Blake's Pursuit

“Fan out,” Samson ordered. “If you see a structure, notify the team by text. Everybody’s cell phone set to silent. Now.”

Blake checked his phone, then his weapons. A small-caliber handgun was holstered on his hip, a silver knife hidden in his boot, and a stake tucked away in the inside pocket of his jacket, though he hoped he didn’t have to use it. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t mind inflicting a little pain with his silver knife, to explain how it felt in a language that Ronny understood.

All his senses on alert, Blake stalked into the darkness, aware of his colleagues around him, though everybody was careful where they stepped, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

About a mile away from the main road, Blake saw a faint light. He carefully approached, his eyes searching the ground for possible booby-traps that might alert Ronny. About a hundred yards away from the structure, which looked like an old, run-down cabin, he stopped and texted his position to his colleagues.

His superior night vision picked them up a few moments later as they circled the building and closed in. Blake lifted his hand to tell them to remain where they were, then walked closer to the spot where a sliver of light was coming from. It was a window. And though the curtains had been drawn, somebody had been sloppy, leaving an inch uncovered. Blake moved his head closer to the glass and peered inside.

A living room. Empty.

Blake shifted his angle, but all he could see was a door, but not where it led to or whether anybody was there. They’d just have to take their chances. Suddenly a sound came from inside. Blake’s heart stopped, and his mind tried to analyze what he’d heard: cutlery clanging against metal. Either somebody was eating, which meant it wasn’t Ronny, or somebody was trying to give a signal.

He turned around and made hand signs to alert his colleagues that at least one person was inside the cabin. He waved to Wes, and the witch joined him. They’d already discussed earlier what to do. This time, Wes didn’t speak the spell to open the door—since Ronny, if he was inside, might hear them out here in the wilderness where there was no ambient noise. Instead, Wes had brought a potion that opened any lock without making a sound. He now poured it over the doorknob, put the empty bottle back into his small backpack, and stepped back as if to say, It’s all yours.

Blake motioned to his colleagues to cover the windows in case Ronny made a run for it, then nodded at John, who was now giving him cover. Blake drew his gun, and without further ado, he kicked the door open and stormed in.

There was a sound coming from one of the rooms, and Blake headed for it, hearing his friend rush into the house behind him. He kicked the door to the room open and aimed his gun at the person inside the large kitchen.

“Shit!”

“Ronny!”

The jerk dropped the utensils he was working with and lunged for the door that led into the next room.

“Don’t make me shoot you,” Blake warned calmly, knowing his colleagues were cutting Ronny’s escape route off. “Silver hurts like a bitch.”

But Ronny didn’t stop—and ran right into Amaury who grabbed him and slammed him against the nearest wall, holding him there, suspended.

“Let me go! Damn it!” Ronny yelled, struggling, but Amaury was stronger.

“You want first dibs, Blake?” his linebacker-sized friend offered.

“With pleasure,” he grunted and swung his fist into Ronny’s face, slamming his head so hard into the wall that the lath-n-plaster cracked. “That’s for the silver bullet you left in my shoulder.” He swung again and this time delivered an uppercut to Ronny’s chin. “And this is for Hannah!”

Blood ran from Ronny’s nose, and Blake’s fangs lengthened automatically. His fingers turned into claws, and he lifted his hand, ready for another punch. But his claws didn’t connect with Ronny’s face. Instead, somebody was holding him back.

Blake whipped his head to the side.

“That’s enough. We need him alive,” Samson said, before releasing his wrist.

Blake sucked in a breath and stepped back. Then he looked at the others who’d entered the kitchen. “Have you found Hannah?”

They shook their heads.

“Not a trace,” Haven said.

Blake turned back to Ronny, narrowing his eyes. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know!”

“The fuck you don’t!” Blake shot back. “I’m asking again: where is Hannah? Where are you keeping her?”

“I don’t have her,” Ronny wailed. “They’ve got her. I don’t know where she is.”

“You sack of shit! Liar!”

“I’m not lying. Please, let me go. If they know that you found me, they’ll kill her.”

“Who’s they?”

He motioned to the large table in the kitchen, where he’d been working with several bowls and herbs. “The vampires behind all this.”

Blake scoffed. “Are you trying to tell me you’re just a pawn? How stupid do you think I am?”

“It’s the truth! They’re using her to make me do what they want. But if they find out that I’m no use to them anymore, they’ll have no reason to keep her alive.”

Blake moved closer, flashing his fangs. “You’d better be telling the truth.” He turned to Samson. “We’ll take him to HQ to interrogate him.”

“No!” Ronny protested. “I have to finish this batch. If it’s not done when they need it—”

“Let’s go, buddy,” Amaury interrupted and hoisted him out of the room.

“I’m gonna stay,” Wes announced all of a sudden. “Hav, can you leave me your car?”

“What are you gonna do?” Blake asked.

Wes pointed to the table. “I’m gonna check on what he’s been doing. It might help me understand how the drug works.”

“You’re gonna be okay on your own?” Haven asked, concern etched in his face. “Want me to stay with you?”

“I can stay, too,” Yvette offered.

Wes shook his head. “It’s gonna bore you to death. So, no. Just go home. I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Haven conceded.

“No worries.” He motioned to his backpack. “I’ve got all the protection with me that I need. I’ll lock up when I’m done.”