Page 123 of Claimed By Blood

“Better that than poisoning ourselves trying to climb back up,” he argues, taking the lead. “Come on, I’ll go first this time.”

Fortunately, the next few traps are obviously more aimed at mortals than immortals. Trip wires and pressure plates that are easy enough to dodge. The reason why becomes apparent half an hour later when we emerge into the darkness.

“We’re outside the village,” Frost remarks, and I don’t ask how he knows.

“Well, we may as well explore,” Silas shrugs, pulling out the slim phone from his pocket. “I’ll message Gideon.”

I’m not sure that the villagers are going to welcome us with open arms, but he has a point. We’re here now.

My suspicions come true when we stride out of the forest and everyone on the street just… disappears. Like rabbits scurrying back to their burrows at the scent of a fox. They hasten into houses, shops… anywhere in their quest to get away from us.

The sounds of locks engaging is deafening in the night.

“Friendly place,” Draven mutters.

Can we blame them? Cain has been using these people for sport for centuries.

“Should we go?” I ask, hesitantly.

“No.” Frost steps in front of me and leads the way along the pavement. “We act natural, and let them see we’re not a threat.”

“I’m not sure that will work,” Draven retorts. “How many immortals have tried to befriend them for an easy meal?”

“They won’t trust us.” My heart sinks. “If they do know anything, they won’t tell us.”

“Then we prove our good intentions,” Frost argues. “We protect them until they’re willing to open up. I’ve already gotten rid of the ghouls. We turn back any other immortal—kill them if they don’t comply. They’re Cain’s cronies, anyway…”

“And tell him exactly where we are?” I grimace, glancing into the general store only to have the blinds drop closed.

Frost’s plan requires the one thing we don’t have: time. At any moment, Cain could figure out where we are and launch an attack a thousand times more deadly than what happened to Samuel’s people. These humans would be wiped out before they could blink, and no amount of hiding would save them.

“Then we just kill any immortal who breaches the perimeter.” Draven cracks his knuckles, smiling. “They won’t be missed for a while, at least.”

All of the men nod, as if this is the perfect plan, and I bite back my scepticism. It’s not like I have a better plan, and it’s no more of a long shot than searching the manor was.

“We walk along the street, and then head back to the manor,” Silas announces, hooking an arm through mine. “Then we do the same tomorrow night. They’ll put our presence and the lack of attacks together quickly enough.”

“And when they get curious enough, we what? Ask if they happen to have any hand-me-down witch-related paraphernalia hanging around?”

My cynicism isn’t enough to dampen Silas’s spirits. “Exactly. Luck’s been on our side so far. We got you, didn’t we?”

“You turning out to be Cain’s downfall is pretty fortunate,” Draven admits, although he’s clearly less enthusiastic about it than Silas is.

“Fate,” Silas insists. “Must be.”

“If you say so,” I murmur, leaning into him as if I can absorb some of his optimism just by being close to him.

Unfortunately, our stroll through the village doesn’t seem to accomplish more than making the villagers jumpy. The four of us trudge back to the manor in silence, only to find the foyer transformed into a camp, complete with separate tents and a portable stove—atop which a pot sits, merrily bubbling away. Gideon and Finn have dragged an old sofa into the space, and the two of them are actually reclining against one another.

Is that a sign that whatever went on between them, they’ve fixed it? Or is that too premature?

It seems strange, but the dilapidated manor seems to hold more life like this than it ever did when it was polished to a sheen.

“Finn.” Silas shakes his head. “Guarantee, he got nervous and started nesting.”

“I’m not complaining,” Frost mutters. “God, that food smells good.”

I take a deep breath through my nose, inhaling the scent of herby stew with interest. I can’t eat it, but I appreciate the skill that goes into making food just the same.

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