Forty Six
Forty Six
THE STRATEGY OF THE HUNTER
Eagan's POV
Bulletproof glass lets in the first morning light, casting another set of shadows across the chalet floor. I stare at Astrid as she sleeps, her features tranquil despite everything. I hold my hand over her stomach before placing my hand on it — still flat, no trace yet of the life within. My child. The whole thing's disturbing in how much power it still has over me.
The satellite phone vibrates. Liam.
"Report," I respond, backing off.
“I’m alive,” he says, his voice raw with pain. "Three men down. Extracted the rest."
"Location?"
" Second safe house, east ridge." Perimeter secured. No pursuit detected."
"Injuries?"
"GSW to the shoulder. Patched up." He pauses. "Blair?"
"Dead." The word carries no emotion. "And Ren?"
"In the wind. Intel says he is on his way to Zürich. We have eyes at transport hubs.”
“He doesn’t want to get on public transit.” I glance at the new snow outside. No tracks yet. "What did they take?"
"Nothing critical. Secured comms, some weapons. No data breach." Another pause. "Sir, there's something else. Before the ambush, I overheard Ren talking to someone in Love Island City. They kept saying a name.”
I wait, tension coiling.
"Sage," Liam says. "Astrid's surname."
Not a coincidence. "Send everything. Protocol seven."
"Already done. Package en route."
"How soon can you move?"
"Six hours, maybe less."
"Make it three."
I end the call, mind racing. I switch my laptop on and boot it silently, opening up Liam. Cash passing through shell corporations. Medical equipment of specialized type. Remote locations.
Not just trafficking. Something more specific.
A low sound and I close the laptop. Astrid is in the doorway in one of my shirts.
"How long have you been up?" she asks.
"A while."
She's uncorking a jug and pouring water. "Any news?"
"Liam's alive. Wounded but operational."
Relief passes over her face. "And Ren?"
"We'll find him. It's just a matter of time."
She nods, something iron-hard taking root below, beneath her surface.
“You said you’d teach me,” she reminds me. "To shoot."
"Food first. You need your strength."
"For the baby," she murmurs.
"For survival. Everything else is a side issue.”
She watches me cook. “Not even your empire in Love Island City?”
The question gives me pause. Six months ago, the answer would have been automatic.
“You can always rebuild empires,” I say at last.
“Elsewhere, other forms.”
That’s not something you’d said already. "You told me the city was everything.”
"Things change."
Our eyes look into one another, awareness moving between us. She’s done something to me, even if I’m not prepared to look too closely at what that is.
When they're done eating, she says, "You're hiding stuff about Ren from me still. About why he wants the baby."
I think of lying, but she deserves more. “Your—your last name—came up in those intercepted exchanges.”
Her fork stills. "Sage? What about it?"
"We don't know yet. It’s not, but it does mean that there’s something in the background that you have that is of value.”
"I don't have a background. I was abandoned at the orphanage as a baby. No records, nothing."
"Everyone has a story, Astrid. Even if they don't know it."
She pushes her plate away. "Teach me to shoot. Now."
I understand the need to do something against the feeling of empirelessness. "Get dressed. Warm clothes."
In the armory, I pick her a Glock, a 19, reliable, easy to shoot.
“Every weapon has a personality,” I say, showing them how to hold one. "This one is straightforward. No surprises."
She's mimicking but she has really good form. "Have you named yours?"
The answer catches me off guard. "No."
“If it has strings, it should be named,” said Sister Grace. Even instruments of death.”
I focus on mechanics. Finger off the trigger, then ready. Always assume it's loaded. Never direct the muzzle of a weapon at anything you are not prepared to kill."
She hoovers everything up with great concentration. Her first shot goes wide. For the fifth, she’s making the target more often than not.
“Good,” I bend her elbow a bit. "Again."
We persist until her arms tremble, but she never complains. And every time we shatter, her eyes flicker with gloating triumph.
"That's enough for today."
"Tomorrow we continue?" It's not really a question.
"Tomorrow we move to rifles. And self-defense."
The satellite phone is buzzing — our package has landed. I look through the cameras and go to collect it from the drop off point.
When I come back, Astrid is poring over the security system, committing protocols to memory. Faster than predicted adjusts.
"What is that?" she asks, eyeing the package.
"Information. About your past, maybe.”
The hard drive contains decades of stored records — hospital files, birth certificates, adoption papers. We have been looking for hours, when Astrid spots a file.
"Wait. Go back."
A birth certificate 21 years old. Parents' names redacted. Child: Female, unnamed. Place: Love Island City General Hospital.
Medical history attached with a unique dilation screen history. A scribbled note: '' Heritage confirmed.\] Sage bloodline intact."
Astrid's breath catches. "What does that mean? Sage bloodline?"
Before I have a chance to respond, security alarms are flashing. Movement at the perimeter.
The cameras depict Liam limping through snow, wounded but not immobilized. I confirm it’s him and I buzz him in.
“We’ve got some of the Sage connection,” he says, sitting down with a sigh.
"The Sage family was one of the crime families that founded Love Island City," he says, "They were thought to be wiped out in The Purge, thirty years ago. According to all accounts all the members were dead, yet rumors were afloat that a baby had escaped. A girl."
Astrid's face pales. "You think that was me."
“That would certainly account for Ran’s particular interest,” I say.
“If you’re the last Sage,” Liam says, “you have claim to their land, their property—”
"Their enemies," I finish.
The satellite phone does ring — unknown number. I answer on speaker.
"King," Ren fills the room with his voice. “Family time in your hideaway?”
” You’re walking around like a dead man Ivanov.
"I just wonder what you be willing to do if you knew what I do about your little pretties Astrid."
My eyes meet hers. "I'm listening."
"DID you know the Sages had a genetic trait? Rare blood type, unique markers. Useful to some researchers.” His voice turns sly. "The last pure blood Sage, with a King product… you even know what that's worth on the black market?"
"This isn't your style."
"Times change. And did she mention her talk with Blair?
“What she learned at the orphanage, before Sister Grace was killed?”
A pang of guilt flashes across Astrid’s face.
“I’m going to look for you,” I promise him.
"You'll what? Kill me? Take everything?" He laughs. “You’re getting to be too predictable, Eagan.”
The call ends. I turn to Astrid. "What didn't you tell me?"
“Blair came to see me at the orphanage,” she confesses. “The day when everybody had been killed. She said that she knew who my parents were. That I wasn't just anyone."
"And Sister Grace?"
"Told me not to trust her. That Blair had been inquiring after me years before.”
Andriana But Blair was employed by Ren this entire fucking time, I realize. “She’s been tailing you since before the auction.”
“Which means you fucked your plan from the jump,” Liam says.
"No. "This is about Astrid, this isn’t all about the takeover.’
"But why now?" Astrid asks. “Why should I wait until I’m already pregnant?”
"It's because the baby changes everything. "A pure Sage could mean a King child serves as traction, power and legitimacy.
“A claim to each bloodline,” Liam whispers.
"One Ren intends to control." I check my weapons. “But he has made a catastrophic error.”
"What's that?" Astrid asks.
I observe her—not the delicate waif I bought but the final scion of a ruthless bloodline…the heir to my empire, my legacy, strengthening each day I spend with her.
He’s underestimated how far I’ll go to defend what’s mine. I turn to Liam. "Ready our forces. All of them. Burn every bridge, call in every favor.’
"Sir?"
"We're done playing defense." I put my hand on Astrid's belly possessively. "Ren wants a war? We'll give him extinction."
There is something kin that she sends blazing from her eyes – recollections of her very own dangerous inheritance.
"What do you need from me?" she asks.
"Everything. Your trust. Your strength. Your bloodline."
"And then?"
“We take back what belongs to us, beginning with Love Island City.”
She accepts my touch, no longer an unwilling captive but a willing participant. "And after that?"
"We build something new. Something of ours."
Liam quietly slides out as I pull her in, her heart pounding in sync with mine. And in this moment, I know what I have not: that real power is not in ruling an empire.
It comes from having something worth setting the world on fire over.
And in her---in our unborn child---is all of that.