I gulped, the sour state of my own saliva catching in my throat. “Who were they?”
“The werewolf hunters.” He licked his lips. “Trackers. It’s an ancient calling ...”
I nodded. “I know what trackers are, Sampson.”
I knew all too well. It had only been a couple of weeks since Will—Will, the man charged with keeping me and all my Vessel of Souls-filled self safe—had had a run in with Xian and Feng Du, Werewolf Hunters. And although werewolf hunters sound incredibly elegant and Van Helsing-esque, you should know that werewolf hunters these days have come out of the silver-bullet forging days of ancient, dusty castles and now took up residence in more urban environments—like in the back of a retro delicatessen in San Francisco’s Chinatown.
You should also know that werewolves are not the drooling, shirtless mongrels that modern cinema would like us to believe, changing each time the moon becomes full. First of all, it’s not just the moon that brings on the hairy changes in werewolves. If it was, I might have never gotten my first job at the Underworld Detection Agency under Pete Sampson. What edged out the other applicants—a fairly well-put together zombie woman with melon-shaped boobs and a vampire so newly formed that his fangs were still short—was my ability to chain up a grown man in thirty-four seconds flat.
I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully. “So why now? Why did you come back now?”
Sampson swallowed slowly, his eyes flicking quickly over mine, then working hard to avoid my questioning stare.
“Hey, who’s this?” He patted ChaCha who popped up on her popsicle-stick back legs and danced around like the ferocious ball of three-pound fur that she was. I snatched her from under his hand and held her to me.
“Why now?” I asked again.
“I couldn’t run anymore.” Sampson’s lips were set in a hard, thin line. “I would have to spend my whole life running. The trackers weren’t going to back down.”
“How do you know that?”
“They sent me a message.”
He paused and I sucked in an anxious breath.
“There was a den—about six of us, werewolves that had been driven from our previous lives. We were living off the grid in a nothing town north of Anchorage. The townspeople were good to us, didn’t ask questions, but,” he cocked his head, “they knew.”
I put ChaCha down, hugged my elbows. “What happened?”
“A few of us went out, decided to check in with one of the satellite UDA offices. When we got back,” Sampson swallowed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort, “the whole den had been slaughtered.”
“That’s awful.”
Sampson nodded. “They didn’t stop there. The town had been ravaged, too.”
I felt myself recoil, felt the ice water race through my veins. “They went after the townspeople? I thought the trackers were only after werewolves.”
Sampson looked at me, his warm eyes full and wide. “It used to be that way. But this new breed of trackers,” he looked away, breathing out a sigh that seemed to dwarf his shoulders, seemed to carry the weight of the years in it. “They’re relentless. They attack werewolves ... and anyone who helps us.”
I looked over my shoulder, the hair on my arms standing on end. Sampson reached out to touch my shoulder, then seemed to think better of it, his arm falling listlessly to his side. “I don’t want to put you in any danger, Sophie. I’m only here to warn you and Alex. I couldn’t stand it if I knew that this—” Sampson turned his hands palms up, “that I—was responsible for anything bad happening to you. I’m leaving tonight. I just needed you to be aware.”
“You can’t keep running. You said so yourself. They’re just going to keep coming after you.”
Sampson shrugged. “It’s nothing I’m not used to.”
“No.” I clamped my hand around Sampson’s arm. “I want to help you.” I paused. “I’m going to help you. Me and Alex—and Will, and Nina—”
Sampson’s jaw clenched, fire blazing in his eyes. “I don’t want to get any one of you involved in this. It’s my fight.”
“You said they were coming after the Underworld. It’s our fight now, too.”
“You don’t understand, Sophie. It’s bad out there.” He gestured absently over his shoulder, toward the San Francisco Bay or the entire world, I couldn’t be sure.
I sucked in a breath and forced a smile. “I’m okay with bad. I mean, how bad is bad? Werewolf hunters. Silver bullets, right? Heh, that’s nothing. I was almost blown up. And I was kidnapped. Held hostage in a restroom. A public restroom.” I raised my eyebrows, “beat that!” style.
“After they attacked our den, they decapitated all the townspeople.”