Alliance of Shadows, Book 3: HUNTER

Unearthing Secrets

Like all the other children who ever met me, Logan gravitated closer until he was beside me. His flashlight flickered as the batteries died, leaving him in total darkness.

"Shoot, I forgot my backup batteries," he hissed, patting down his pockets. Groaning, he whined, "Cut me some slack, guys. I can't see in the dark, and all I smell is damp earth and rotting wood."

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of soil that had never seen sunlight. The walls around us, rough and uneven, seemed to swallow the weak beams of light we had left, turning the underground space into a suffocating void. Faint echoes of dripping water played at the edges of my hearing, each drop falling into the unseen depths below.

Justin chuckled as he smirked at Logan and, out of nowhere, said, "So, there is something you can't do."

Logan stiffened. He didn't know Justin had been silent for a very long time, but I did. My cousin's voice carried the bite of a scowl when he shot back, "No one asked you, Neanderthal."

Vincent groaned, his voice rough from years of silence. “Seriously, Logan? How freaking smart are you? Because I don’t think I can handle another Hunter running around."

The words hung in the air, sharp enough to cut. Everyone fell silent.

“Um, Micah, how many years has it been since they talked?” I asked, unable to hide the awe creeping into my voice. Logan hadn’t just stirred trouble—he was somehow unraveling the past.

My eldest brother blinked, his expression distant as if he were tracing the years backward in his mind. “Too many, Hunter. Justin hasn’t spoken since we found his young Mate dead in her room, and Vincent…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Vincent rarely speaks anyway. He’s too damned shy after what the Rio Roja did to him when he was a child.”

What had been done? Some of them had decided Vince was a prime target for bullying. And Father? He never stepped in, never called for mercy. His excuse? The boy needed to learn to defend himself.

Defence was never the issue. Vince could fight with the best, his fists landing with precision when needed. The real wound—the one that lingered—was his voice. The inability to speak without stumbling, the way certain words tangled on his tongue, turning strength into silence.

Yet his silence became a strength no one ever saw coming. From quietly carving toys for the children of the clan to crafting sturdy, comfortable seats for the Elders—ones who rarely acknowledged us—he poured his pain into creation. His hands spoke where his voice could not, shaping wood into something lasting, something understood without words.

“Just a thought, but can you explain what you’re talking about before Peter and I start taking names and kicking butts?” Logan groaned.

“I don’t need a list of names. I know them by heart,” Peter said, crossing his arms.

Logan snorted a laugh. “Lucky you.”

We all laughed, their sarcasm cutting through the weight of the underground cavern. The air was thick with the scent of old stone, untouched earth, and the faint bite of lingering moisture. Shadows danced unevenly along the rough walls, swallowing the light from our dwindling flashlights. My gaze drifted over the cavern, landing on a row of torches nestled in aged brass sconces. They looked ancient, but maybe—just maybe—they’d still burn.

An idea struck me.

“Logan, why don’t you start training with us right now?” I asked.

Turning to the sound of my voice, he looked at me and grinned. “I’d love that, Hunter.”

“Picture an image in your mind of two rows of old-fashioned torches adorning the walls,” I said, keeping his attention focused on his powers.

He nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Now, think of a light switch that’s been flipped to the off position,” I told him.

“I've got a good mental picture. Now what?” he asked.

I nodded and placed my hands on his shoulders. “As you flip the switch, visualize the torches lighting up one by one. Stay as calm as you can. If you're too relaxed, too excited, or too angry, the result could be utter chaos.”

Logan laughed softly. “So, what you’re saying is that I have to find a happy medium and hold it there.”

“Yes, that’s a perfect way of putting it,” I said, unable to hide the pride in my voice.

“Oh, wonderful,” Harold chirped. “He can translate Hunter’s weirdness for us.”

“The term you’re looking for is deciphering, which means to decode or solve,” Logan corrected, his tone flat but amused. “Old English isn't weird, either. Weird is the fact that you guys are old as dirt and act like teenagers.”

“Wow. Just wow,” Micah gasped. He shook his head slightly, as if debating whether to correct Logan. “Logan, you know that we age much slower than other species.”

“Yeah, we’re basically the walking dead,” Vince said softly.

Stanley laughed as Vincent’s words sank in.

Logan chuckled. “No way! I’ve watched The Walking Dead, and you guys are not as ugly as zombies.”

“Thank the Goddess Nox for that,” Jerome breathed. “Being compared to zombies is bad enough—no reason to look like them too.”

As we made our way down the corridor, Logan suddenly stopped moving. “You guys watch stuff like that too?”

Stanley grinned. “Man, I have got to introduce you to Gabriel Iglesias. He's the best stand-up comedian ever.”

Logan rolled his eyes, surprisingly maintaining the control he held over his power. “I watch the Fluffy stand-up specials with my Dad and older brother. Colt and Kaden prefer Jeff Dunham, though.”

“Uh, guys, there are doors behind the walls.”

I turned my head, only to realize that Peter had fallen behind the group. He stood in front of the wall, staring at the earth as if deciphering something hidden beneath its surface, his posture tense with unwavering focus. His eyes flickered slightly, the telltale sign of his unique ability at work—the power to see through deception, to unearth truths buried beneath layers of concealment.

Jerome looked at him in disbelief. “What makes you say that?”

Peter didn’t hesitate. “I can see them,” he replied calmly, his voice carrying an unsettling certainty.

Micah hesitated before walking back to Peter, raising his hand just above the wall. As his fingers hovered near the rough surface, his expression shifted—first confusion, then dawning realization, as though a puzzle piece had just clicked into place. The air grew heavier, charged with something unspoken.

“Father said in his journal that he made them pay,” Micah murmured. His voice held no anger, just quiet understanding—something far more unsettling. “I didn’t think he sentenced them to a slow death.”

A chill crept up my spine, coiling at the base of my neck. “Micah, who are you speaking of?” I asked softly, the weight of the moment pressing into my words.

Micah swallowed, his jaw tightening as if steeling himself against something long buried. “Grandfather’s advisers—the original Ruby Fang Council,” he answered, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of old wounds resurfacing.

I arched my brow as Logan quickly shed his clothes, setting them aside in a neatly folded pile. He shifted into his wolf form, pressing down on the earth to display his thick canine claws.

My eyes widened. “The wolves here can dig out the doors.”

Stanley blinked, considering the idea. “The wolf’s claws are strong enough to tear apart the permafrost, but what if there are spells in place?”

A flash of light filled the corridor, and a striking woman appeared out of nowhere. She smiled warmly. “That’s why I’m here. Logan just advised Henry and me that help was required, and we wanted to show you the reality of the Alliance—that, without question, we assist each other whenever needed.”

Concerned and a little confused, I realized she had never been present at the meetings when Henry and we Valencia brothers spoke.

She glanced at Logan before shifting her gaze to his clothes. “I'm getting a little sick of having to replace your wardrobe, young man.”

“I beg your pardon,” Jerome hissed.

Logan let out a low, threatening growl, moving to stand protectively in front of the woman. She knelt, running her hands through his wolf’s fur in an attempt to calm him.

Peter whispered hurriedly, confirming what I suspected. “She’s important to him, so she’s off-limits.”

I let my gaze linger on her for a moment before understanding dawned with sharp clarity. “You’re the woman who adopted him?”

“I am,” she replied. “My name is Clara Dane. My Mate and a few others will be here shortly.”

There was something undeniably commanding about her presence. The way she held herself, the quiet authority in her tone—it wasn’t just power, it was certainty. I had encountered strong individuals before, but the energy radiating from her made it clear she was a Luna who expected loyalty rather than demanded it.

How did Logan handle being in a house with two Lunas? The sheer power behind their words was enough to make me bend to her will, and yet, he seemed completely unaffected—as if it was simply part of the world he had grown up in.

His voice erupted in my head, calm and amused. ‘Don’t think about it too hard, Hunter.’

I exhaled slowly, turning back to him. “You were able to use your Vampire powers this whole time?” I asked quietly, keeping my tone measured.

Clara’s expression didn’t shift, but there was something thoughtful in the way she tilted her head, as though considering the best way to answer. “Is that how he can sense things before others realize what’s happening?” she asked, genuine curiosity coloring her tone.

I nodded, watching Logan closely. “He was probably born with the ability.”

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Logan agreed, his voice carrying a quiet confidence.