It all went downhill since then. When Jenny saw the paper folder in her husband's hands, she didn’t hold back her swearing. She became so loud and angry that it made Joanna cry. Then she left Logan to calm the baby and paid a visit to Brice. Logan tried to convince her not to do that, but he was ineffective. Jenny returned home an hour later, pale, shaky, and speechless. Brice was arguably the strongest clan warlock. He had tricks up his sleeve that could make a master vampire wet his pants, though he preferred to kill them rather than intimidate. So, despite her appearance, Logan was sure Brice had held himself back while talking to Jenny.

That night, Jenny deliberately turned her back to Logan, staying on her half of the bed, and hissed at him when he tried to hug her. For half the night, she tossed and turned sleeplessly. Yet, in the morning, she found herself on his chest. They almost reconciled while in the bedroom, but then Jenny went to the kitchen and saw the paper folder on the table. Immediately, it returned her to a state of silent resentment. She occupied herself with cooking and nursing the baby, while Logan started to revise his supplies and gear for the hunt.

First, he called The Hunt Department and confirmed the job was taken, to set the wheels in motion. As he said to Bryan, the baby was probably already dead. Kathy had been murdered three days ago – plenty of time for her husband to have a snack. But if the man had restrained himself during the first few days, his daughter’s chances for survival increased slightly, though the risk remained significant. Even if the vampire found enough willpower to restrain his hunger, it’s hard to expect that he would care for the baby properly. Babies eat, shit, and cry a lot. It’s really strange that the police hadn’t found that nestling yet.

Though time was crucial, Logan couldn’t start the hunt immediately. There was a lot to be done. He moved his Cooper to the clan garage to be checked by the duty mechanic. As a tasked hunter, he had priority there. Then he went over the details with Tim and Macy during tea at the local bakery. Both young hunters were keen on activity. Despite being only four years older than Macy, Logan felt like a tired, decrepit old man. But he had no time for depression. There were weapons and ammo to be checked.

‘Fire apples’ were the preferred charmed rounds for hunting down vampires, but some of his were old and almost depleted. Logan exchanged them for new ones in the armory, not bothering to fix the problem. Then he hurried home, trying to spend as much time as possible with his family.

Jenny was roasting beef – a dish he loved so much – despite her anger, it felt like some kind of torture. Logan couldn’t stand the marvelous smell anymore. A piece of beef in the oven was calling to him, the aroma of meat roasted in red wine and spices assaulting his senses, while Jenny, his beloved wife, was hurting his feelings.

“Sit!” she said firmly. “It’s not ready yet.”

“It smells ready!” Logan objected. And that was a valid argument because his nose was far better than any ordinary human’s.

“Bad dog!” Jenny retorted, finding no reasonable argument.

Well, he was a dog, at least half of him was. A spiritual one. But he was a good dog! Ask anyone who knew that wolfhound alive!

Bad dog! Ha!

It was one of the few weak points he took in with the dog spirit. The other big ones were his love of playing with children and the embarrassing habit of gnawing bones when he got them in his food. So, he could not help but take that insult, turning him into six-foot-ten of frustration and undeserved anger. First, Logan turned his face away from Jenny, trying to find something interesting on the walls of his living room, but that was too much. So he stood up and moved to the door.

“Where are you going?” asked Jenny, irritation evident in her tone.

“Somewhere where I won’t be treated like a bad dog!” Logan retorted.

“Good!” Jenny burst out. “You can run right to your uncle and that little bastard McLily! You’re their ‘good dog,’ aren’t you?!”

“Shush!” Logan whispered angrily, pointing in the direction of the child’s room. “She just fell asleep.” That weakness of his spirit also made him a pretty loving father.

“Don’t you shush me!” Jenny whispered back.

“What the hell do you want from me, woman?!” Logan retorted.

“I want my husband back here!” She pointed at the floor, then moved her finger in the child’s direction. “And she needs a father! You spent three weeks on your last hunt, a couple of days at home, and you’re going to leave us again tomorrow! You are a bad dog, Logan!”

Well, that was something Logan could understand. It was still unpleasant, but it was something he could work with.

“Hunny…” he tried, to calm her down and take a step forward.

“Don’t!” she stopped him.

“My love…” he tried another step.

“I’m going to smash your bollocks!” she threatened.

“You love my bollocks!” That wasn’t the thing he was supposed to say, but he did it. And… it worked!

Jenny felt a moment of confusion, processing what was being said, and burst into a short laugh. Being an experienced hunter, Logan felt the significance of the moment and made his best shot. Meaning he hurried up to hug his wife.

“You are a filthy animal, Logan Kincaid!” she said in a warm tone. “And I want to see your bollocks more often! At least more often than your uncle’s face!”

“I’ll do my best!”

That wasn’t what Jenny wanted to hear. She pushed him away, narrowed her eyes, and said, “You will go to your bloody uncle and tell him that you are going to take a half-year vacation after that mission you start tomorrow.”

“Hunny… Ugh!” Logan had to shut up, feeling a grip on his balls. And it wasn’t that gentle touch he was used to.

“Logan, I’m fed up,” she informed him. “So shut up and listen. Ok?”

Logan nodded silently.

“Good!” Jenny released her grip. “You do a dangerous job. You do it alone! And I’m freaking out every time you go. I can’t sleep well, and all of your family being home makes it even worse. It’s unfair you have to hunt so much!”

“Unfair? When was the last time you saw Evan, Sally, or Burk?”

“I saw Sally last week.”

“What about Evan and Burk? They are of Brice’s blood.” Furthermore, they were his heirs, and one of them was likely to be the next Earl.

As far as Logan knew, Burk was again on a trophy voyage, hunting rare animals for Ferrish, but Evan, his father, was doing a real job, taking on the most dangerous tasks for the clan.

“But they are warlocks! They are more powerful than you and gain power through this.”

“Burk isn’t stronger than me!” Logan denied. “Well, maybe a little. But they both, Burk and Evan, are still humans. Believe me, they are tired.” In fact, they could be more tired than Logan. Shifters regenerate faster.

“But I don’t care about them as much as I care about you!” Jenny burst into tears.

“You should. If something happens to me…”

“Shut the hell up!” Jenny snapped with a lot more anger in her voice. She pushed Logan away and stared at him furiously for a second. “Don’t even think about that! We need you home safe!”

Duncan needed his parents too, but they were killed by vampires. Grandpa raised him and did a pretty good job. Logan wondered if his father was capable of doing that. Probably yes; he had plenty of practice with his own daughters, and he was a good father. Though it was his mother who ruled the house and the kids. But Jenny was right; those thoughts visited his head too often lately.

“Ok, I’ll ask Brice for a vacation. Not half a year! It’s impossible, and you know that.”

“I know they’ll give you less than you ask for. So you should request a lot!”

“Ok!” Logan choked and hugged Jenny again. “I’ll request a lot.”

He went to Brice’s after lunch. The beef wasn’t burned too much.

Brice Willy Kincaid—almighty Earl Bremor, the man who killed the head of the Secret Service and got away with it. Actually, Grandpa Kink sniped the bastard, but the whole country knew who gave the order for sure. What the country wasn’t sure of—there were a lot of rumors. Brice personally fought a couple of vampire grandmasters. He didn’t actually win the fights, but his opponents didn’t survive them. Brice had already become the legend his father was.

But it was Saturday afternoon. He had already returned home from headquarters, had lunch, and tea, so Logan hoped to talk to his uncle instead of the clan head.

Aunt Ayla greeted him with a smile as she opened the door.

“Long time no see, my boy. I’ve heard you’re…” She pretended to remember something and said it in a familiar angry tone, “busting your ass for the clan these days.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“She said to you or…”

“Oh,” Aunt chuckled, “she was talking to Brice.”

Logan sighed, but Ayla laughed.

“She is quite a thing, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is…”

“You know, we all thought you brought a sheep into the family, but she gave Brice quite a beating yesterday.”

"He scared the hell out of her."

“I don’t know…” Aunt said. “She held herself pretty well. Come in, boy, I’ll make you some tea. He’s in the cabinet.”

Logan gently knocked at the cabinet door, waited for the response, and entered. The working desk was filled with paper stashes and an open journal, but Brice himself, coated in a brown flannel robe, was sitting in the armchair near the window. He had a steaming cup of tea in his hands. Logan smelled a decent shot of brandy in it.

“Ah! Here he comes, the most busted arse of the clan!” joked his uncle, sipping his tea and stroking his short beard.

“Yeah, sorry about that!” Logan said, noting the changes in his uncle’s appearance. The last time they’d seen each other was a brief encounter half a year ago. One of them was always busy or out of the clan. Now there were more wrinkles around Brice’s eyes than Logan remembered, and more silver in his beard and hair. By the way, the clan healers and alchemists had done a good job restoring his pelage after he boiled himself fighting a vampire grandmaster.

“Don’t be, Logan. I’m glad you have a woman ready to hold your back. I wish Burk had found someone like that. But that little bastard is too fond of skirt-chasing. The longest relationship he’s had was with that girl Olivia,” Brice said in a disapproving tone. “So, what brought you here?” he asked, simultaneously pointing to the other armchair.

“I’m exhausted, Uncle,” Logan said, taking the indicated seat.

“Your uncle is very sorry for you,” Brice responded.

“What about the clan leader?”

“He needs you in the field.”

“Let’s talk without that bullshit,” Logan asked, wondering if it wasn’t too much. “I don’t care whether it’s Earl Bremor or Uncle Brice, they’re one person after all. I need a break. A serious break. A big one!”

“She really got you.”

“Not she, Uncle… or Earl…”

“No bullshit, boy. Let me be your uncle for a change.”

“That’s because the uncle can’t give me a vacation?” Logan joked.

“Hey, do you want to talk to the Earl?”

“Yes!” Logan said firmly.

“Ok,” Brice nodded. “I see your point.” He stopped smiling and put the cup down on the windowsill.

“Have you had a chance to review my latest report?”

“No,” Brice said without any explanation. He wasn’t obliged to read them, though Logan knew he used to keep track of the best and closest ones.

“I broke into an apartment, incapacitated the occupants with a sleeping potion, and dispatched the vampire with the miracle bullet Duncan presented me on my birthday.”

“Your point?”

“Sir Harry made those bullets for tattooed werewolves. They had the potential to harm a vampire grandmaster, but my target was just a teacher.”

“Quite an overkill, I see. While breaking in may be considered reckless, I suppose you think you are losing your grip.”

“I’m losing my patience and rationality.”

“You need plenty of patience for hunting someone down for a month. More like you’re starting to doubt yourself. Logan, you did the job. And you did it better than many others. Last week, Leslie shot a constable in the arse at Pale County.”

“Bailey?”

Brice nodded.

“We lost our reputation and made some enemies in the constabulary. Hell, I had to send Bryan and a sack of money there to deal with the situation.”

“He loves dealing with that shit.”

“I wouldn’t say that. He can deal with it bloody well, but he doesn’t really like it.”

“Well, I don’t really think I can handle hunting anymore. I start one tomorrow. I’ll finish it, and that’s it! No more!”

“We’ll see,” Uncle said, standing up. “I’m waiting for you at the range in… let it be… forty minutes. Get some change.”

“Ha-a-a? Uncle!” Logan pleaded. “I don’t need a beating before another job.”

“No beating, boy. Just a friendly spar.”

“With you? It’s gonna be a one-sided game!”

“You want your vacation; you work for it.”

“Shit!”

There was a light knock at the door, and it opened before an answer could be given.

“Your tea, my boy,” Aunt Ayla said, presenting Logan with a steaming cup.

“Thanks, Aunt. I think I have no time for that,” he said and went home to change his clothes.

Closing the cabinet doors behind him, he heard Aunt Ayla's angry voice.

“What did you mess up this time?”

They met at the range, both in tall lace boots and waistcoats over their shirts. They also had similar features but different sizes. Logan was big, and his uncle was smaller—not small, though. While McLily had gained some fat, his governor had lost a couple of pounds of muscle, becoming leaner, more similar to Grandpa Gregor in his last days.

He carried no weapon visibly, while Logan had his big knife and revolver in shoulder holsters. Their appearance quickly gathered attention. Most shooting stopped, as many of the shooters were interested in the upcoming event, though they weren’t sure what was coming.

Uncle chose a small training field surrounded by high earth ramparts reinforced with steel, concrete, and magic. Onlookers took their places on the ramparts, and Brice warned them. “Keep your heads low, boys and girls. Or better yet, get the hell off if you have no decent protection.”

“What’s it gonna be, chief?” asked someone.

“Just a friendly spar with my nephew.”

No one believed that bullshit. Though Logan was bigger and younger, he wasn’t potent enough to spar on equal footing with his uncle. Brice was powerful, but he wasn’t a teacher. Well, if we’re being honest, Logan had more experience in teaching than Brice.

“What are the rules?” Logan asked as they entered the field but kept moving towards the center.

“Try to get me. Don’t hold back.”

“No lightning moves!” he demanded. “I can’t keep up with that.”

“You have your gun,” Uncle pointed out.

“No bloody lightning!” Logan reiterated.

“Use your gun!” Uncle repeated, cloaking himself in blue sparks.

Logan jumped back as soon as he heard the first crackles of electricity. Simultaneously, he shifted into battle form and pulled his knife out in a wide slash. Blue lightning flashed behind him, and he felt a heavy impact on the blade. His uncle materialized in sparks a couple of meters further to his right.

“Not bad!” he said, pointing to the cut on his right sleeve. “You’re still sharp for someone so tired.”

Logan growled in response. It was hard to talk clearly with those fanged jaws.

“I expected something like that.”

“Oh!” Uncle chuckled. “I suppose it means your rationality remains intact.” Uncle waved his hand, and a small orange flame licked Logan’s left thigh with bullet speed.

“Aghr-r-r!” Logan growled again. “Bollocks!”

“And that was lame.”

Logan dodged the next two flames and pulled his gun out.

“Why aren’t you shooting?” Uncle asked.

“I’ve got ordinary bullets here. They can’t harm you. Even if I hit your shield, you’ll tell me it doesn’t count.”

“Okay, let’s count that.”

Logan made a surprised face and waved his blade, drawing attention to the knife. “Rea…” His gun barked twice before he finished the word, but Uncle wasn’t there anymore. He left a swarm of sparks behind, extending in the direction of his movement. Logan tried to predict his appearance and shoot but missed by nearly a meter, corrected his fire—missed again and again. Brice dodged the last shots without his signature move, as if he saw or predicted the trajectory.

“Last bullet,” he said, smiling.

“It keeps you away.”

“Isn’t it the opposite of what you should be trying to achieve?”

Logan chuckled. What he should do is avoid any real confrontation with a monster like his uncle. In real life, he would run or try dragging the time out if reinforcement was possible. Fighting would be the least expected scenario—an act of despair before going down with as much harm to the opponent as possible.

“Ah, what the hell, why not?” Logan said and fired the last round into the ground. He thought he was desperate enough. Humiliation was inevitable.

“That was lame and lazy, Logan. You are not putting in any effort. A way to convince me you’re too tired, I guess.”

“I’m not seeing any point in all this.”

“Ok,” Brice said and turned his gaze to the rampart. “Tim, get over here.”

Logan turned. Tim Boily slid down the slope and quickly got close. Apparently, he had come here to get some practice and check his weapon before the hunt. Tim was a little shorter than Brice and a lot leaner, almost thin. He held his Webley and dagger in hip holsters, as there was too little space under his jacket to hide weapons. But he was seventeen and still growing.

“I guess you have roughly the same power gap as we do,” Uncle said and ordered, “Give me your gun, lad.” Then he pointed it towards Logan. “Get him.”

No more orders were needed. He didn’t even ask for the rules.

Tim shifted. His face covered itself with grey fur, his eyes lit in a yellow light, and his jaws extended into a dangerous, fangy grin as he lunged at Logan with his dagger. The boy looked cool and dangerous, even quick, but Logan was quicker. With the same lame expression, he rolled his Webley on his forefinger, changing the grip, and smacked Tim between the eyes with the handle. Tim collapsed like a felled tree. He had a whole second before he started moving again.

Logan holstered the gun, looked at Tim with his sad, dog-like eyes, then turned that look to his uncle. Tim glanced at Brice too as he picked up his dagger and got to his feet.

“As you wish, boy,” Brice said, and Tim attacked again.

Logan dodged twice.

“You’re not ready, Tim,” he said.

“It’s good practice,” the boy growled back.

Logan slapped his wrist hard enough to make the dagger fly, but that didn’t stop the young shifter. He jumped forward, trying to bite Logan’s armed hand.

“Knock it off!” Logan slapped Tim hard, knocking a pitiful whimper out of the wolf-like head and the yellow shine out of the eyes. The young shifter’s head spun, and his body followed suit to stay on his feet. Then he froze, balancing with his hands wide spread and disoriented eyes wide open. It took him another couple of moments to gather himself and give Brice another look.

Brice made another indifferent shrug, and Tim picked up his dagger with a clear intention for another attack.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Logan facepalmed, keeping his fingers spread so he could watch Tim through the gaps between his fingers. “Stop it!” he asked Brice. “I need him fresh and ready tomorrow!”

“Give him credit,” Brice responded. “He’s pretty enthusiastic and puts in a real effort.”

Tim attacked again, this time keeping himself low and targeting Logan’s legs. Kincaid dodged easily and gave the boy a light kick in the back to maintain momentum. Then, just after Tim restored his balance and turned to face Logan, Kincaid delivered a powerful kick to his stomach.

The boy was sent flying for half a dozen meters. He landed on his arse and slid another couple of meters away.

A wave of pitiful “Oh!” and “Shi-i-it!” ran through the onlookers.

“Enough,” Logan said, but it wasn’t like Tim heard him. The boy changed his wolf face to his green human one. He clutched his stomach, his eyes full of tears, and vomited right onto his boots. Another wave of pitiful exclamations rippled through the onlookers. This time it also included a decent portion of disgust. Tim managed to spew another cascade to his left and crouched down on all fours. He continued vomiting until he went “out of ammo.”

“That was stupid!” Logan said. “Sir Brice wanted me to do that.”

Technically, Brice was the Lord of Bremor, but that wasn’t the kind of title he was obliged to pass on to his son, so they called him "sir" within the clan.

“No, I wasn’t,” Brice said. “You might have stopped after the first attack. Though I knew you wouldn’t, and that was the point. Sorry about that. Consider it a harsh lesson, lad.”

“What was the point?” Logan asked.

“And how do you think?” Brice asked in return. “You said it was stupid. Why?”

“The gap between us is too big. It makes no sense unless the stronger one is willing to succumb in order to teach some combination or trick.”

“Perfect reasoning,” Brice said, smiling. “Good patience and control too. You tried to reason with the boy first, and even though he continued to play the mule, you didn’t knock him down. That blow resulted in a little embarrassment, but he’s going to be fine by tomorrow and ready for the hunt. As will you.”

“What about after? I need my vacation!”

“Logan, you may not be the strongest, but you are definitely one of our best hunters. You cause no trouble, and you get the job done.”

“So what,” Logan said angrily, “do I have to cause trouble to earn my vacation?”

“Watch your tone, boy! Let’s continue this elsewhere.”

Logan tilted his face towards the sky in frustration but restrained himself from howling. When he lowered it, his uncle was almost ready to leave the field. He waved to someone.

“Wait a minute. I still got you!” Logan exclaimed, pointing to the sleeve. “I’ve earned my vacation!”

“You cut my shirt, not me.”

“Oh! Are you going to say I had to cut through your shield?”

“Exact…ly…” Brice frowned. “Bollocks, Logan! Did Bryan teach you that?”

“Accidents happen, Uncle. Now I need my vacation. Not just a couple of days, but a decent amount of time. Half a year!”

“Ha-ha, funny…” Brice said grimly.