Page 16 of Hunters and Prey

Chapter 9

They found the sister sitting next to Phillipe. The ebony-skinned immortal looked young, younger than she, if one paid no attention to his eyes. He was in a perpetual state of anger at the world—understandable for a five-hundred-and-fifty-year-old hunter locked in the body of a teenager. But for the very first time since Viola had met him, Phillipe was smiling. Smiling.

Chloe Miller had dried tears in the corners of her eyes. She clutched a white handkerchief that Viola knew belonged to Phillipe as they talked.

"Chloe."

She lifted her head to her brother and beamed.

"Tom! Thank God."

He was looking at Phillipe suspiciously, seeing through his appearance.

"Oh, that's Phil. He's waiting for a friend of his. He kept me sane. They won't talk to me because I'm a minor." She scoffed. "I'm eighteen in a month, dammit."

"I'll take care of it," Tom promised.

The girl looked behind him, straight at Viola.

"Friends of yours?" she asked, waving and smiling.

Chloe, like Tom, was her responsibility, an Eirikrson. But there was something else, something that made Viola want to punch those who'd made her cry.

Shit. Just like that, Viola knew she'd destroy the body and soul of anyone who hurt her.

"Yeah, we met…at my book club."

A likely answer. Chloe was too preoccupied to question it. The siblings moved toward the reception desk to demand details about their father's arrest.

Viola sat on the chair Chloe had just vacated.

"What happened to staying in the shadows?"

Phillipe grimaced. "She was crying. And panicking. I didn't like it." He shrugged.

"She's a damn whisper," said Kyo, cursing. "Even if she wasn't an Eirikrson, she'd be in danger for that."

Whispers were as rare as they were coveted, and many had been torn apart while lords fought over who should control them.

"We're going to have to guard her, night and day. Keep her out of the limelight."

"Both of them," said Viola. "But yes. Chloe will need twice as many guards. We can't take chances. And she's too young to be turned anytime soon."

Even in the fifteenth century, the Eirikrson had found it barbaric to turn anyone before their twenty-first year. Phillipe was the exception, and only because they'd had to choose between turning him and letting him die. Even then, there had been some controversy over turning a seventeen-year-old.

The Eirikrson slayers remained silent for a long time, eyes fixed on their lieges, their wards.

"Everything is going to change, if they live," Leah breathed softly.

If they lived. And someone was already trying to ensure they didn't.

"We need to figure out who's trying to get rid of them, and why."

It could have been any of the royals, but if they'd known about their existence, the DeVille, the Drakes, and the rest of them wouldn't have acted through lowly succubi and minor underlings. They would have come themselves, and made short work of them. This felt…underhanded. Weak.

"We need to turn the boy. And we need to protect the girl around the clock until it's her time," Henry said, counting down all three tasks on his fingers.

They didn't need to state the obvious: between the six of them, it would be some achievement.

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