Hunted

“And guess who that someone will be. You or your minions.” Bran turned his head and surveyed the customers seated to our left then those on the right before adding, “or them. Tell my brother we are here.” He nudged the demon out of his way and the other two stepped aside. He waited for us to walk past him, then he joined Remy in the rear. “We’ll start with some drinks, please.”

We headed to the bar, a heavy silence falling over the restaurant. Bran was spoiling for a fight. From the smirks on Sykes and Remy’s face, they were feeling exactly like him.

The customers around the bar abandoned their stools when they saw us coming, even though only four of us sat. Sykes and I flanked Kim and Izzy. Remy and Bran remained standing, and faced the assistant manager and his bouncers. We watched the room through the mirror behind the bar, our bodies tense, eyes not missing a thing.

We were not wanted here. Hatred twisted their faces and flowed to me.

“Your brother is not here,” Mr. Assistant Manager said between clenched teeth. “He’s on Mount Hermon.”

Mount Hermon? The cluster of mountains in the Golan Heights in the Middle East? When the Principalities rebelled against their directive to guard humans and chose to marry human women instead, they met on Mount Hermon. Was it really the same one?

“Then we’ll wait while you send for him. May we see the menu now?” Bran asked, his voice carrying in the quiet room.

“I don’t know where Mount Hermon is located,” the assistant manager snapped. “He told me he was headed there a week ago.”

We looked at each other. Gavyn hadn’t been seen in a week and we first saw the lightning demon a week ago.

“Find him,” Bran ordered.

The assistant manager dismissed his minions with a flicker of his fingers.

“Hey,” a female shouted, drawing our attention to the left side of the room. “You have some nerve showing your faces here in our club after you kidnapped our brothers and sisters.”

“We haven’t kidnapped anyone,” Bran called back. “We haven’t even bothered you for months. You should be thanking us.”

The female hissed, a row of teeth like a shark’s elongating from her gums. Her male companion gripped her arm as though to calm her down, then he said, “Her sister disappeared last week. Who else could have taken her except your people?”

Bran shrugged. “She must have done something really bad to be dispatched to Tartarus. Unfortunately, it wasn’t by us.”

“She’s not in Tartarus,” the female retorted, the shark teeth sinking back into her gums. Her voice shook, then she added, “I’d know.”

Bran frowned. “How?”

“We are twins and I’ve been able to feel what she feels since we were children. She’s alive. What do you want with her?”

We glanced at each other.

“Sorry, we can’t help you there, lady,” Bran said with indifference. “We didn’t touch her. Now if you’ll excuse us. We’d like to eat lunch in peace.”

“You won’t be served until we get some answers,” a male voice snarled and slowly got to his feet. Dressed in an expensive suit, his eyebrows connected above the bridge of his nose. His lunch partners got up too, and the four of them left their table and closed in on us. “My two sons were taken two days ago from their apartment.”

“My neighbors’ daughter is missing too,” his buddy on the right added.

“There will be no fighting in here,” the assistant manager yelled. “You know the rules.”

“To Tartarus with the rules. They are kidnapping our children for some secret agenda and we are supposed to let them?” Uni-brow lashed out in an angry voice. He jabbed a hand in the direction of the assistant manager. “And now you let them walk in here like they own the place.”

“I didn’t,” the assistant manager protested. “They just appeared.”

“Why would we kidnap your people?” Bran asked.

“To turn them into Guardians the way they turned you,” Uni-brow added.

“No one turned me,” Bran snapped. “I chose to be a Guardian.”

“Then you are a traitor,” Uni-brow yelled.

“Traitor,” his buddies echoed.

The room erupted as more voices joined them. A prickly feeling of imminent danger shot up my spine and I whipped around to see a knife sailing toward me. I froze as it inched closer and closer as though someone had slowed down time. It stopped a few inches from my face. The room grew silent, eyes on me and the knife. Then Izzy appeared beside me.

You okay? she asked

She had just saved my life by stopping time. Unlike humans and inanimate objects, Nephilim didn’t freeze when time stopped.

No, but thank you. I reached out and gripped the handle. There was a collective gasp around the room as though I’d done the unthinkable. It was beautifully crafted, the black blade gleaming under the artificial light, the handle curved perfectly for a small hand. A woman’s weapon. I’d never held a demon’s blade before. A strange energy vibe came from it.

The thing about my heightened senses was I didn’t just feel others’ emotions, I could separate them. There was so much hatred toward us in the room, but mingled with it were guilt and fear. I weeded through the emotions until I locked onto the guilty party—three of them—father, mother and son. My gaze locked with the boy’s. He looked young, probably early teens, maybe a tween. His mother gripped his arm as though to keep him in his seat.

The father stood. “I threw the knife.”

“No, you didn’t,” I said, speaking slowly. My hand tingled. The ancient writings appeared around my wrist and the back of my hand. The lettering was faint, but whatever power that accompanied them was strong enough to ignite the knife. I opened my hand and let go of the flaming knife. By the time it reached the floor, there was nothing left but a pile of ashes. “Your son did.”

“I will take his place and fight you,” the father said, starting toward me while the son struggled against his mother’s grip.

“No. I don’t want to fight you. We are here on personal business. Like my friend said, we have not taken your friends and relatives, and fighting us will not bring them back. When we finish our business here, we’ll leave. Oh, good luck finding your missing friends and family.”

The demon didn’t mask his surprise. Slowly, he moved back to his chair and sat. Murmurs rippled across the room. Even demons seated on the balcony moved inside and inched closer.

“What business could you possibly have with one of us?” someone asked.

“We are looking for the Summoners,” I said.

The murmuring stopped.

“We know that some of you summoned the Tribe, malevolent minions who love to hide inside clouds and play with lightning, break rules and hurt humans,” I added.

Two things happened simultaneously—there was mass teleporting from the restaurant and thuds came from behind me. I turned and blinked. Bran, Remy, and Sykes were fighting Uni-brow and his men. They weren’t using their weapons just open-hand strikes and well-aimed kicks guaranteed to cause maximum pain.

The assistant manager, sprawled on one of the chairs, watched them with a defeated expression on his face as they broke tables, plates and glass, spilled leftover food and spilled drinks.

“I guess no one wants to discuss the Summoners or the Tribe,” Izzy said.

“I guess not. You think they’d want to gloat. Demons can be so weird sometimes. Should we help them?” I asked, nodding at the guys.

“No, they’re having fun,” Kim said.

“How did you ignite the dagger?” Izzy asked.