening. But this part of town is empty of pedestrians, thanks to the rows of abandoned houses and boarded-up businesses.

Satisfied I’m alone, I resume my trek toward the meeting point.

Keeping Kendall caged is becoming increasingly harder, and I know the day is fast approaching when I won’t have the power to do it anymore. But I’m determined to protect her as long as possible from any and all danger—including herself. Being sixteen is hard as fuck, but being sixteen in the Crossroads is even harder.

Too many assholes would take advantage of her if they could, and my sister hasn’t learned who to trust just yet. Until she does, I’ll do it for her.

I turn the corner and see that, up ahead, a lone figure waits, their silhouette faint beneath the cloud-covered moon. My fae senses, already heightened, are razor-sharp in the darkness. In our limited communication thus far, Em doesn’t strike me as the type to kill the messenger even before I’ve delivered the message, but I don’t assume anything. I didn’t get this far by letting my guard down.

At the end of the block, a willowy figure leans against a battered brick wall, a cloud of cigarette smoke hovering before her like a misty shroud. The expensive coat she wears hides whatever’s underneath, including any weapons she might be holding. A scarf is tied over her hair, offering another layer of disguise. Her presence exudes an air of secrecy and intrigue, but it’s her eyes that catch my attention—narrowed to slits like a cat and ringed in thick black liner.

I sniff lightly, trying to get a read on her power, but it’s not obvious. Shifter of some kind maybe.

I approach her warily, my footsteps barely making a sound on the cracked pavement.

“Em, I assume.”

“You must be the poisoner,” she says in a raspy voice. “Uziah said you’re the best in the Crossroads.”

“I’m the most discreet,” I tell her.

“Good. I need this to be smooth. No witnesses. Nothing linking you to me. Or him.”

I nod, reaffirming my objective. “Discretion is part of the package.”

“And no bloodshed.”

“That’s not my style.”

It’s true that I’m capable of using a blade or even my fists, thanks to my father’s training, but it’s not my best talent. It’s also not nearly as efficient as poisoning.

Em eyes me like she’s trying to decide whether to take me at my word. I don’t bother trying to reassure her. She wouldn’t have called me here if she hadn’t already made up her mind.

“I don’t have to tell you the portal has put a target on our backs,” she says.

“And yet, you’re hiring me anyway.”

“This man is a warlock,” she says, ignoring my comment. “His ability to sense danger is uncanny. No weaponry can slip past his awareness.”

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