The Devil's Dividend

2 Hunter's Mask

Chapter Two: The Hunter's Mask

Sera burst through the door of her office, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She pressed her back against the cool wood, her eyes squeezed shut, willing her heart to stop its frantic rebellion against her ribs.

I know what you're thinking, Sera. You just can't prove it. Even if you tried.

The words echoed in her skull like a phantom whisper. Impossible. Completely, utterly impossible. Telepathy wasn't real. The texts she'd studied, the research she'd devoured, the whispered warnings from the Order—they all said the same thing. The human mind was a fortress. Impenetrable. Even the most powerful supernatural entities couldn't breach its walls without physical contact.

And yet.

And yet she'd felt it. Felt his voice slide into her consciousness like a blade through silk. Felt his amusement curl around her thoughts like smoke.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

Sera's eyes snapped open. Maya was perched on the edge of her desk, legs crossed, dark eyes gleaming with barely contained curiosity. Her grin was wide and wicked, the expression of a woman who had been waiting for this moment all day.

"Or," Maya continued, tapping her chin with mock contemplation, "you look like you've seen a very handsome CEO who said something terribly scandalous to you. Which is it? Spill. Every. Single. Detail."

Sera forced a smile onto her face, the expression feeling brittle and wrong. "The presentation went fine, Maya. Everything went exactly as planned."

"Fine?" Maya's eyebrows shot up. "You disappear for an hour, come back looking like someone just told you the apocalypse is scheduled for next Tuesday, and all you have to say is 'fine'?"

"It was a long meeting."

"It was a forty-five-minute meeting. I timed it."

Sera moved to her desk, sinking into her chair with a weariness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. She pulled up her email, stared at the screen without seeing it, and tried to remember how to breathe normally.

Maya was not deterred.

"Seriously, Sera. What happened in there? Did he say something? Do something? Did he—"

"No, Maya. He didn't do anything." Sera's laugh came out hollow, unconvincing. "He just... asked some questions. Challenged my findings. The usual CEO stuff."

"Uh-huh." Maya crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Then why do you look like someone just walked over your grave?"

Sera's smile faltered. She remembered the flash of his eyes, the impossible glow that had flickered in their depths. She remembered the points of his teeth, sharp and predatory, there and then gone. She remembered the voice in her head, smooth as silk and cold as winter steel.

I know what you're thinking, Sera.

She shuddered.

Maya's expression softened, her teasing demeanor replaced by genuine concern. "Hey. Are you okay? You're really pale."

"I'm fine," Sera said quickly. Too quickly. "Just tired. Long day. You know how it is."

Maya studied her for a long moment, her dark eyes searching Sera's face for something she wasn't willing to reveal. Finally, she seemed to accept the answer, her shoulders relaxing with a theatrical sigh.

"Well, I would look the same way if I'd spent hours in the same room as Dorian Blackwood. The man is intense. Like, disturbingly intense. Like, I'm-not-sure-if-I-want-to-kiss-him-or-run-away intense." Maya shivered dramatically. "I wonder why it's always you who gets to do those presentations. The board loves you. It's like you're their favorite child."

Sera rolled her eyes, grateful for the shift in conversation. "It wasn't hours, Maya. It was forty-five minutes, which you already pointed out. And I hardly get to be in the same room with Dorian as much as you do. You're the one who monitors his movements like a secret service agent with a crush."

"I do not—"

"You absolutely do. You literally know when he arrives at work every morning. You have his schedule memorized. You once told me what he had for breakfast based on the crumbs on his jacket."

Maya's cheeks flushed a delicate pink. "That was a lucky guess. And also, he always has a croissant on Tuesdays. It's a pattern. I'm observant, not obsessive."

"Uh-huh."

"Whatever." Maya waved her hand dismissively, but Sera caught the way her lips twitched. "It's just not enough, you know? I need more. More sightings. More interactions. More—"

"More reasons for HR to have a conversation with you about workplace boundaries?"

Maya laughed, bright and infectious, and Sera felt some of the tension drain from her shoulders. This was normal. This was Maya. This was the mundane, ridiculous, wonderfully human world that Sera had been trying so desperately to hold onto.

The world where monsters weren't real. Where CEOs were just CEOs. Where the voice in your head was just your imagination, not something far more sinister.

"I'm going to get lunch," Maya announced, pushing herself off the desk. "Want anything?"

"I'll grab something later. I need to finish these reports."

"Suit yourself." Maya paused at the door, her expression softening. "Seriously, Sera. If something happened in there—if he said something inappropriate or made you uncomfortable—you know you can tell me, right? We can go to HR. We can—"

"Nothing happened, Maya. I promise."

Maya studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. "Okay. But I'm holding you to that promise."

She slipped out of the office, and Sera was alone with the silence and the pounding of her heart.

—

The rest of the day passed in a blur of normalcy. Sera buried herself in spreadsheets and emails, her fingers moving mechanically over the keyboard while her mind churned with dark possibilities. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the glow in Dorian's eyes. Every time she stilled, she heard his voice in her head.

You just can't prove it. Even if you tried.

She needed to talk to Marcus. She needed to tell him what had happened, to ask if there was any possibility—any chance at all—that a supernatural entity could breach a human mind without physical contact. She needed to know if she was losing her mind or if the monster she'd suspected for years was finally revealing himself.

But she couldn't do it from here. Not from the heart of Aethelred Industries, surrounded by walls that seemed to have eyes and ears. Not when she didn't know how far Dorian's reach extended.

So she worked. She typed. She smiled at colleagues and made small talk about the weather and pretended that everything was perfectly, blessedly normal.

Maya appeared at lunch, plopping down in the chair across from Sera's desk with a container of takeout and a conspiratorial grin.

"Okay, so I did some digging," she announced, cracking open her chopsticks. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically, if someone wanted to know more about Dorian Blackwood's personal life—his hobbies, his habits, his secret lair where he plots world domination—where would that someone start?"

Sera looked up from her spreadsheet, one eyebrow raised. "Are you asking me for advice on how to stalk our CEO?"

"I'm asking for a friend."

"Maya."

"Fine. I'm asking for me. But only because he's so mysterious. Don't you want to know what he does when he's not being terrifyingly brilliant and devastatingly handsome?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Liar."

Sera couldn't help but smile. "You're impossible."

"And yet you love me anyway." Maya dug into her food with enthusiasm. "So. Hypothetically. Where would someone start?"

Sera sighed, setting down her pen. "Hypothetically, someone would start with public records. Financial disclosures. Any interviews or articles he's given. But Maya—"

"I know, I know. It's a terrible idea. Workplace boundaries. HR. Blah blah blah." Maya waved her hand dismissively. "But can you blame me? The man is like a puzzle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a really, really expensive suit. I just want to solve him."

"I don't think you can solve someone like Dorian Blackwood," Sera said quietly. "I don't think anyone can."

There was something in her voice, some hint of darkness that made Maya pause. She looked up, her chopsticks frozen halfway to her mouth.

"Sera?"

"Nothing. Just... tired." Sera forced another smile. "It's been a long day."

Maya studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But you're coming over this weekend. We're having a movie night, and you're going to relax if it kills you."

"Wouldn't miss it."

---

By the time the workday ended, Sera was running on fumes. Her eyes burned from staring at screens, her shoulders ached from tension, and her mind was a churning mess of doubt and fear.

"Hey." Maya appeared at her door, purse slung over her shoulder. "You almost ready?"

Sera looked up, blinking. "Almost. I just need to—"

"Save it. It can wait until tomorrow." Maya stepped into the office, her expression a familiar blend of concern and exasperation. "You look exhausted. Let's go."

Sera hesitated. There was so much to do. Reports to file. Emails to send. A world of darkness to investigate. But Maya was right. She was exhausted, and she couldn't afford to make mistakes.

"Give me two minutes," she said, shutting down her computer.

"One minute," Maya countered. "I'm timing you."

Sera rolled her eyes, but there was no heat in it. She gathered her things, slipped her tablet into her bag, and followed Maya out of the office.

They walked through the quiet corridors of Aethelred Industries, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors. The building was emptying out, the last few stragglers heading home or to after-work drinks. The elevator ride was silent, both women lost in their own thoughts.

"I need a ride," Maya said as they stepped out into the lobby. "I didn't bring my car today."

Sera glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "You didn't bring your car? Again?"

"The parking situation was a nightmare this morning. And I thought I might—"

"You thought you might catch a glimpse of Dorian Blackwood in the parking garage and maybe, just maybe, he would notice you didn't have a car and offer you a ride home?"

Maya's cheeks flushed. "That's not—I wasn't—it's not like that—"

"Maya, you've been pulling this for three years. And in all that time, has he ever once offered you a ride?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Because he has millions of employees. He doesn't notice if one person doesn't bring their car. He doesn't notice any of us."

"Says the woman who just spent forty-five minutes in a meeting with him." Maya's voice was teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something that sounded almost like hurt. "He certainly seems to notice you."

Sera's stomach twisted. "He doesn't. He just... he's the CEO. I'm an auditor who presents to the board. It's professional. That's all."

"Whatever you say." Maya shrugged, but her eyes were too knowing. "Anyway. Can I get a ride?"

Sera sighed, the tension in her shoulders finally easing. "Of course. Where do you think we're going?"

"Your place? I can order food. We can talk. You can tell me what really happened in that meeting."

"Maya—"

"I'm kidding. Mostly." Maya grinned, linking her arm through Sera's. "Come on. I'm starved, and I want to hear about that annoying file you were working on. The one with the—"

"The one with the accounting discrepancies?"

"Yes! That one. Tell me all about it. I want to hear about spreadsheets and ledgers and—"

"Maya, you hate accounting."

"I know. But you get this cute little crease between your eyebrows when you talk about it, and it's adorable. So tell me everything."

Sera laughed despite herself. "You're ridiculous."

"You love me."

"I do. I really, truly do."

---

Sera's apartment was a study in contrasts.

From the outside, it was modest—one of those unassuming buildings that dotted the city's outer neighborhoods, the kind of place that blended into the background. The kind of place that didn't draw attention.

Inside, it was something else entirely.

The living room was warm and inviting, filled with soft furniture and warm lighting and the kind of clutter that made a place feel like a home. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with everything from corporate finance textbooks to dog-eared novels. The kitchen was small but functional, the bedroom cozy, the bathroom—well, the bathroom was a bathroom.

But it was what lay beneath the surface that mattered.

Sera waited until Maya had left—she'd been dropped off at her own apartment, still chattering about hypothetical CEO stalking plans—before she moved to the bedroom. She knelt beside her bed, her fingers tracing the edge of a floorboard that looked just like all the others.

Except it wasn't.

She pressed down, and the board clicked open, revealing a hidden compartment beneath. Inside, nestled in foam padding, was her cache.

Silver bullets, gleaming in the dim light. Stakes of ash wood, sharpened to lethal points. A journal, leather-bound and worn, filled with observations and sightings and careful documentation of the supernatural world that existed just beneath the surface of human awareness.

Sera picked up the journal, flipping through the pages. Her handwriting stared back at her—neat and precise, the script of a woman who had learned to leave nothing to chance.

High-value target detected in downtown area. Suspected vampire activity. Subject: male, Caucasian, approximately 6'2", dark hair, pale eyes. Observed feeding on homeless population. Followed to warehouse district. Lost trail.

Her fingers traced the words. There were dozens of entries like this. Hundreds. All painstakingly documented, all carefully cross-referenced, all leading to a conclusion that she couldn't quite bring herself to accept.

Dorian Blackwood was a monster.

She was certain of it. She'd been certain for years. The way he moved, the way he held himself, the way his eyes seemed to pierce through every layer of her carefully constructed defense—it all pointed to the same conclusion.

He was a vampire. Or a werewolf. Or something even older, even darker, even more dangerous.

But she couldn't prove it.

She'd tried. God, she'd tried. She'd followed him. She'd watched him. She'd analyzed every detail of his life, looking for some c***k in the facade, some slip in the mask. And every time, she'd come up empty.

Because Dorian Blackwood was careful. Impossibly, infuriatingly careful. He never made mistakes. He never left evidence. He was like a ghost, present and absent all at once.

But now—

Sera pressed another section of the floorboard, and a hidden panel slid open, revealing a small control panel. She keyed in her code, and the wall behind her bed began to shift, sliding aside to reveal a secret garage.

Inside was her real arsenal.

Missions required mobility, and mobility required vehicles. There was a sleek black motorcycle, modified for speed and stealth. A nondescript sedan, the kind that blended into any traffic. A van, outfitted with surveillance equipment and storage for weapons.

And there, in the corner, a computer terminal that connected to the Order's network.

The Order.

Sera had been with them for five years now. Five years of hunting monsters, of protecting the innocent, of fighting a war that most of humanity didn't even know existed. Five years of living a double life, of smiling at colleagues while carrying silver bullets in her bag, of pretending that everything was normal when everything was anything but.

She hadn't always been a hunter.

There was a time before the Order. A time when she'd been just another corporate drone, climbing the ladder, chasing the dream. A time when the supernatural had been just a story, a myth, a bedtime tale for children who didn't know any better.

Sera pushed the thought away. Now wasn't the time. She needed to focus on the present, on the threat that was sitting in the CEO's office just miles away, on the voice that had whispered through her mind like a promise and a threat all at once.

She needed to talk to Marcus.

She reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over the contact. But before she could dial, the screen lit up with an incoming message.

We need to meet. Tomorrow. Same place. Same time. —Marcus

Sera's blood ran cold.

She stared at the message for a long moment, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Marcus never messaged. He called. He showed up. He appeared in her apartment like a ghost, silent and expectant.

But he never sent messages.

Unless—

Unless something was wrong.

Unless the Order had discovered something. Something about her. Something about Dorian. Something about—

No.

Sera forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to think. She was being paranoid. Marcus had messaged before. Not often, but sometimes. When he needed to be discreet. When he couldn't

risk being seen.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

She typed back a quick confirmation, then slipped the phone into her pocket. She closed the hidden compartments, replaced the floorboard, and stepped back into her living room.

The apartment was quiet. Still. The kind of stillness that felt heavy, like the air itself was waiting for something.

Sera walked to the window, looking out at the city below. The lights of skyscrapers blazed against the darkening sky, a thousand pinpricks of ambition and greed. Somewhere out there, monsters lurked in the shadows. Somewhere out there, a war was being waged for the soul of the world.

And somewhere out there, Dorian Blackwood was sitting in his penthouse office, smiling that perfect, predatory smile.

I know what you're thinking, Sera.

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

You just can't prove it. Even if you tried.

"Maybe not," she whispered into the darkness. "But I'm going to."