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Once dressed, Teague exited the wagon. None of the clan were sitting—a sign that, despite their easy smiles and relaxed postures, they weren’t feeling so blasé. In fact, they’d all stationed themselves around the clearing, boxing Vine and his three demons in.
It wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the commander, but he didn’t seem annoyed by it. He sat at a log near the firepit with his companions, chatting amicably with Gideon, who was dumping dry wood in the pit to feed the fire.
The dogs slowly and casually circled the camp, not looking in the least bit predatory. But Teague knew that each were on high alert and would pounce at a moment’s notice, much like the silent and still ravens.
He lifted a brow at Saxon, who was leaning against one of the wagons, and asked, Everything still all good here?
So far, yes, the other male replied. Vine and his boys are a little on the tense side, as if unsure of their welcome—not exactly unexpected, given we requested that we be left alone when we retired and we’re not exactly giving them a gushing reception—but they’ve been friendly enough.
Good, I’d rather not have to kill Vine, said Teague as he clambered down the stairs.
The creak of the wood made the commander turn his upper body slightly, and his mouth curved into his usual shark’s smile. Vine pushed to his feet—the guy was tall, bulky, and dark-skinned with black-ringed blue eyes that were as sharp as they were unusual. “Teague, good to see you. Shit, none of you have aged one single bit.”
Teague walked to him and shook the hand he held out. “It’s only been roughly sixty years since we settled in this realm.”
“That all? Centuries have passed down below.”
“That explains the gray streaks in your hair.”
Vine shot him a droll look. “Don’t remind me of them.” He introduced his three companions, who all gave Teague respectful nods.
Teague settled on a log, and the four visitors then returned to their spots across from him.
“How’s retirement suiting you?” asked Vine.
Wanting the male to get to the point, Teague only said, “Well enough.”
“You haven’t found yourself bored after so many years of adrenaline rushes?”
“At first, it took some adjusting to. But now? No, not at all. It’s hard for a hellhorse to get bored.” They could find the smallest thing entertaining.
Vine’s lips kicked up. “True.”
“But I don’t think you came all the way here to ask how retirement is treating us.”
Vine leaned forward, braced his elbows on his thighs, and brushed his hands together. “How would you feel about returning to the Dark Host?”
Shock tightened Teague’s muscles, and his beast jerked its head in surprise. It was literally the last thing that he’d expected the commander to say. “Returning as what?”
“As Master of the Wild Hunt, of course. I’d like you all to come back.”
“Why?” The question came from Slade, who stood beside the steps of his wagon.
“The hellhorses that formed the unit after you left . . . Let’s just say they were nowhere near as good as yours,” Vine prevaricated. “They retired a century early.”
Saxon squinted. “By choice, or by persuasion?”
“The latter, but it wasn’t difficult to convince them.” Vine grazed his fingertips over his jaw. “We formed another unit after that, but they too struggled to keep up with the demands of the job. As for the current unit, their record is even worse.”
A low telepathic whistle of surprise sounded down the clan’s mental channel—one that came from Leo, who then said, Okay, this conversation is going in a direction I hadn’t expected.
Maybe he doesn’t actually know what Ronin’s been up to, mused Gideon.
Let’s not enlighten him, said Teague. If we do, we’ll be the prime suspects when Ronin drops off their radar and can’t be found. The clan would ensure there’d be nothing left of him to find.
“We had high hopes for them,” Vine continued. “They’re excellent trackers and have plenty of experience within the Dark Host. They’re also by no means weak. Your half-brother, Ronin, actually leads them, Teague.” Pausing, he rubbed at his brow. “But he fast buckled under the pressure of the job, just as the others did.”
Teague’s brows lifted in a surprise he failed to hide.
Vine sighed. “Yes, I hadn’t expected that from Ronin either. He’d pushed to join the Hunt for so long that I assumed he’d be ready for all that would come with it. You know yourself that being part of it demands much from a demon. It’s not simply a role; it’s a way of life. There’s little to no downtime. No way to be a real partner or parent, which means making sacrifices that demons often don’t realize will bother them until they’re in that situation.”
“What, Ronin wants to breed?” Archer cut in, leaning back against the picnic table. “I wouldn’t consider it a good thing.”
