After Darkness Falls: After Darkness Falls Book One

by Sage, May

  Maybe whoever had bought it would let her pay them back; then she could keep it. It was so pretty, she would be loath to part with it.

  Her bladder demanding her attention, Chloe dropped the fabric back on the bed and got up.

  The tall three-story house had several small bedrooms to house huntsmen as they traveled to London. No en-suite. She peeked out the door and, finding the corridors empty, dashed to claim the bathroom on her floor. She didn't stay long under the hot shower, knowing all twelve of them had to share one boiler. After her ablutions, she got dressed, then put on her leather boots and her coat, along with Cat's gloves.

  Then Chloe glanced at the scarf. Recognizing the label, she shivered, wondering how much it had cost—and who had spent that sort of money on her. Her mind went to Levi, but he was all the way up in Scotland. That left everyone else here.

  She took the scarf with her downstairs. A delicious smell was beckoning her to a large formal dining room.

  Bacon. There was bacon in the air.

  She stopped as she got to the door, finding a lot more people than she'd expected.

  In addition to the nine huntsmen and her two witch friends—the vampires were patrolling somewhere outside; they hadn't come inside the previous evening—there were new faces.

  They all seemed beautiful to her, like big-screen actors or models. There was one plump woman playing with a dagger. Her pink cherry mouth and strawberry hair said soft and sweet, but her dexterity with sharp objects proved that to be a lie. There was also a tall woman with short dark hair, and another shorter one perched on a chest of drawers. The three others were guards, judging by the way they held themselves stiffly and stood close to the exits.

  "Well, well." The short woman's gaze was intense. "What have we here?"

  "Another friend," Jack replied lightly.

  Chloe hadn't noticed at first, but now it was clear that the woman was related to Jack. She had his nose, his eyes, and his aura. Everything about her said leader.

  His mother. The high guard.

  Damn, good genes ran in the family. She didn't seem to be a day over thirty, if that.

  The vampire blood, Chloe guessed.

  "Friend, hm?" She winked at her son. "Whatever you say. Just hurry and make pretty babies, will you?"

  Jack groaned. Tris seemed to be on cloud nine.

  The woman waved to Chloe, then pointed to her own chest. "Becca Hunter."

  "Chloe Miller," she replied.

  Becca pointed to the table. "Come. Sit. Eat."

  Orders. Chloe knew she would have hissed and made a point of standing until she grew roots if they'd come from Levi, but the friendly woman's tone didn't bother her. Plus, there was bacon.

  She sat down, and Blair passed her a plate of eggs.

  Various trays filled the table—mushrooms, bread rolls, roasted tomatoes, sausages, mash, and bacon. So much bacon.

  She piled the food onto her plate. Before digging in, she remembered the scarf. Chloe lifted it in the air.

  "I found this on my bed. Who bought it for me?"

  Silence. "On your bed?" Jack repeated.

  Chloe nodded. "It wasn't there last night. It was in a box. No note or anything. I thought it might be from Cat or Mikar…"

  "Call them. Check," he said, reaching for the scarf.

  But the moment Jack's hand touched the fabric, the scarf moved of its own volition, crawling quickly up the side of Chloe's arms, tightening at each revolution. It was slithering to her neck, she realized, frozen in fear. Her arm was growing more and more painful with each passing instant as it squeezed hard enough to break bone, stopping her blood circulation.

  And then, a sharp pain cut through the numbness. One of the three older female huntsmen—the redhead—had cut through the fabric. Chloe's blood ran onto her shoulder, red and dizzying.

  The lovely scarf was in pieces on the floor.

  "Don't touch that," Becca ordered her son, who was bending down toward what was left of it. "The spell might not be broken yet."

  Jack nodded, pulling a knife out of his jacket. Did everyone have a knife? And why didn't she?

  Chloe chuckled. She could count on her strange brain to think of the most stupidly inappropriate response to almost being strangled by a scarf.

  "You're okay?" Gwen whispered.

  Chloe nodded, with difficulty. Becca said, "Your friend is probably in shock. Do you have a spell for that?"

  Gwen shook her head, but Blair was already pulling a flask out of her bag. "Two drops," she told Chloe, who opened the bottle and drank it without question.

  Almost immediately, warmth spread through her—she hadn't even realized she was so cold. Her trembling fingers went still. She breathed out.

  "That was awesome. Greer Vespian again?" Chloe asked.

  Blair beamed. "I take it for anxiety—one drop per day. Two is for shock, and three is in case of paralysis."

  Someone ought to sell GP's potions worldwide. She'd put pharma firms out of business in no time.

  Chloe's full attention returned to the huntsmen, who were examining the piece of scarf on the tip of Jack's knife.

  "It's clearly elemental magic. An air mage, I'd say."

  "Could be. Or blood magic. Hard to tell, now that it's not active. We'll have to take it to the lab."

  "Maybe we should stop thinking about what it is and start wondering how it got inside one of our safe houses, and why it targeted the girl," one of the male guards said.

  Becca lifted her head toward him and grinned.

  "See, boy?" she told Jack. "Always marry someone smarter than you."

  The guard rolled his eyes.

  Chloe hadn't paid him or the two others much mind, but now she could tell—the dark blonde hair, tall stature, handsome mouth. This was Jack's father. Or his clone, one of the two. They really looked alike. Chloe wanted to ask Jack to stand next to him so she could compare the two specimens. She doubted she'd find more than a handful of differences.

  Becca's attention returned to Chloe.

  "You're a guest in our home. This should never have happened, and will not happen again. Now, who have you pissed off?"

  A question she would have preferred not to answer. Ever.

  "Me? No one. Not pissing off people is my hobby, really. I'm nice."

  She'd made a point of that.

  The leader of the huntsmen looked like she was about to call bullshit.

  "But I'm the daughter of a serial killer. The families of his victims…let's just say they aren't very fond of me."

  Chloe didn't look at her friends, eyes on her fingertips. She didn't want to see their expressions change. Read judgment.

  But it had to be said, because if George's antics had something to do with the strangling scarf, they needed to know, but damn if she didn't hate talking about it.

  Becca frowned. "I guess they could have hired a witch, but it's doubtful. To risk pissing us off, whoever snuck in here has a clear personal stake in this. Jack, you will watch your friend's back, personally."

  Chloe blushed. "No need, I have two guards. Cat and Mikar. They're…"

  "The vamps. That's why you wanted them to travel with us." Jack groaned, frustrated. "A little warning next time, Cheetah?"

  Now she was getting pissed. "I didn't know they'd do anything here, okay? The people after me are in the States. And until now, they’ve only been regular humans."

  The full scale of the situation hit her now. She had witches after her. Witches. Creatures who could stop her heart or make her bleed out or worse.

  No amount of GV potions could help with that fact. She was a dead woman walking.

  "All right, we'll get to the bottom of this, but for now, shields. Mental, physical, and a warning bell too."

  Blair leaped to her feet.

  "I can help."

  Becca laughed.

  "Oh no. Witch magic is strong, but it dies with the caster and often grows weaker as days go by."

  "Then what…"

 
Becca's husband, who'd been near the door a moment ago, was now kneeling in front of Chloe.

  He wore a long black coat, gloves, boots—every part of him was covered, save for his handsome face.

  When he removed his gloves, Chloe gasped. Except for his face, every visible inch of skin was covered with intricate marks that seemed to glow—dark silvery-steel tattoos flowing like water on his flesh.

  "What are you?" she asked him.

  Not the politest of questions. She really ought to work on that loose tongue of hers.

  He didn't seem to mind.

  "A god," he replied simply. "Your hands."

  Chloe looked up to Jack. "What does that make you?"

  "A freak," Tris said under her breath.

  Jack laughed. "A scion, I guess. Kind of? Dad is a pretty weak god, though. So, I'm just a huntsman."

  Chloe gave her hands to the man, who closed his eyes and smiled. "There's a lot more than meets the eye in you, isn't there, Chloe?"

  She froze.

  "Yes. It has been an age since one of you has risen. I wonder…" He glanced at his wife. "But no matter. For now, let us just ensure you keep breathing."

  Warmth spread through his fingers, heating up every part of her.

  "It might get a little uncomfortable, but it won't last," he told her softly.

  She bit her lip and winced. The heat was getting hotter and hotter, boiling her insides. What was he doing to her?

  For a wild second, she wondered if he was hurting her, trying to kill her; maybe he was the one who'd given her the scarf.

  But the next moment, it stopped. Blair gasped. "Was that a transfusion?"

  Chloe had no clue what that meant, but the god nodded.

  "Dad has some nanocytes inside his body,” Jack said. "Incredibly advanced stuff, light years ahead of anything created on Earth. They've evolved alongside him, are a part of him. That's how those humans called gods are so strong, and seemingly immortal. There are billions of nanoparticles inside him. Think of them as little computers with artificial intelligence. He's ordered a few of them to go inside you. They aren't made for you, so they'll die eventually—unless he takes them back. But while they're inside you, they'll protect you, improve your endurance, that sort of thing."

  "And they’ll let me know if you're in danger," the god added. "Consider yourself officially under the protection of the huntsmen. For now."

  Alive

  Chloe shut off the little voice that wanted her to head right back under the blankets upstairs after that thing had squeezed her, trying to claim her life.

  She was in London. She was around huntsmen, who would now be a lot more vigilant about what was going on around her. There were two vampires watching her. She was not going to let some cowardly witch asshole ruin her trip—or her friends'. Besides, her room was clearly no safer than anywhere else.

  Though her appetite had disappeared, she forced a few bites of everything on her plate and made a point of smiling a lot, joining everyone's conversations. By the end of breakfast, her face felt like it was going to split in two. Her throat was dry and overworked. She had never noticed how much effort talking and smiling took.

  They cleared their plates and gathered in the hallway. Before she left the kitchen, Bash pulled her sleeve.

  "Stop."

  She frowned at him.

  "We get it. This morning sucks. Stop trying to fake having fun for our sakes. It's not working, and it'll only make you more miserable. You smile when you want to, got it?"

  She did smile at him then—her first real one since the scarf. "All right."

  Outside, both Mikar and Cat were waiting on the pavement, a frown in place.

  "Something's wrong."

  Chloe wondered how they could tell.

  "Someone got into my room and gave me a scarf that tried to strangle me."

  The two vampires glanced at each other.

  "A scarf?"

  To her relief, Blair explained the events of breakfast. Mikar never stopped glowering as he listened.

  "Someone got into your room…and just dropped a scarf on the bed. That doesn't add up."

  "No one got near the house last night," Cat added, somewhat defensively.

  She wanted it understood she'd done her job right.

  "I know. Thank you so much for watching me, Catherine, Mikar."

  She hadn't said that to them yet.

  The vamp relaxed while Mikar walked away, phone in hand. To report to his boss, Chloe guessed.

  Chloe was pretty certain that if he'd appeared right then, she would have been fully capable of expressing the extent of her gratitude. She did need her guards. She was powerless.

  How many times had they helped her without her knowing it? Had they prevented attacks in Oldcrest?

  She wanted—needed—to know. She daren't ask.

  "Right. Who's up for a boat ride?"

  Chloe yet again proved that her strongest skill was distracting herself. Out on the water, wind on her face, she didn't even care about the cold. Which might have had a lot to do with the fact that the cruise day included afternoon tea and unlimited champagne top-up.

  Afternoon tea, she learned, was an adorable British custom that involved mini sandwiches and cakes on tiered plate stands. She went back for at least five three-inch-tall Victoria sponges and two serving of scones with jam and clotted cream. To crown a wonderful day, her bright yellow waterproof overcoat was doing its job, keeping her mostly dry.

  By the early evening, when they were back in the London docks, she had messy hair and a light heart.

  She hoped she'd remember this day. Her friends, the food, the boat. The scarf was a bleep on the radar.

  "You're so strong. A lot stronger than me. I'd be in pieces, if I were you," Blair said.

  Chloe shrugged.

  "I'm just used to life getting in the way of happiness. So I learned to enjoy the moments and be grateful for them."

  The witch watched her before smiling. "We should toast. To the moment."

  Chloe laughed. "We've toasted plenty, thank you."

  She'd never liked getting drunk; Chloe was one to stop halfway to tipsy.

  She soon realized she was the exception among her group, besides Jack, who only had one flute of champagne and, hours later, at dinner, sipped on red wine, taking his time. But the others were downing their drinks like water.

  Jack's advice on staying inconspicuous and traveling separately long forgotten, their group wobbled through Mayfair, singing and dancing on the pavement.

  "Don't look so disapproving," Jack said with a laugh. "They can take a nest of rogue shifters while half-drunk. It's actually part of the training."

  Of course it was.

  "I'm not disapproving. I just don't understand the desire to lose control."

  Jack nodded as they turned into New Bond Street. During the day, the street was a hub of activity, with black taxis driving over the speed limit; now, it was empty. "You wouldn't," he said, understanding in his tone. "Those who’ve had the rug pulled from under their feet rarely do. What happened with your dad…I'm sorry. It sucks. But it doesn't define you."

  Didn't it?

  "It's hard to believe that when I'm basically on the run, in another continent, because of it. I had to give up my home, move, and now…"

  Jack was thoughtful. "You're assuming that this mess has something to do with your father. It's possible…"

  He never finished that sentence.

  A spear flashed through the air, aimed right at his head. The next instant, unbelievably, Jack moved a fraction of an inch to the left and caught it in motion.

  "In formation!" he yelled.

  The huntsmen, who'd barely seemed able to walk on a straight line moments before, moved as one, forming a circle back-to-back with Chloe, Blair, and Gwen in the middle.

  It looked like they'd be putting that drunken training to the test.

  The seconds were thick, heavy, endless. Nothing happened. After a minute, Chloe wondered
if it had just been a huntsmen-hating prank, someone seeing an opportunity to try and hurt Jack.

  But in the next instant, both sides of the long, wide street darkened as a crowd of yelling, growling creatures ran right to them.

  The creatures were armed with spears and swords, and some had guns. Chloe couldn't quell her fear. So many of them. Dozens. Perhaps a hundred. She couldn’t tell in the dark.

  To her left, Blair lifted her hands to shoulder height and yelled. Bright light flashed out of her palms and flew through the thick crowd of enemies, knocking a good few over. Gwen’s eyes were on the sky. Her dark irises flashed silver-white, and the sky thundered in response to her call. Fist-size balls of ice fell from the sky, hitting everyone outside of their circle.

  Everyone was useful except her.

  Chloe wasn't one to enjoy violence. Other than for self-defense, she'd never been interested in fighting. She'd always thought that violence only bred more violence in an unending circle of animosity.

  Right now, she felt foolish. Downright foolish. Those creatures weren't going to stop just because she didn't want to fight. They didn't care. They'd planned this ambush to destroy every single one of them. And Chloe should have been able to fight or, at the very least, defend herself and be useful to her friends.

  She saw one of Tris’s many spare blades flash at her belt.

  "Can I have a knife?" she asked her.

  Without sparing her a glance, Tris pulled a long, curved knife out of her jacket and threw it behind her.

  Chloe's fingers wrapped around the hilt, grabbing it like a lifeline. At least now she didn't feel so very useless.

  The creatures were almost on them, close enough for her to see that their faces seemed wrong, contorted into a mask of hunger and horror. What were they?

  The first line reached the huntsmen, and blades fell on blades in a thundering clash with such speed that Chloe could barely follow the movements.

  The things had sharp, vampire-like teeth, though much longer than any vamp’s fangs Chloe had ever seen. And it wasn't just their canines—at least four, and sometimes even eight, of their teeth protruded from their mouths.