Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
LAUREN
“Be calm,” Remus says from beside me as the helicopter begins to descend, the engine pitch changing as we lose altitude.
It’s strange—deeply strange—to see him and his brother without wings, hidden under the guise of whatever a glamour is. Magic that makes them look human, apparently.
I want to ask a thousand questions as I look up into his face, which is subtly altered now.
The proportions have been pulled back into a less exaggerated shape—his jaw not quite as wide, his forehead not quite as angular, his grin not quite so impossibly broad.
He doesn’t exactly look like his twin, but it’s nearer. Close enough to be unsettling.
Speaking of which—the glamour made Romulus disappear completely, cloaking the second face with what looks like a natural head of dark hair at the back of Remus’s skull. Like he was never there at all.
Even Kharon looks fully human now, with only two arms instead of six.
He resembles a large wrestler with tan skin instead of that bronze-blue tint.
In one muscled arm, he holds his swaddled newborn—so tiny against his bulk.
In the other, he cradles Ksenia, who looks absolutely exhausted from the mid-flight birth.
Her blonde hair is plastered to her forehead with sweat, her face pale but peaceful.
“I’m calm,” I say in a whisper that even I don’t believe.
Remus arches an eyebrow down at me, and even with the glamour, that look is pure him. “Your muscles are tense as stone, and I’m sure your heart is racing.” He pauses, listening. “Our new hosts will be able to hear it. Every beat.”
I feel my eyes pop wide. “That doesn’t help!” I squeak, my voice going embarrassingly high.
He shrugs—casual, like we’re discussing the weather instead of my heart being audible to vampires.
He reaches over, intertwining his fingers with mine.
His hand is warm and solid and familiar.
“I suppose it’s better to be more on guard than less in this situation.
But you should know better than to worry when you have me at your side. ”
I look up at him, still a little weirded out by how, well, normal he looks. Like he could be just some guy. Handsome, sure, but human. “Are they really—you know—” I gesture with the hand he’s not holding, not quite able to bring myself to say the word ‘vampires’ out loud.
Because seriously? Vampires?
My life has officially jumped the shark into full insanity.
“I’ve only met one, and he was very—” Remus wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “—you know.”
What? No, I do not know. What does that even mean?
But then he looks away, not offering any more explanation. His jaw tightens slightly. “Let’s hope they’ve become a little more civilized since the last one I encountered.”
Well, now my heart is really racing—galloping in my chest like a startled horse.
But I guess I should have known better than to turn to Remus, of all people, for reassurance. I know what everybody says about him—that he’s chaos incarnate, that he loves violence, that he can’t be trusted.
But surely he’s not looking for a fight here, is he? With vampires? While we’re refugees seeking shelter?
Is it bad that I’m kinda sorta wishing it was Romulus in charge of the body right now instead of him?
Immediately, I feel bad for the thought and squeeze his hand tighter. Maybe I’m just letting everyone else’s voices get in my head. Letting their opinions color my own.
Remus squeezes my hand back firmly, possessively. I try to take it as reassurance.
And then we touch down with a slight jolt, the skids hitting solid ground.
Moments later, the back ramp begins lowering with a mechanical whir. It screeches horribly before making it past a certain point and continuing—damaged, I assume, from when we were in that terrifying other dimension when the dragon’s claws tore through the metal like tissue paper.
My eyes immediately zoom in on those claw marks—deep gouges that go all the way through in some places. Proof that I didn’t imagine any of it.
That is, until the ramp lowers more and I see what’s waiting for us.
A tight grouping of about twenty men, all dressed in identical sleek black suits that probably cost more than my entire year’s rent. They stand in perfect formation in what appears to be a cobblestone courtyard—ramrod straight, hands clasped behind their backs, eerily still.
All of them have identical jet-black hair slicked back from pale faces. Dark eyes—so dark they’re almost black—watching us with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
They don’t blink. Don’t fidget. Don’t move at all.
It’s like looking at twenty identical statues.
My nails dig into Remus’s hand hard enough that I’m probably drawing blood, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.
Indeed, when I glance over at him, he’s smiling. That wild, slightly unhinged smile that I’m starting to recognize means he’s enjoying himself.
Oh god.
Layden immediately walks up the aisle and down the ramp before it’s all the way lowered, easily hopping off to the ground while it’s still a few feet up. He lands lightly, like gravity barely affects him.
The rest of us stand up more slowly. Abaddon takes the lead, his large body blocking the exit as he pushes Hannah—who’s holding little Raven—behind his bulk.
Even disguised as human, he’s still massive and intimidating.
Easily six and a half feet tall, shoulders like a linebacker.
The permanent scowl plastered to his face as he watches Layden only makes him more forbidding.
Layden walks right up to the group of identical men without hesitation.
And instead of holding out a hand for a handshake, he reaches up and tugs down his collar.
Baring his neck.
I hear a little growl rumble from Remus in front of me—low and threatening, vibrating through his chest—and I immediately know with absolute certainty that there’s no way in hell he’ll be offering the same greeting.
The man at the front of the pack tilts his head slightly in acknowledgment—the first movement I’ve seen from any of them. He’s taller than the others, with sharper features. More angular. His eyes are the darkest of all, like chips of obsidian.
He and Layden begin to speak, their voices too low for me to hear from inside the helicopter. I’m too far away to catch the words, though I suspect Remus and his brothers, with their supernatural hearing, are catching every syllable.
The suspicion is reinforced when Remus, Kharon, and Abaddon all tense simultaneously—bodies going rigid, leaning forward like predators ready to spring. Ready to attack.
The air crackles with sudden tension.
Ksenia must sense it too because she places a warning hand on Kharon’s shoulder from behind, fingers gripping. “We need a place to rest,” she reminds him quietly, her Russian accent thicker with exhaustion. “For the baby.”
He only lets out a small, growled murmur in response—reluctant acknowledgment. His eyes stay locked tensely on the exchange happening between Layden and the apparent leader of the vampires.
But then all three brothers’ heads swing sharply to the right in perfect unison.
It takes several more moments before I hear what they obviously already did—a loud motor of some kind, getting closer. Fast.
I frown, wanting to bend over and look through the helicopter’s side window but not wanting to draw any attention from the men—vampires?—below. They’re looking in the same direction now too, but they don’t seem perturbed by whatever they’re hearing. Don’t seem concerned at all.
Layden looks that way and actually smiles—genuine relief washing over his face.
What on earth?
And then the motorcycle comes roaring into view, impossibly loud in the enclosed courtyard. The sound echoes off stone walls I can now see surrounding us—high walls topped with what might be broken glass or razor wire.
The bike is sleek and black, matching everything else here. The rider circles dramatically right behind the gathered men, engine revving, then stops with a spray of gravel.
The figure pulls off her helmet to reveal a shock of curly dirty blonde hair that tumbles past her shoulders—wild and windblown. A heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, full lips painted dark red, and bright green eyes that sparkle with mischief.
She’s stunning. And young—maybe my age, maybe younger.
“Grandpa,” the woman sing-songs toward the scowling leader, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “I’m ho-oooome.”
Then she kicks out the bike’s stand, leans it over, and hops off in one fluid motion—movements so graceful they’re almost inhuman. She saunters up to where Layden and the scowling man are standing, hips swaying in tight black jeans, leather jacket creaking.
She kisses the scowling man on both cheeks—casual, affectionate.
I frown, confused. Grandpa? The guy looks like he’s in his early thirties at most. Couldn’t be more than thirty-five.
Then I remember.
Vampires.
And I gulp hard.
Holy crap. I’m really looking at a group of actual vampires. Like, real ones. Not movie vampires or Halloween costumes.
Real vampires who drink blood and apparently don’t age.
So how on earth is he her grandpa? How do vampires even... make more vampires? Do they have kids? Turn people? Both?
Which is when I realize with crystal clarity that I am so, so in over my head. And have been for a while now.
I thought I could handle being a consort or whatever to a god. That sounded almost romantic, in a weird way. An adventure.
And then the rest of his god—or supernatural angel?—family comes home. Big family, kinda intimidating, but nice enough.
And oh yeah, by the way, they’re all the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The actual biblical end-times guys.
Then we’re attacked by the Russian military with missiles and tanks.
Then we accidentally portal into a dragon dimension and almost get eaten.
And now we’re seeking refuge with freaking vampires who apparently have grandchildren and motorcycles and live in what looks like a fortress compound.
A smarter girl would have gotten off this ride about five stops ago.
Hell, a smarter girl would never have gotten on in the first place. Would have run screaming when the guy with wings showed up at the fountain.
And maybe I would have. Should have.
I don’t like danger. I can’t even handle scary movies—I watch them through my fingers and have nightmares for weeks.
But I do actually know why I keep hanging around, and it’s not even morbid curiosity that, like the proverbial cat, might just get me killed if I’m not careful.
Dammit, this man whose hand I’m holding has bewitched me.
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered, as the song goes.
Though I know—or think I know, or desperately hope—that despite all the supernatural crap swirling around me, this is the one thing that feels real. Grounded. Solid.
The connection between us. The way my heart beats faster when he looks at me. The way his touch makes me feel safe even when everything else is chaos.
So when Layden seems to relax after the woman has a quick, animated conversation with her ‘Grandpa’—lots of hand gestures, a few laughs—and then Layden’s waving a confident hand for us all to depart the helicopter, I’m able to follow.
Well, I can pretend confidence with the best of them. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and step forward.
I can only pray and trust it’s not one of the most foolish decisions I’m making in my life.
Though given my recent track record, the odds aren’t exactly in my favor.