Hunt Me

  AN IMMORTAL VICES AND VIRTUES NOVEL

  HEATHER HILDENBRAND

  Hunt Me

  Heather Hildenbrand

  © 2024

  Immortal Vices and Virtues Universe © Kel Carpenter

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in person and a fine of $250,000.

  Edited by Dawn Y. Discreet Edition cover art by Manuela. Necklace design by Alchemy Q Designs. Regular Edition Cover Art by Urban Rex Designs

  Model photo by Lindee Robinson Photography. Cover Models: Shannon Lorraine and Sam Parker

  Character art: Rachel Doud

  Contents

  1. Tori

  2. Legion

  3. Tori

  4. Legion

  5. Tori

  6. Legion

  7. Tori

  8. Legion

  9. Tori

  10. Legion

  11. Tori

  12. Legion

  13. Tori

  14. Legion

  15. Tori

  16. Legion

  17. Tori

  18. Tori

  19. Legion

  20. Tori

  21. Legion

  22. Tori

  23. Tori

  24. Tori

  25. Tori

  26. Tori

  27. Legion

  28. Tori

  29. Legion

  30. Tori

  31. Legion

  32. Tori

  33. Tori

  34. Legion

  35. Tori

  36. Legion

  37. Tori

  38. Legion

  39. Tori

  40. Legion

  41. Tori

  42. Tori

  Epilogue

  Protect Me

  About the Author

  Also by Heather Hildenbrand

  Chapter 1

  Tori

  It’s a hazy evening in the Crossroads, making my attempt at anonymity that much easier as I head out to meet a new client. The few people I pass on the sidewalk don’t speak to me, though several familiar faces nod in recognition and respect. Or maybe it’s less respect and more polite caution. Sort of a “Keep your friends close and your friendly neighborhood assassin closer.”

  Located in what was once the midwestern United States—before humans learned that magical portals had opened throughout the world and supernatural creatures overtook modern civilization—the Crossroads is a tight-knit community that takes care of its own. If that sounds wholesome, it is… at times. But when wholesome and neighborly don’t solve the problem, they call me—the poisoner.

  Thanks to my nymph mother and dark fae father, my unique magical gifts give me an affinity for coaxing nature along. Basically, that means I’m great at growing things—especially poisonous things. Thanks, Dad. Combine that with my halfway decent skill with a blade, and it’s safe to say that, if you want someone unalived in this city, you call me.

  Not that I just walk around offing people willy-nilly. Supplies aren’t cheap in this economy, and I do have morals. Surprisingly strong ones, in fact, considering my line of work. But a girl’s gotta eat, and well, we all have our strengths. After a decade of mastering my craft and being very careful about the jobs I take on, my reputation in the Crossroads is more than enough to keep me busy with work.

  It doesn’t bring me joy or anything. I didn’t wake up and choose a profession like this one. No one really does—unless you’ve got one too many screws loose. It happened slowly and as a matter of survival.

  More specifically, Kendall’s survival.

  Orphaned as a teen, it’s not like I had a ton of career options. What I did have was a younger sister to support and no parents left to help. So, I did what I was good at. And I traded any guilt over it for knowing I was protecting my sister from a world that would eat us alive if we let it.

  I’ll do anything for Kendall—even kill. And those are not empty words. A fact I’ve proven again and again since our parents died. It’s not like I have a choice. Even so, I only target the ones who deserve it.

  No innocents, my mother made me promise. She hated the work—a career my father never gave up, not even for her—but she loved him. And she couldn’t deny my inherited talents once they showed themselves. My mother was the kindest creature I’ve ever known, so it’s the least I can do to keep this promise to her, considering my decision to follow in Dad’s footsteps.

  What can I say, the family business pays the bills.

  Tonight’s assignment is like a hundred others I’ve done before. A drink at a bar with an entitled douche bag who thinks he’s a god’s gift to us all, a little hemlock and wolfsbane mixed into his whiskey and Coke when he’s not looking, resulting in the asshole taking a little nap from which he won’t ever wake.

  The client isn’t someone I’ve worked with before. I simply know her as Em, a concerned citizen of the Crossroads. She came recommended to me by one of my regulars, a vampire named Uziah. He owns a club on the outskirts and has facilitated many jobs for me over the years. I trust him—as much as one can trust a guy who organizes professional kill contracts.

  At least he honors my requirement for a backstory on my marks.

  The brief recon I did on tonight’s mark revealed he’s just another power-hungry male trying to use our city’s newfound infamy to boost his own position. Ever since a portal opened to Tartarus three months ago in the center of downtown, we’ve had an influx of new faces. Outsiders come to scope out how they might claim this suddenly-valuable city as their own. Almost every other portal that exists in the world is now ruled by a House except for ours. No one has officially threatened us over it, but some people—like Uziah—believe it’s better to play offense than defense.

  Out-of-towners arrive daily. Some are House emissaries. Some are aspiring politicians. Some just think they have a right to come here and use our lack of House affiliation to set up shop running drugs or weapons. But my fellow Crossroads residents are having none of it.

  Word is, neither is Caius, Tartarus’ ruler, but the god-king prefers to stay on his side of the portal. There are rumors of a dark dragon who commands Caius’ army, a creature powerful enough to wipe out entire legions of men, but so far, he’s standing down as well. All of which has apparently sent the message that the Crossroads might be up for the taking.

  The fact that one of our own—a Santiago sister no less—has become the queen of hell only makes the story that much more interesting. Reagan Santiago is a former graverobber by trade, and, according to rumors, also the chosen guardian of Caius’ soul, which he opened the portal to retrieve. By all accounts, Reagan’s survival was not high on his list of priorities in said retrieval—right up until the moment they met and he realized she was his mate.

  The rest, as they say, is (recent) history. Hence, the reason for the swell in tourism. It’s not just that there’s a new portal open in the world. People want to know if there’s a power vacuum for the taking.

  Spoiler: There’s not.

  As far as I’m concerned, we don’t need gods or death dragons from hell fighting our battles. We’ve managed to avoid being claimed by a House this long, and our citizens have no intention of letting that change now.

  I can’t say I’d choose to off tonight’s mark for simply doing political recon, but then I dug deeper and found a list of sexual assault allegations against him.

  That’s enough for me.

  As I walk toward the meeting point, my phone buzzes, and I check the screen, sighing when I see the caller’s name. I’m nearly there, which makes talking aloud to someone I care about dangerous, but I take the call anyway.

  “Kendall? Is everything okay?” I ask in a low voice.

  “Everything’s fine,” my sister says in a tone that suggests I’m being ridiculous for worrying.

  Oh, to be sixteen and blissfully naïve. Not that I ever had that luxury. My parents died when I was sixteen, leaving me to raise Kendall on my own. I’ve lived with the pressure of that for a decade now, and it only seems to get worse as she gets older. Raising teenagers is harder than offing people, I swear.

  “You’re supposed to be at work until ten,” I point out.

  “I got off early.”

  “What happened?”

  “Why do you assume something happened?”

  “Experience.”

  “It was slow. Natalia said I could cut out early.” Her tone makes it clear I’ve insulted her, which would have made me feel bad if I didn’t have good reason to assume the worst. Kendall’s always trying to sweet-talk me into … more.

  More time out with friends. More shopping. More dates.

  It’s exhausting. Or maybe that’s just life in gene
ral. Either way, I’m tired.

  “I have a meeting with a client,” I say pointedly when she doesn’t answer. “Is there something you wanted?”

  “Okay, hear me out before you say no⁠—”

  “No.”

  “I said hear me out,” she protests.

  “Fine. What?”

  “A guy from school invited me out⁠—”

  “What guy?”

  “Chase Lanson. And before you say anything, he’s an elf,” she says, “nothing I can’t handle.” I roll my eyes at that. My sister thinks her ability to see the future makes her invincible. But her abilities are hardly accurate, and she has a lot more training to do before they will be. “Anyway, he invited me out for live music, and the place is right next to the bar you’ll be at, so I thought maybe I can meet up with him while you’re working and⁠—”

  “How the hell do you know what bar I’ll be at?” I hiss at her, ducking into an alley and glancing around to make sure no one can hear me.

  “I pay attention,” she says as if it’s easy to find out such covert details about a secret assassin’s calendar.

  Ugh.

  My sister is smart as hell, but she has zero life experience, and it shows.

  “Kendall, you can’t be anywhere near that bar tonight,” I say.

  “Fine. I can tell him to meet somewhere else.”

  “No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off a stress headache. “I don’t want you out at all.”

  “Tor, you don’t want me to go out any night.”

  “Exactly. You’re sixteen,” I tell her.

  “Almost seventeen⁠—”

  “—and you have school to think about.”

  “I’m top of my class. And Natalia says I’m making good progress with her lessons.”

  I shake my head. “Dating will only distract you from your future plans.”

  “What plans?” she fires back. “I don’t even know what I want to do.”

  “That’s my point.”

  She sighs. “You’re impossible.”

  “I know.”

  “And overprotective.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And infuriating.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  She mutters some colorful words, and I brace myself for more of an argument, but in the end, she says, “Fine. I’ll see you at home.”

  My shoulders sag in relief. “Thank you.”

  “Just be careful,” she grumbles.

  “Love you, punk,” I say, using Dad’s nickname for us.

  “Love you, too, punk.”

  I end the call and slide the phone back into my pocket. The fact that she returns the endearment means she’s not as mad as she pretends. With a steadying breath, I scan the shadows for any sign of someone lurking or listening. But this part of town is empty of pedestrians, thanks to the rows of abandoned houses and boarded-up businesses.

  Satisfied I’m alone, I resume my trek toward the meeting point.

  Keeping Kendall caged is becoming increasingly harder, and I know the day is fast approaching when I won’t have the power to do it anymore. But I’m determined to protect her as long as possible from any and all danger—including herself. Being sixteen is hard as fuck, but being sixteen in the Crossroads is even harder.

  Too many assholes would take advantage of her if they could, and my sister hasn’t learned who to trust just yet. Until she does, I’ll do it for her.

  I turn the corner and see that, up ahead, a lone figure waits, their silhouette faint beneath the cloud-covered moon. My fae senses, already heightened, are razor-sharp in the darkness. In our limited communication thus far, Em doesn’t strike me as the type to kill the messenger even before I’ve delivered the message, but I don’t assume anything. I didn’t get this far by letting my guard down.

  At the end of the block, a willowy figure leans against a battered brick wall, a cloud of cigarette smoke hovering before her like a misty shroud. The expensive coat she wears hides whatever’s underneath, including any weapons she might be holding. A scarf is tied over her hair, offering another layer of disguise. Her presence exudes an air of secrecy and intrigue, but it’s her eyes that catch my attention—narrowed to slits like a cat and ringed in thick black liner.

  I sniff lightly, trying to get a read on her power, but it’s not obvious. Shifter of some kind maybe.

  I approach her warily, my footsteps barely making a sound on the cracked pavement.

  “Em, I assume.”

  “You must be the poisoner,” she says in a raspy voice. “Uziah said you’re the best in the Crossroads.”

  “I’m the most discreet,” I tell her.

  “Good. I need this to be smooth. No witnesses. Nothing linking you to me. Or him.”

  I nod, reaffirming my objective. “Discretion is part of the package.”

  “And no bloodshed.”

  “That’s not my style.”

  It’s true that I’m capable of using a blade or even my fists, thanks to my father’s training, but it’s not my best talent. It’s also not nearly as efficient as poisoning.

  Em eyes me like she’s trying to decide whether to take me at my word. I don’t bother trying to reassure her. She wouldn’t have called me here if she hadn’t already made up her mind.

  “I don’t have to tell you the portal has put a target on our backs,” she says.

  “And yet, you’re hiring me anyway.”

  “This man is a warlock,” she says, ignoring my comment. “His ability to sense danger is uncanny. No weaponry can slip past his awareness.”

  “Good thing I don’t use weapons.”

  “Your… blend—it’s natural?”

  “Every time.”

  She hesitates again before saying, “I’m told you don’t kill innocents.”

  “Your mark is hardly that.”

  “No,” she agrees. “He’s a monster who uses power to harm the powerless.”

  “Then we have no problem.” When she still looks skeptical, my eyes narrow in impatience, and I add, “Just because I only target the ones who deserve it doesn’t mean I’m soft. Trust me, I’ll get results, and I won’t lose sleep over it either.”

  She nods, apparently satisfied.

  I do my best not to tap my foot. I might have a rule about harming innocents, but I don’t exactly need to stand here and bond with her about it. “And my payment?”

  She hands me a small vial, which I snag quickly and tuck into my boot. It makes my hands tingle with its potency, and I scent the contents instantly thanks to my dark fae gifts. Demon tears are hard as fuck to come by, especially around here. But I know better than to ask questions about its origins. And I damn sure don’t want to have to explain my intentions for it.

  My father spent a lifetime researching the most potent fertilizers for the deadly plants that filled his greenhouse. Turns out few compare to the power of demon tears. Not only do they infuse the poisons with more potency, but they make healing—even for a supernatural—impossible.

  A death dealt by one of my poisons is absolute.

  It’s part of what makes me the best.

  “This is only half,” I point out.

  “The other half will be delivered to you after,” she says.

  “Good enough.”

  With a final glance back at her shadowy figure, I disappear into the night, the weight of my mission resting heavily on my shoulders. It’s not that I’m worried I’ll fail—I never have, and I don’t plan to start tonight—but I can’t help wondering if it’ll even be enough to succeed. Or if it’s only a matter of time before the Crossroads becomes a battle zone in a war for power that no one can stop from swallowing us all.

  It’s a sobering thought and one I’ve contemplated many times since that damn portal opened three months ago. The Crossroads has had its share of problems over the years, but it’s my home. And more importantly, it’s Houseless, which means I don’t have to swear my allegiance to some asshole who wants to control me.

  Portals have been open in this world for thousands of years, but it wasn’t until the one near Portland opened in the middle of a highway nearly seventy years ago that humans realized the supernatural world existed. When that happened, chaos exploded, and the world kind of fell apart.

  When the dust settled, the rulers that emerged took control of their own territory, now called Houses, which is just the post-modern world’s name for kingdoms and countries. Each House has a king or ruler. And the citizens are subject to their law. The only areas of the world not run by monarchy are No Man’s Land—which is, thankfully, exactly what the Crossroads is.