want you out and gone,” Rafe said.
The abrupt tone of Rafe’s voice, coupled with the fact that they now had an audience, teased the edges of Toronto’s temper and he had to work to keep the fire down. He had agreed to serve Rafe when he came here— either he abided by the rules or he left. Although the people serving under Rafe were the good guys, too many of them had predators’ instincts, and those instincts only worked
together
when a certain sense of order was followed.
They had order, they had rules, they all got along better. Usually.
Though Toronto liked to jerk Rafe’s chain, for the most part, he respected that sense of order.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snapped, his voice harsh, edged with temper.
“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here. And just like always, you’re being an asshole. Either lose the attitude or get the fuck out because I don’t have time for this
shit
.”
Toronto’s hand closed into a fist. Part of him wanted to say
Fuck it
and just leave. Or just give into the burning rage, the wildness inside him— have that bloodshed Rafe had promised.
The other part, though, was louder. And for the first time in what might have been forever, he felt the temper ease back, felt the edginess settle down. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t.
You’ll have to learn to control that…
Hell. Nessa hadn’t just been talking about the hunger.
“I’m here— my decision was made.” Folding his arms over his bare chest, he leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb.
Rafe stared at him, his black eyes glittering. And then he gave a short nod. This was it, though. He and Rafe might be at a fragile truce, but Toronto needed to come to peace with the monster inside him, or he’d have to leave.
If he left, he would no longer be able to call himself a Hunter— he wouldn’t deserve it. That whole
lead, follow or get out of the way
thing. He wouldn’t lead, so that meant he’d have to follow… or just stay the hell out of the way.
If he stayed and answered the challenge Rafe had put out, he’d be done as a Hunter as well. He was supposed to be one of the good guys— whether he won or lost the fight with the vampire, he’d be done.
A good guy didn’t go for somebody’s throat just because he was having a bad day.
Toronto wasn’t going to go that low. Eyes hooded, he watched as Rafe lifted up a small device from his desk. The lights in the room dimmed and a screen descended from the ceiling.
Rafe liked his gadgets.
An image flashed across the screen.
It was a boy— human, probably twelve or so. It was hard for Toronto to judge the ages of human children sometimes. He had bright eyes, though. An infectious smile.
“His name was Toby Clemons,” Rafe said, his voice flat, his eyes unreadable. He didn’t look at Toronto, didn’t look at anybody. Just stared at the screen. Anybody who didn’t know the guy might have thought he didn’t feel anything— he could have been discussing the weather for all the emotion he showed.
But those in the room knew otherwise. They sensed the rage Rafe barely held in check.
“He was twelve. He was killed by a scum-sucking piece of shit who had a predilection for pretty, preteen boys. This sorry bastard’s name is Alan Pulaski.”
A couple of the Hunters in the room muttered— the name was familiar. Pulaski’s case had sent shockwaves rippling through the city once his crimes had come to light. The depravities had left many people reeling. And he’d somehow gotten out on bail.
House
arrest, as if that made a difference. He was still
free
. And
alive
. Dead and ripped apart would have been the most ideal resolution.
“He was confined to his house. Nobody ask me
why
they let that piece of shit out when he should have rotted in a hole for the rest of his life. Pulaski skipped out, managed to get out of the ankle bracelet they’d put on him.
The abrupt tone of Rafe’s voice, coupled with the fact that they now had an audience, teased the edges of Toronto’s temper and he had to work to keep the fire down. He had agreed to serve Rafe when he came here— either he abided by the rules or he left. Although the people serving under Rafe were the good guys, too many of them had predators’ instincts, and those instincts only worked
together
when a certain sense of order was followed.
They had order, they had rules, they all got along better. Usually.
Though Toronto liked to jerk Rafe’s chain, for the most part, he respected that sense of order.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snapped, his voice harsh, edged with temper.
“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You’re here. And just like always, you’re being an asshole. Either lose the attitude or get the fuck out because I don’t have time for this
shit
.”
Toronto’s hand closed into a fist. Part of him wanted to say
Fuck it
and just leave. Or just give into the burning rage, the wildness inside him— have that bloodshed Rafe had promised.
The other part, though, was louder. And for the first time in what might have been forever, he felt the temper ease back, felt the edginess settle down. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t.
You’ll have to learn to control that…
Hell. Nessa hadn’t just been talking about the hunger.
“I’m here— my decision was made.” Folding his arms over his bare chest, he leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb.
Rafe stared at him, his black eyes glittering. And then he gave a short nod. This was it, though. He and Rafe might be at a fragile truce, but Toronto needed to come to peace with the monster inside him, or he’d have to leave.
If he left, he would no longer be able to call himself a Hunter— he wouldn’t deserve it. That whole
lead, follow or get out of the way
thing. He wouldn’t lead, so that meant he’d have to follow… or just stay the hell out of the way.
If he stayed and answered the challenge Rafe had put out, he’d be done as a Hunter as well. He was supposed to be one of the good guys— whether he won or lost the fight with the vampire, he’d be done.
A good guy didn’t go for somebody’s throat just because he was having a bad day.
Toronto wasn’t going to go that low. Eyes hooded, he watched as Rafe lifted up a small device from his desk. The lights in the room dimmed and a screen descended from the ceiling.
Rafe liked his gadgets.
An image flashed across the screen.
It was a boy— human, probably twelve or so. It was hard for Toronto to judge the ages of human children sometimes. He had bright eyes, though. An infectious smile.
“His name was Toby Clemons,” Rafe said, his voice flat, his eyes unreadable. He didn’t look at Toronto, didn’t look at anybody. Just stared at the screen. Anybody who didn’t know the guy might have thought he didn’t feel anything— he could have been discussing the weather for all the emotion he showed.
But those in the room knew otherwise. They sensed the rage Rafe barely held in check.
“He was twelve. He was killed by a scum-sucking piece of shit who had a predilection for pretty, preteen boys. This sorry bastard’s name is Alan Pulaski.”
A couple of the Hunters in the room muttered— the name was familiar. Pulaski’s case had sent shockwaves rippling through the city once his crimes had come to light. The depravities had left many people reeling. And he’d somehow gotten out on bail.
House
arrest, as if that made a difference. He was still
free
. And
alive
. Dead and ripped apart would have been the most ideal resolution.
“He was confined to his house. Nobody ask me
why
they let that piece of shit out when he should have rotted in a hole for the rest of his life. Pulaski skipped out, managed to get out of the ankle bracelet they’d put on him.
Similar Books
