Hunted

4: Left Behind

Gabriel waited quietly with his Brothers, trying to settle his disquiet with the plan of attack. It was foolish, he knew, to come upon any Darkling so late in the night. It was far more efficient to brace them just after dark, or in the middle hours of the night. They were less likely to be fed and at full strength at those times. Try as he might, he'd failed to impress this upon the one leading their Hunt tonight. Jeremiah settled beside him.

"Are we any nearer to finishing this?" he whispered.

"Not so far," Gabriel sighed.

Jeremiah sipped water from his flask, his gaze darting around them, trying to pierce the darkness. "Perhaps the Darkling will not return to this place."

"No, they will," he assured him, regretfully. "There are three of them, Brother, and they will be fat, fed, and fierce."

Concern colored the other's face. "You think so?"

"I know it," Gabriel growled. "If we attempt to Deliver them, many of us will die."

"You disagree with Thomas?"

"His plan will end in chaos and death," Gabriel breathed. "We should get away from here while we can. Tonight is not a good night for our Brothers to die."

"Something you wish to share with us, Gabriel?"

Gabriel drew a deep breath. Thomas was older than him and Jeremiah. He achieved his Cloak around the same time as Gabriel and made no secret of his belief that the younger Brother hardly deserved the honor. Tonight, their teams joined forces. They often did so to find safety in numbers. Where one Darkling rested, often others did as well. Thomas's age made him their superior, but Gabriel was certain this Hunt would end in tragedy.

"Have you ever known a Darkling to spend the night abroad and come to roost unfed?" Gabriel asked. "When they return, they will be too much for us. It's madness to face one, let alone three, after a night's feeding."

Thomas gave him a searching look. "How do you know there are three?"

Gabriel rose from his place. He crept around the headstones to the crypt they watched. He settled on his heels, careful where he placed his feet.

"Here," he gestured to the dust in front of the crypt. It was just barely disturbed.

Intrigued, Jeremiah joined him. "What do you see, Brother?"

"Numbers," Gabriel answered. Carefully, he traced in the air over the faint marks. "One. Two. Three sets of prints."

Thomas leaned over from behind them. "Those could be from family for any of these graves," he scoffed.

Gabriel and Jeremiah shared raised brows before both slowly looked up at Thomas, truly stunned any Commander could be so obtuse.

"No family member's prints would be only halfway out of the crypt, Brother," Jeremiah mentioned careful of Thomas' temper.

"Here," Gabriel added, pointing, "only the toes of the first; here the left foot of the second. Only the third's prints are complete, but all of them are toes out, heels facing the door of the crypt.

"If a human was exiting," he continued, "the prints would be toes-in, for they would have to close the crypt behind them. This stone hasn't moved since it was set, else these prints would be obliterated."

Thomas scoffed. "How can you know the order they emerged?"

Jeremiah fell back as Gabriel whirled to his feet and took Thomas's collar in a fist. "The prints are on top of each other!" he hissed. "Your blind pride will not get our Brothers killed. Jeremiah! Call the Hunt. We must be far from this place, now."