Prologue

Maccus Hunt stared dispassionately at the rogue werewolf he’d just beheaded. The creature lay at his feet in pieces, the snarl still on his face exposing razor-sharp fangs. Compassion was a foreign emotion. Satisfaction for a job well done was all he needed––that and money in his bank account.

The creature had brought this on himself. Hopped up on bloodlust and copious amounts of cocaine, the rogue had gone on a killing spree, bringing a lot of unwelcome attention to his kind. One thing immortals avoided like the plague was stirring up the human authorities and the news media. In this day and age, where everyone had a cell phone, it was even more imperative to keep a low profile.

When the werewolf’s former alpha had been unable to stop the killings, the pack had made contact through the Forgotten website—a clearinghouse for jobs for men like Maccus—immortals that killed other immortals.

After all, someone had to bring rogues to justice, and there were few qualified to handle an immortal turned raging psychopath.

Maccus and the others in the small, select group were different—extremely dangerous loners with loyalty to no one. The monsters in the closet that people pretended weren’t there. They had no pack, no coven or community. Or at least none that would claim them.

All they had was the other members of the Forgotten Brotherhood.

In truth, not much separated them from those they put down.

They were assassins for hire. The difference was they killed only those who deserve to die—paranormal creatures that murdered without discrimination.

They were all stone-cold killers, men who had nothing left to lose. Men who were holding on to what little was left of their honor and sanity. Some days they failed.

He’d met the other assassins. That was one point where he was unmovable. He needed a face-to-face to make sure the group wasn’t admitting someone to the ranks that would have to put down.

He wouldn’t say he actually knew the other Forgotten, wouldn’t call any of them friends. They weren’t exactly a sociable group. Like him, they’d all been betrayed by people close to them. It had left them all with a shitload of trust issues.

But they all lived by the code of their group, and they only had four rules. Kill only those that truly deserved it. Kill them all and let their gods sort them out. Kill them before they killed you. Never, ever betray a fellow assassin.

Simple and easy with little room for discussion. Because once a contract was accepted, it was carried out. There was no other option. And if someone tried to hire one of them to execute an innocent? Well, that never ended well for the one trying to secure the contract.

And whenever the need to kill came upon him—and it always did—there was always someone in need of dying.