So, I did the next best thing.
:
I recorded a message. This wasn’t my first message to them. The General knew of me. We just didn’t speak. They came in handy sometimes.
61
No face. No traceable signal. Just a voice laced with barely concealed venom and temptation. It would get delivered directly to the Hollow Creed’s encrypted server, thanks to a little help from a human hacker whose bones now decorate my foyer.
I leaned into the mic and hit record. “You’re wasting your time swatting at bugs when there’s a hybrid goddess rising beneath your feet.”
“Her name is Elowen Thorne. A hybrid, werewolf, fae, moon blessed, earth marked, and a threat to every living thing. You think you’ve seen monsters? This one will level nations.”
“You want her?”
“Come and get her.”
“Four days from now. The fae portal. Black Rock Mountains, Montana. She’ll be there. So will I. Let’s see if you’re as righteous as you pretend to be.”
“Or if the bloodlust tastes too good to walk away.”
I clicked the message off and smiled to myself, fangs just barely showing. Let them come. Let them bring their fancy bullets and tactical gear. They’d never met a real predator. And if I played this right, they’d do my dirty work for me.
Then I’d gut whatever was left. I cackled madly, smile growing wider by the moment as I envisioned Elowen hanging in my torture chamber in chains. I would win. Nothing would stand in my way.
General Colson Maddix POV
Hollow Creed Command,
undisclosed location in Utah desert
The red light blinked on the comms panel, once. Only once.
I bit down harder on the chewed up end of my cigar, the thing damn near flattened between my molars, and let the message play. No caller ID. No timestamp. Just that slick, snake oil vampire bastard’s voice slithering through the speaker like a goddamn curse.
“…if you want the hybrid goddess bitch, meet me at the fae portal in Montana. Four days.”
I didn’t move. Just sucked in a slow breath through my teeth and blew a stream of smoke toward the cracked ceiling tile like I was exhaling fire straight from hell. The cigar tasted like charred leather and war crimes, exactly how I liked it.
“Elowen Thorne,” I muttered, rolling her name over my tongue like poison. “Fuckin’ magic mutt. Part wolf, part fae, touched by gods. What the hell is this world comin‘ to?”
The room was quiet, too quiet for my taste. Soldiers froze at the tone in my voice, eyes darting up from scattered schematics and silver
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11:07 Mon, Oct 6
Chapter 120
edged gear.
661
“Ramsey. Doyle. Bishop,” I snapped. Three of my best. Hardened killers. Ex–SpecOps with scars in places that’d make most men piss blood. “Pack your shit. Loadouts for hybrid class targets. We deploy in three hours.”
Ramsey gave a sharp nod. “Destination, sir?”
“Montana,” I growled, standing and letting my chair screech back across the concrete like a warning shot. “Black Rock region. Fae territory. Looks like we’re goin‘ deer huntin‘. Only this one’s got magic, a fan club, and apparently a goddamn glow.”
The room buzzed to life. Steel lockers slammed open. Gear hit tables. Wards, bullets, cuffs, blessed blades. Anti magic grenades. Dragon forged axes. We didn’t fuck around.
“Sir…” Bishop started, “This intel solid?”
I took another long pull of my cigar, ash flicking onto the blood stained war map in front of me, and narrowed my eyes.
“That intel’s from the Devil himself,” I said. “And if he’s callin‘ us, it means he can’t handle her either. Which means she’s one hell of a bitch to bring down.”
I cracked my neck and turned toward the exit, boots hitting concrete like thunder. “But we’re Hollow Creed. We kill legends. Now move your asses.”
And just like that, the hunt began.
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