Alliance of Shadows, Book 3: HUNTER

Power and Loyalty

The room fell into a silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Bertram, thoroughly terrified by the sheer strength of Kaden’s ability, had withdrawn into a brooding contemplation, his expression unreadable, his thoughts locked behind an impenetrable wall. Secrets unknown. Stories untold.

"If it's any consolation, minority people have more freedoms and rights now. We still run into narrow-minded idiots wherever we go, though," Kaden said softly, his tone carrying a quiet resignation rather than bitterness.

Harriet nodded, considering his words. "I see. And this Alliance Academy helps phase out that kind of thinking?"

Kaden grinned, a flicker of pride slipping through. "Yeah, actually. My little cousin over there wanted to change the world, and she started with the kids. They aren't born knowing how to hate. That garbage gets taught to them, so she's been making sure the magic users and Werewolf pups learn to hold themselves accountable for their actions and words. She’s turning the Academy into more than just a place for training—it’s a foundation for something better." He leaned back slightly, his eyes distant, as if remembering something. "My mom taught me that lesson early—with toothpaste."

"Toothpaste?" Christian snickered, raising a skeptical brow. "Why use that?"

Kaden’s grin widened, the hint of an old memory surfacing. "She told me that words were like spilled toothpaste. Once they're out, it's damn near impossible to take them back."

Bertram slouched in his chair, scowling toward Kaden. "I meant no offense by the remark, Harriet. Surely thou dost recall—I was once set upon by Werewolves."

"Ay," Enya scoffed, rolling her eyes. "And ye brought it upon yerself, ye daft numpty. I’d have given a purse o’ gold to see the look upon yer face when it happened! If any of ye care to ken, he thought himself clever enough to hunt a newly turned Wolf pup and felt its Mudder’s fangs for his folly."

Izaria barked a sharp laugh before her expression darkened like a brewing storm. Fixing Bertram with an unwavering glare, she said, "See, if you ever do anything I perceive as a threat toward my friends, my family, and my pack, you’ll wish that she-wolf had ended your life."

As the women stepped into another room to talk, Izzy’s threat lingered over the male Elders, heavy and unshakable. There was no jest in her words. She would kill to protect her people.

"You know, she's come a long way from a scared, abused little girl," Kaden murmured. "Her PTSD doesn’t trouble her as much now, not since she had baby Henry."

I frowned and guided him into the hallway. "Yes, I see that. She’s remarkably strong. Was there another reason you came to see me? I must clarify that any and all political matters should be discussed with my eldest brother."

"It’s actually a personal favor," he admitted with a slow smile. "What gave me away?"

"Your approach reeks of a certain redhead we love," I answered. Opening the door to my office, I waved my hand in the air. "Drink?"

He shook his head. "Nah, man. I'm good. You’re right, though, but it wasn’t Logan who gave me this idea. He does know I’m asking."

I frowned, trying to make sense of what he meant. "Clarify."

Kaden sighed and dropped into the chair by the window. "Well, see, it’s like this. My big brother is one of the best guys I know. He’s gay and met his Mate young, but that’s not my story to tell. His Mate had a rough childhood, and a few days ago, he learned there may be a chance he had a child."

I watched him glare out at the growing shadows. His blue eyes flickered to me, catching me off guard. "I apologize in advance for any offence, but is that your true eye colour?"

He blinked, then let out a laugh. "Yeah, these are my Gods-given eyes. Got 'em from my father. as half-siblings, Dre and I share a dad but not a mom. We all get along like one big, happy, slightly deranged, and dysfunctional family with problems just like everyone else."

"Oh, well, that helps everything make sense now. I was interested because it's somewhat rare to see a non-Caucasian person with blue eyes. It just goes to show that you can live forever and still find something new to learn every day," I replied, making him laugh.

He glanced toward the door. "I'm assuming the women are safe with the Elders, right?"

"Of course. Now, let's get down to business," I said, finishing off my glass of blood. "You mentioned that your brother-in-law had some issues and that he could potentially have a child. How does that affect the Ruby Fang?"

He swallowed and leaned forward in his chair. "Leif's a great person, and there's no one better for my brother than him. I love him like a brother, but he's found himself in a predicament. A girl showed up, claiming to be his kid. It still needs to be proven through genetic testing. But here’s where it gets complicated—she’s got a Werewolf Mate. Not a Rogue, but a Ronin named Jonah Whitlock. He’s looking for work."

I studied him, considering the weight of his words. "And Logan told you to talk to me."

Kaden barked a laugh. "Logan is one child I may never be able to match wits with," I said, shaking my head. "Does Jonah have any sort of specialty?"

He snorted. "I think he’d be willing to shovel s**t just to make a dime, Hunter."

"Two hundred years ago, that would’ve been a job he could get. But times have changed."

Kaden's eyes went wide. "Come again? I thought he was messing with me. Are you really that old? Because seriously, you guys look like you’re my age, and I’m in my early twenties."

"Well, yes. Vampires age the slowest of all the supernatural races, so we tend to look much younger than we are. In our culture, I'm still considered a young adult. In human terms, I’m in my late two-hundreds. Our bodies age roughly one year for every twenty that pass for everyone else."

He leaned closer, obviously hungry for more knowledge. "Tell me more."

"I'm not sure I can," I answered. "No one truly knows why we age the way we do or why we can have children, allergies, and other illnesses. There are no written records explaining why my heart beats once every half hour compared to your throbbing heart. Some believe we exist in a space between life and death, forever straddling that fine line where a single choice could change everything."

"Who did the translating?" His tone was careful, measured. The flickering candlelight caught the sharp angles of his face, shadows deepening his features as he waited for my response.

I let out a short laugh, though the weight of the question lingered. As I pulled it free, a faint cloud of dust escaped into the air, the scent of aged parchment mixing with the lingering traces of ink and time itself. The book’s leather cover was cracked at the edges, centuries of handling leaving their quiet imprint.

"I assure you, it's a literal translation, done by the previous Vampire King himself," I said, handing it to him with deliberate care. "My eldest brother is friends with our current Royalty, and he managed to get me an original copy. You may borrow it if you wish."

Kaden took the book slowly, as if it were something far more fragile than it appeared. His hands were steady but reverent, his fingertips grazing over the embossed lettering on the spine before trailing along the textured cover. He flipped the cover open slightly, his brows knitting together as he ran his thumb along the pages.

"This is real parchment paper, isn’t it?" His voice had shifted, laced with excitement and discovery, skepticism momentarily forgotten. He tested the weight of a page between his fingers, pressing against the edges, feeling the slight resistance that paper never had. His eyes flickered with recognition—this wasn’t just a book, it was a relic. A piece of history bound in ink and truth.

Then, just as quickly, he pivoted again. "Oh, and about Jonah." He hesitated for half a second before pushing forward. "Could I, I dunno, get you to talk to him at Dre's manor?"

"Micah will be a bit busy for the next while, but I can take Peter with me. Leave me your number, and I'll let you know when we can schedule a…"

The office door swung open with a force that rattled the frame. Peter strode in, his expression dark, his jaw clenched as if barely holding back an outburst. His boots hit the floor with deliberate weight, each step carrying the gravity of simmering frustration. The air in the room seemed to shift with him, heavy with the storm brewing beneath his controlled fury.

His gaze locked onto mine, eyes burning with barely contained anger. I didn’t even need to ask. I already knew.

"Stan?" I ventured, watching his body language for confirmation.

Peter ran a hand through his tousled hair, letting out a sharp breath, the kind that barely held his temper in check. "Can we pretty please ask Logan to send the three he calls Triple Trouble to keep him busy?" His voice was tight, strained between exasperation and something close to resignation. He crossed his arms, fingers digging into his sleeves as if restraining the urge to punch something—or someone.

Then, with a slow shake of his head, he muttered, "That ass went and put a real snake in my bed this evening."

I inhaled sharply, staring at him. "A real snake?"

Peter’s nod was curt. "Curled up right under the blanket." His fingers flexed, like the memory of the encounter was still crawling under his skin. "You have no idea how fast I cleared that room."

I couldn't help it—I winced. Stan was known for pushing limits, but this? This was beyond even his usual antics. "I'll talk to Logan," I assured him, my tone carrying the weight of someone now tasked with damage control.