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“Definitely,” agreed Slade, taking a seat at the picnic table. “That you don’t intend to be reinstated as Master Huntsman won’t stop him from wanting you dead. And I don’t just mean because as long as you live there’s a chance you’ll take Zagan and Vine up on their offer. Ronin will feel the need to prove once and for all who’s the biggest, baddest brother. He’ll seek to do that by taking your life.”
“He’d be dumb not to try it in any case,” began Archer, “considering he’ll know by now there’s a good chance that Teague’s aware he sent the shadowkin. Ronin will want to cover his tracks.”
“Yeah, he won’t want to chance that Teague alerts Vine,” agreed Tucker before sliding his gaze to Teague. “You didn’t tell the commander about it just now, sure, but Ronin might not learn that Vine came here. Either way, Ronin won’t want it hanging over his head.”
When Reggie nosed Teague’s thigh, he took the hint and began petting him. “I didn’t expect to be offered our old positions. You really didn’t want to return to them?”
Slade shook his head, his brows drawing together. “Like you, I couldn’t go back to following orders.”
“Me neither,” said Leo. “I make my own rules now, and I like it that way.”
Archer stretched. “I’ve done enough tracking and killing to last me a lifetime. Plus, they don’t have mushrooms in hell. I’d miss them.”
“I’d miss the weed here,” said Tucker. “It’s way better.”
Saxon folded his arms. “I can’t lie, I enjoy hunting. I enjoy killing. But I do that here with my current profession, so . . . ”
Gideon pulled a small flask out of what seemed like nowhere. “I don’t think I’d be as good at hunting as I used to be. I’ve been inactive too long. I’m used to late nights and not waking up at the crack of dawn. I’m not inclined to give that up. I’d rather . . . ” He trailed off at the sound of an engine rumbling in the near distance. “Someone’s here.”
Teague’s beast flicked its ears. “It’ll be Larkin.”
“She might as well eat with us,” declared Saxon. “I’m going to fire up the grill now.”
The others headed to their wagons to retrieve foods and drinks for the BBQ. Teague waited on the log for his harpy to arrive. Her car soon pulled up behind Saxon’s truck, and then she slid out.
He felt his brow crease. “You have blood on you.” A lot of it.
She waved that away and stalked toward him. “It isn’t mine.”
That was usually Saxon’s line. “Whose blood is it?”
“Some idiot from our lair who thought that breaking the rules would be tolerated. As if that’s ever been a thing.” She propped her delectable butt on the log beside Teague and landed a quick kiss on his mouth. “I doubt he’ll repeat that mistake—at least not in a hurry. My demon shook him up.”
Teague frowned. “And you didn’t invite me to come watch it at work?”
She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Uh, no.”
“But I want to see it make someone cry.”
“That’s your mental damage to deal with. I’m not touching or accommodating it. Besides, it’s lair business. Just like your business is yours. Right?”
He snapped his mouth shut. Valid point. He hated when she made those. “Come on, you can help me grab some bits from my wagon for the BBQ while I tell you about our recent visitor.”
By the time they were placing the last of said ‘bits’ on the outdoor table, he’d relayed the details of his visit from Vine.
“That explains a lot,” she said. “Being told you might replace him will have been a real hit for Ronin. To then be threatened that you’d be brought back to take over from him has to have been his tipping point.”
Saxon dipped his chin. “His bitterness has been brewing for centuries. He’ll hate that he’s struggling where Teague didn’t.” He placed a platter of buns on the table, his gaze sliding to Teague. “You shone in that position. He’s done the opposite. And if people have been comparing his performance to yours, that has to not only gall him but remind him of how Soren used you as a measuring stick.”
Leo folded his arms. “All those years he impatiently waited to take over your old position, he probably had it in his head that he’d be better at it than you; that he’d earn a level of respect that way surpassed yours,” he said to Teague.
Nodding, Tucker pulled a lid off a pot of potato salad. “He’s such a damn tool he probably convinced himself he’d go down in history.”
“He will,” said Teague. “He’ll be known as the Master Huntsman that mysteriously disappeared, because that’s how it will be made to look after we kill him.”
