Page 2 of Back in the Hunt

Just as he was about to leap back through and reunite them, Bryn heard the man whisper “Let me go.”

“Not on your life,” Bryn replied, shaking his spectral head in disbelief at the dead man. Who was he to tell Bryn how to do his job and how dare he give up? But, mostly,whowas he, Bryn wondered as he tugged the soul back to its body, nuzzling it intoplace. Why had a swarm of sluagh attacked him and why was that shadow…thing willing to fight Bryn for him?

Bryn passed back through to the world of the living, returning to his human form as he hunkered over the smaller man’s body. And he wassmall. Not just short, but all of his features were a touch smaller in scale than they should have been. Bryn sucked in a startled gasp when he turned the man’s face toward the light, stunned by its boyish, angelic beauty.

Bryn was relieved when he found a pulse, but it was weak and he had no luck reviving his new friend. Aside from some cuts, bruises, and a busted eye, there were no major injuries, as far as Bryn could tell. He carefully patted him down, searching for broken bones or ribs, and checked his skull for bumps or wounds, but there was nothing to explain why the otherwise healthy young man remained limp and nearly lifeless.

“Who are you?” Bryn asked, gently sweeping the wild, dirty blond hair away, groaning at how lost and innocent he looked. His thick eyelashes fanned across his cheeks and his soft pink lips were turned down into a pout. “Why won’t you wake up?” Bryn whispered, tracing a cheekbone and cradling his jaw.

Bryn frowned as he noted the dark shadows under the young man’s eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks. He didn’t appear to be unhoused, but he clearly hadn’t bathed or shaved in a few days and wasn’t taking very good care of himself, judging by his tangled hair, juice and soda-stained T-shirt, sagging jeans, and unlaced sneakers.

A distant shriek had Bryn turning and searching and he spotted another cluster of sluagh. “We gotta go,” he said and easily lifted the other man up and over one shoulder, then took off for home.

One

Not that Bryn minded Georgetown, but he could have listed at least a dozen places he’d rather be. But there he was, sitting outside Professor Lennox MacIlwraith’s townhouse on a Friday night. The professor lived with his loyal partner, Agent Grady Nelson, and had cemented his reputation for being an unorthodox investigative savant after the pair rescued six young women from a murderous cult and captured all those responsible, including its leader—a dangerous and deranged wannabe messiah.

That was what the FBI and the authorities down in New Castle wanted everyone to believe, but Bryn knew better. The world had fallen for “Nox” MacIlwraith’s cheeky punk professor act and believed he was nothing more than a consultant who solved inexplicable cases with the help of the FBI’s most patient agent. When in reality, Nox MacIlwraith was the walking vessel of an ancient Celtic demigod and Nelson, his reincarnated warrior-priest bodyguard.

Nox was also rumored to be an extremely powerful witch and Bryn needed all the mystical and metaphysical help he could get. He just wished he wasn’t so desperate and would have resorted toanyother option. Bryn glanced down at the pallet they hadmade on the van’s floor for their unconscious patient, Everly Wells, concerned and disturbed. It had been three days and Everly had yet to do more than mumble in his sleep. All of his wounds had healed overnight on their own, but nothing they did would rouse him.

“Are you ready?” Arawn asked from the passenger seat, earning an amused chuckle from Fletcher as he turned off the engine and put his arm over the back of the driver’s seat so he could see Bryn.

“I give you my word: we can trust them and they’ll know what to do about him,” Fletcher said with a nod at Everly.

Bryn winced, watching the townhouse. “It’s not that I don’t trust them…” He had met Agent Nelson and gotten a good look at Nox and their two friends, Merlin Oglethorpe and Professor Darrach Clancy, after Nox’s showdown with Walter Forsythe. “The little bald dandy is older than he looks, but the other two…they’re new. And what’s this new sun god done with his gift since he changed?” he asked and Arawn groaned, rubbing a temple.

“Why don’t you ask him after you’ve walked a mile in his shoes?”

There was another gentle chuckle from Fletcher as he gave Arawn’s hand an affectionate squeeze. They were always touching. Bryn loved that.For them.Arawn had married Dr. Fletcher Bixby almost twenty-five years ago, after facing off as expert witnesses in a murder trial that ended in a hung jury. Bryn rolled his eyes when Fletcher raised Arawn’s hand to his lips and kissed it. They put the case behind them and were married in a quiet, simple ceremony at Fletcher’s mother’s place in Williamsburg, the summer before she passed away. Fletcher cherished Arawn whenever he wasn’t up to his elbows in a case so Bryn had happily approved. Fletcher had a generous, nurturing spirit and Bryn was proud to call him brother.

Most of the time.

“Amen,” Fletcher said heartily. “I wouldn’t want that kind of responsibility.”

“Clearly, it would be wasted on you two as well. Good to know,” Bryn said with a shrug. “Can we do this?”

“Can you be nice?” Arawn returned pointedly, making Fletcher grin. “What?” Arawn asked, his tone suspicious.

Fletcher cringed sheepishly. “I might have suggested that Bryn was a fan of Nox’s,” he said and Arawn’s eyes widened.

“Why would you do that? You should have warned him that my brother can be a shit and that I got most of the brains,” he said so Bryn raised both of his middle fingers, glaring at Arawn.

“That’s why,” Fletcher said, then pointed at Bryn. “Nox is going tolovethis. And he won’t be fazed by that chip on your shoulder. If anything, he’ll knock it off and you’ll be the one picking out splinters,” he predicted.

“We’ll see.” Bryn unbuckled his belt and got out. “I don’t care, as long as he can help Everly. If he can’t, I don’t want to be here longer than we need to,” he said with one last look at Everly before sliding the side door shut. “Leave the windows cracked and the alarm on,” he told Fletcher.

“Will do!”

Bryn went around to the back and looked on as Arawn warded it, blessing the van and shielding it from dark forces in whispered Welsh. “Go on ahead,” Bryn told them when Arawn had finished, receiving a disgruntled scowl from his twin brother that spoke volumes. “I’ll catch up,” Bryn promised with an impatient flick of his fingers.

Fletcher laughed it off as he hooked an arm around Arawn’s and pulled him through the townhouse’s front gate and garden. “He needs to see a man about a van and do a little hot doggin’,” he whispered loudly.

“You should have stopped after the first part, Fletch,” Bryn muttered at their backs, then turned and considered the van and his bladder.

It was ready to burst, thanks to the five-and-a-half hour drive and the half gallon of ice water Bryn had packed for the road. Fletcher had developed an impressive network of occult allies, but the beings inside MacIlwraith’s picture perfect townhouse were particularly powerful and unique. Their credentials didn’t impress Bryn, though. A belligerent sneer tugged at his lips as he checked around him, then unzipped his fly.

He hid in the shadow behind the corner of the van, waiting for his bladder to relax and shivered as he sprayed the ground at his feet. A faint giggle bubbled from Bryn as he sidestepped along the side of the van, sprinkling the road as he skipped to the driver’s corner. Bryn’s relief was so profound by the time he had made the entire trip around the vehicle, he could have floated to Annwn.

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