Kait Ballenger - Midnight Hunter

He’d just decapitated an innocent woman who had clearly been spelled, brought back from the dead and turned into a veritable killing machine that had orchestrated the death of her husband—and nearly him—all by means of the worst type of black magic possible: necromancy. As he lay on the floor, soaked in blood that wasn’t his own, he swore to himself that he would personally destroy the monsters responsible for this.

* * *

ASH DEVEREAUX GAPED like a wide-mouth bass at the sight of Dr. Shane Grey. Drenched nearly from head to toe in dried blood, which clearly wasn’t his own, Shane sat in his usual position in the control room with deep furrows cutting across his normally smooth brow. What the hell had happened?

Ash let out a low, long whistle. “What the blazin’ hell happened to you, Doc?”

Shane looked up at him with glazed-over eyes that Ash knew all too well. “Necromancy. Necromancy happened.” The words tumbled from Shane’s mouth as if they were detached from him somehow, as if he spoke without really knowing what he was saying.

Ash dared a glance at his fellow hunters. Jace sat beside Shane, the front of his trench coat also blood-soaked. “You, too?” Ash drawled.

Jace shrugged. “Me, too. Shane called me to help him dispose of the zombie’s body.”

Zombie? Ash stood silent for a moment, attempting to process Jace’s words. His brain tried to connect the clear reality that somehow Shane had needed someone to clean up a body for him. In all their time working together, he’d never once seen Shane covered in blood, let alone leave a trail of corpses, supernatural or not, behind him. For a moment he wondered if he’d taken one too many shots of Crown Royal and was drunker than Cooter Brown.

“That’s why we’re here,” Damon said, interrupting Ash’s thoughts.

David Aronowitz, their resident exorcist, stepped into the room. “What did I mis—fuck me. What happened?”

Ash shrugged. “That’s what we’re all tryin’ to find out.”

Shane slammed a fist onto the desk beside him. “I told you all already. Necromancy. Necromancy happened.”

The look burning in Shane’s eyes sent a shiver down Ash’s spine, and that was damn well saying something, considering he spent most of his time dealing with angry ghosts. Seeing a bloodbath the likes of which Shane had clearly just experienced—especially when it was your first—made any sane man madder than a soaking-wet hen, which was pretty fucking angry if you’d ever actually seen a hen soaking wet.

Jace clapped Shane on the shoulder. “Settle down there, kid. Here.” He pulled a flask from his jacket, unscrewed the cap and passed it to Shane.

Shane took a swig of what Ash knew was Jace’s regular Bushmills Irish whiskey, swallowing the liquid fire down like a champ. He handed the flask back.

Jace slipped the flask into his jacket pocket. “All right. That’ll calm your nerves some. Now, tell us what the fuck happened.”

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