Page 66 of Demon Hunter

More than anything I’ve ever done. And I’m no angel

I chew my lip. Do I want to be in the same room as the person who arranged for Matt to die?

We need to talk

It’s not that easy

Walls have ears, huh?

They’re everywhere

Great. None of this is easy, and it looks like it’s not going to be.

Are you alone? Completely alone, so nobody would notice if you went out for a few hours?

You’re in California. I’m not

That doesn’t answer the question

There’s a delay while they presumably think about their answer. Do they tell me that they’re alone, and thus an easier target? Maybe they’re even looking up the locations of the hunters nearest to them.

Yes

I turn to Matt. “It’s your call. Can you handle meeting them?”

Matt smiles sympathetically at me. “Baby, I think you have more trauma from the attack than I do. I just want to get the job done. Can you handle meeting them?”

No. No, I fucking can’t. I want to rip them apart with my fingernails. I want to tank their credit forlife. I want to put them on every no-fly list that exists.

Instead, I turn back to the screen.

I’m Dylan

We have the family tree. This is someone on it, I’d swear to it. All I need is a first name and we can match it to the rest—I still have the PDF open. And giving a first name via chat is hardly “incrimin?—

Yeah, I know. I’m Gus

We lean in closer to the scree— “There!” Ian yells, pointing. “Top line. August Wentworth.”

Marc’s smile sends a shiver down my spine. “Shall we adjourn to the parlor? We can greet our guest there.”

I thought the race to the study was fast, but it’s got nothing on the one to the parlor. Matt’s training must be going really well, because he makes it there first and shows no sign of exertion. The three of us humans sit in a row on the fancy couch, trying to look casual even though that would be impossible in this room. It’s not a casual kind of room.

I pat my phone in my pocket, needing to know I havesomekind of technology here to anchor me. Then I lean slightly into Matt, hoping he won’t move away.

He doesn’t.

But he doesn’t put his arm around me either.

Later, I remind myself. Crisis first. Relationship later.

Marc and Raum remain standing and position themselves to flank the couch, and then Marc says dryly to Ian, “Would you like me to add some showmanship this time?”

Ian scoffs. “I think you gotta. This is pretty momentous.”

The rest of us don’t get a chance to ask what they’re talking about before Marc snaps his fingers and a dark-haired guy with oversize glasses is sprawling on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. He scrambles to his feet, bewilderment rapidly replaced by something I recognize—fighting instinct—and reaches to his thigh for… nothing.

“You disarmed him too?” Ian murmurs. “Well done.”

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