A tendril of hair, delicate as a long finger, snaked beneath the man’s collar. Oturu tugged, and Tracker choked, spitting water.
“Stop,” I said.
“Stand,” Oturu said in his soft, silky voice—ignoring me. “Your Lady needs you.”
Hate flickered through Tracker’s face, but he climbed awkwardly to his feet. “What now?”
“End-of-the-world shit,” I said. “No big deal.”
“Right,” he said, wary. And then: “You’re pregnant.”
“Yes,” I replied. “It happens.”
I told him about the attack, which also required informing him of the broken prison—the demon army, residing on earth. Tracker’s jaw tightened as he listened, his gaze growing dark, troubled. I kept expecting him to interrupt with disparaging comments, just out of principle—but whatever he saw in our faces, demon and human, must have told a story, because he rocked back on his heels and folded his arms over his chest.
“And who’s died?” he asked. “The Lightbringer?”
A chill hit me. “Not yet. But I’m afraid that’s coming next.”
Tracker’s gaze didn’t waver. “And you? What part of you is dying, Hunter?”
“All the parts that matter,” I told him.
CHAPTER 15
DESPITE all evidence to the contrary, I have a very forgiving nature.
I’ve been stabbed, cursed, kidnapped, called some profoundly unfortunate names—and in a few of those cases, I’ve managed to go on with my life without indulging the need to kill anyone.
Tracker, for example, had once thrown me under a bus. His way of saying “hello.” Fantastic start to what was, in hindsight, a very temporary alliance. I was totally over it.
“I should warn you,” I said. “You’re probably going to die.”
A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. “I hope that’s a promise.”
Raw and Aaz dangled from a tree branch above his head. Zee prowled close, staring up at the man. Tracker scratched his nose, his smile becoming grim. “You have something to add, Reaper King?”
“Vows,” rasped the little demon. “Remember them.”
Tracker stilled. “Long time ago. Wardens are dead and gone. Prison is open. All shot straight to hell. I don’t think there’s a point anymore to what we swore to do.”
“Honor, then.” Zee pressed forward, rising on his haunches. “The Hunter must live.”
“Listen—” I began, but the demon held up his clawed hand, still staring at Tracker. Both of them, locked together in a silent battle that was so heavy, I could barely breathe the air.
“The Hunter must live,” Zee said again, in a deadly soft voice. Hearing him say those words cut me to the core. I knew it wasn’t just for his benefit. Without me, he and his brothers would survive, free.
No, this was about family. Love.
Tracker drew in a short, sharp breath. I wondered if he realized, if he could understand how much the boys had changed in all these years he’d known them. Could anyone really understand, except them and me?
I said, “I want my daughter to survive and grow up in a world that isn’t populated by corpses. I want us all to have some fucking peace.”
“No such thing.” Tracker folded his arms over his chest, but he didn’t seem as sure of himself as he had before. “Even if you’d never had this—your man, this life—if you gave it all up—nothing would change. You weren’t made for peace, Hunter. None of you women were. And your daughter, whoever she is, will get used to the corpses. Just like you did.”
I stared at him. “You’re an asshole.”
“But you still need me.” Weariness flitted across his face, and resentment. “Nothing changes, even after ten thousand years.”
I held his gaze, forcing myself to stay hard. “Then you should know exactly what to do.”
Oturu drifted behind the man, those long, searching tendrils of hair caressing his back. Tracker stiffened, his face becoming a perfect, predatory mask. I half expected him to be punished for speaking his mind—Oturu had never before spared him—but instead, the demon glided around to me—reaching for me, surrounding me with his floating hair and the folds of his cloak, which unfurled and danced as though carried by a storm.
His hair traced a soft line against my shoulder. Dek and Mal purred beneath his touch. Raw and Aaz dropped from their tree branch, landing softly on either side of me.
“It is awake,” he murmured.
I didn’t look at him. “What is?”
“Your heart.” Oturu glided away, floating on the tips of his toes. “Come, Tracker. We hunt the soldiers of the Aetar.”