CHAPTER 7: The Hunt Begins

Getting ready to hunt people who wanted us dead turned out to involve a lot more weapons than I expected.

David arrived an hour later with a duffel bag that looked like it could arm a small militia. He dumped it on the kitchen table and started pulling out guns, knives, and things I didn't even have names for.

"This is excessive," I said, staring at what looked like a small grenade.

"This is Tuesday." David started checking magazines with practiced efficiency. "Caspian attracts trouble like shit attracts flies. Better to be overprepared."

"Romantic," Caspian said dryly, strapping a knife to his thigh. "Really painting a beautiful picture of my life here."

"Your life is beautiful. Violent, but beautiful." David tossed me a handgun. "You know how to use that?"

I caught it awkwardly. "Not really."

"Safety's here. Point at what you want dead. Pull trigger. Try not to shoot Caspian or me." He went back to organizing weapons. "Pretty simple."

"She's not shooting anyone," Caspian said.

"The fuck I'm not." I checked the safety like David showed me. "You said I could come. I'm not coming just to watch."

Through the bond, I felt Caspian's conflict. Pride that I wanted to fight. Terror at the idea of me in danger. Possessive need to keep me safe wrapped up with grudging respect for my stubbornness.

"Fine," he said finally. "But you stay behind me. Always. You don't engage unless you absolutely have to. And if I tell you to run —"

"I'll consider it."

"Rielle —"

"I'll consider it," I repeated firmly. "That's the best you're getting."

David snorted. "I like her. She's got balls."

"She's going to get herself killed," Caspian muttered, but I felt his resignation through the bond. He knew he'd lost this argument.

Twenty minutes later, we were armed like we were invading a small country and loading into David's SUV. I sat in back, Caspian in front, both of them tense in that way men get when violence is coming.

"First target's closest," David said, pulling onto the road. "Lycan named Viktor Sokolov. Ex-military, specializes in close combat. He's holed up in a motel about forty minutes south."

"Alone?" Caspian asked.

"According to my sources. But you know how reliable that is."

"Extremely, since you're usually the source."

David smiled. "True."

The drive was quiet. I watched the scenery pass, trying to calm my racing heart. This morning I'd woken up sore and claimed. Now I was heading to watch my mate — and wasn't that a weird word — kill someone who wanted him dead.

My life had taken a sharp left turn into insanity.

"You're spiraling," Caspian said without turning around. "I can feel it."

"I'm processing."

"Process faster. We're almost there and I need you focused, not panicking." His hand reached back, found mine, squeezed. "You'll be fine. I've got you."

"I know." And weirdly, I did. I could feel his absolute certainty that he'd keep me safe. It should've been arrogant. Instead it was... comforting.

The motel was exactly as depressing as expected. Single story, crumbling parking lot, neon sign flickering with half the letters dead. Three cars in the lot, including what David identified as Viktor's rental.

"Room eight," David said, parking several spaces down. "Ground floor, back corner. One exit unless he goes through the window."

"He won't run." Caspian was already checking his gun. "Viktor's old-school. He'll fight."

"Good." David chambered a round. "I hate it when they run. Makes everything complicated."

We got out quietly. The sun was setting, painting everything in shades of orange and red that felt way too pretty for what we were about to do.

Caspian stopped me before we got close to the room. "Last chance. You can wait in the car."

"No."

"Rielle —"

"No." I checked my own gun, trying to look more confident than I felt. "I'm seeing this through."

He stared at me for a long moment. Then nodded once. "Stay behind me. Don't hesitate if you need to shoot. And whatever you see me do — remember that he'd do worse to you if he got the chance."

"Comforting."

"Honest." He kissed me hard and fast. "Let's go."

David took position on one side of the door, Caspian on the other. I pressed against the wall behind Caspian, heart hammering so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

Caspian didn't knock. Just kicked the door in.

The room exploded into violence.

Viktor was massive — bigger than Caspian, built like a tank, covered in scars that told stories of decades of fighting. He'd been waiting, gun already raised.

He fired.

Caspian moved faster than I could track, the bullet missing by inches. Then he was on Viktor, both of them crashing into the shitty motel furniture.

It was brutal. Efficient. Caspian fought like something that had been killing for centuries, every move precise and devastating. Viktor was good — really good — but Caspian was better.

David stood in the doorway, gun raised, not interfering. Just making sure nobody ran.

I pressed against the wall, watching, trying not to throw up.

Caspian got Viktor on the ground, knee on his chest, hand around his throat.

"Marcus paying you the full hundred million?" Caspian asked conversationally. "Or did he lowball you?"

Viktor spat blood. "Fifty up front. Fifty on delivery."

"So he's cheap and you're stupid. Good combination." Caspian's grip tightened. "How many others did he hire?"

"Like I'd tell you."

"You will. Question is whether you tell me before or after I start breaking bones." Caspian looked up at David. "How much time do we have?"

"Someone probably heard the gunshot. Ten minutes, maybe."

"That's plenty." Caspian looked back down at Viktor. "Last chance. How many others?"

"Fuck you."

I heard the bone break before I saw it. Viktor's scream was immediate and agonizing.

"That was your collarbone," Caspian said calmly. "Next is your femur. That one hurts worse. How many others?"

Through the bond, I felt nothing from Caspian. No satisfaction in the torture. No remorse. Just cold calculation about the fastest way to get information.

It should've horrified me.

Instead, I felt my wolf stir with approval. This was our mate. Protecting us. Eliminating threats.

"Twelve," Viktor gasped. "Twelve including me. Marcus hired us all. Said you were distracted, easier to kill now that you had a weakness."

"Wrong." Caspian's voice dropped to something inhuman. "She's not my weakness. She's the reason I'm going to kill every single one of you."

"Wait —"

Caspian's hand moved and Viktor's neck snapped with a sound like breaking wood.

Silence fell.

Caspian stood, covered in blood again, breathing hard. His silver eyes found mine.

"You okay?" he asked.

"You just tortured him."

"I got information. Then I killed him. That's how this works." He crossed to me, bloody hands cupping my face. "Are you okay?"

Through the bond, I felt his genuine concern. He wasn't asking if I approved. He was asking if I could handle what I'd just witnessed.

"I'm okay," I said. And weirdly, I was. "He would've killed you."

"Yeah." Caspian kissed my forehead, leaving a smear of blood. "He would've. Now he won't. Eleven more to go."

"We should move," David said from the doorway. "I'm hearing sirens."

We left the motel quickly, piling back into the SUV. David drove away at normal speed, nothing suspicious, just three people leaving a shitty motel at sunset.

"That went well," David observed.

"Viktor was sloppy. The others won't be." Caspian was texting rapidly. "I'm sending the list to my contacts. Let's see who else we can track down tonight."

"Tonight?" I asked. "We're doing this all tonight?"

"We're doing as many as we can before they realize we're hunting them." Caspian looked back at me. "The element of surprise only works once. After Viktor doesn't check in, the rest will go to ground."

"So we kill as many as possible while they're still cocky," David finished. "Smart."

"Efficient," Caspian corrected. "Smart would've been Marcus not putting a bounty on me in the first place."

His phone buzzed. He read the message and smiled. "Got another location. Lycan named Alexei Petrov. Staying at a penthouse downtown. Thinks money buys safety."

"Does it?" I asked.

"Not from me." Caspian's smile was all teeth. "Not from us."

The way he said "us" — like we were a unit, a team, partners in this hunt — sent something warm through the bond.

We were in this together.

For better or worse.

Probably worse, given the body count we were racking up.

But together.

And as David drove toward downtown, toward the next name on the list, I realized something that should've terrified me.

I was okay with this.

With the violence. With the blood. With becoming the kind of person who watched her mate break bones to get information and didn't even flinch.

The claiming had changed more than just my biology.

It had changed who I was.

And I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.