Chapter 19 – Elias
Chapter
Nineteen
ELIAS
The SUV rolls to a stop in front of the Starbridge mansion, and for a moment, no one moves.
I’ve seen this building before. Photographs mostly, a few surveillance images from Council files.
In person, it’s exactly as pretentious as I expected. Georgian revival, three stories of brick and white columns. It screams old money and no taste in equal measure. The windows are dark. Yellow crime tape stretches across the entrance, bright neon against the gray and gloom.
Sean is the first one out of the vehicle.
He exits like he’s been launched from a catapult, tucking into a surprisingly agile roll that ends with him crouched behind the front wheel, one hand pressed to his ear as if he’s receiving transmissions from a covert operations team.
“Big Bear to base,” he says in a low, urgent voice. “We have arrived at the target location. Awaiting further instructions.”
I close my eyes.
Count to three.
Regina climbs out after him, her expression both amused and exasperated. “Sean, what are you doing?”
“Maintaining operational security, Sexy Witch.” He peeks around the SUV, scanning the empty front lawn like there might be snipers in the bushes. “We can’t be too careful.”
“Are you just recycling our group chat nicknames for codenames?”
“Mostly.” Sean stands, brushing grass off his jeans. “Killian is Top Dog. Rowan is Nerd. Micah is Nerd Prime now. And Villeneuve is Stick, because we call him—well, you know.”
I step out of the driver’s side and fix him with a look that has made doctoral candidates weep.
“If you call me that again,” I say calmly, “I am going to roast you like a marshmallow.”
Sean’s eye goes wide. For a blessed moment, I think I’ve actually rendered him speechless.
Then his face splits into a grin so wide I’m surprised it doesn’t hurt.
“I knew you could breathe fire in this form!” He points at me with both hands. “You’ve been holding out on us!”
“That is not—”
“Can you do it on command? Like, if you wanted to light a cigarette, could you just—” He makes a whooshing sound and mimes flames shooting from his mouth. “Boom, instant fire?”
I turn and stalk toward the mansion. Behind me, I hear Regina snicker and the others getting out of the SUV.
“Right, right. Sorry. Discretion.” I hear heavy footsteps as Sean jogs to catch up with us. “We’ll work on a new code name. How about Scaleface? No, too aggressive. Flamebro? Nah, that’s giving frat. What about—”
“Sean.”
“Wingy McWingface?”
“Sean.”
Sean deflates slightly. “Okay, we’ll table the code name thing for now and just go with The Professor.” He pauses. “That actually sounds kind of badass.”
The crime tape ringing the property looks mundane to human eyes but carries a series of interlocking wards designed to keep unauthorized personnel out. I feel them humming as I approach. Standard containment protocols.
Nothing I can’t handle.
I raise my hand and push.
The wards resist for approximately half a second before they recognize what they’re dealing with. Old magic knows older magic. And there is very little in this world older than what runs through my veins.
The tape falls slack and the wards dissolve.
“Show off,” Micah mutters from somewhere behind me.
The front door is unlocked. The Council has already swept this place and taken what they wanted, leaving the rest to rot.
I very much doubt we’ll find anything they missed, but Regina insisted, and a pack of shifters and a powerful siphon just spinning their wheels is asking for trouble. Fruitless as this endeavor may prove to be, there are worse ways to spend a morning.
I push the front door open and step inside.
The foyer is dark and dust covers every visible surface. Micah sneezes somewhere behind me. The furniture is covered in white sheets, giving everything the appearance of a haunted house. I doubt any actual spirits would be lingering after the Council sweepers ran through their protocols.
Regina enters the house behind me.
I watch her without appearing to. It’s a skill I’ve perfected over centuries. The slight hitch in her breath, the blankness she’s trying to maintain even as her eyes move across the space.
She lived here for years.
With a man who treated her like a possession.
Through the bond, I could feel exactly what she’s experiencing. She wouldn’t be able to hide it from me, and I could probably get by without her noticing I’m accessing it. Every echo of memory, every flash of pain or anger or grief.
But I don’t. I keep that door firmly closed. Some privacy should be sacred, even when you’ve woven yourself into someone’s soul without their permission.
She doesn’t hate me for it.
I still don’t understand why.
I’ve given her every reason to. The bond. The secrets. Even the way I nearly kissed her during that ridiculous game before common sense reasserted itself. I’ve been cold and distant and cryptic, and she still looks at me like…
Like I’m a person.
A person who infuriates her, perhaps, but a person nonetheless.
Even clever witches have blindspots.
“Okay.” Regina’s voice is steady, but I can hear the effort it takes. “Let’s split up and cover more ground.”
“Bad idea,” Killian says immediately.
“It’s a cleared crime scene. There’s literally no one here.”
“I don’t care.” The amber flicker in his eyes is more pronounced than usual. “We stick in two groups.”
“Agreed,” I say. “Mr. Miftah, Mr. Brewer, Mr. Evans. Take the east wing. We’ll cover the west and the basement.”
Sean snaps a salute. “Roger that, Sti—” He catches himself. “Professor. Nerd, Nerd Prime, on me.”
He moves out like he’s leading a SWAT team, Micah and Rowan trailing behind with expressions of weary resignation.
But Micah is still making a fucking gun with his hands.
That leaves me with Killian and Regina.
Wonderful.
We move through the mansion in silence. Regina leads, which makes sense. She knows this place. Every room, every corridor, every hidden space where Kyle might have concealed something the Council investigators missed.
Regina pauses in what appears to be a sitting room. The furniture in here is shrouded as well. A dead fireplace squats against one wall. Above it, a rectangle of wallpaper that’s lighter where a painting used to hang, probably sitting in an evidence locker in Council storage.
“This was Kyle’s study,” she says quietly. “He used to meet with the inner circle here. Make plans.” She touches the edge of the mantle. “I wasn’t allowed.”
Killian moves closer to her. His hand hovers near her shoulder but doesn’t quite touch. “You feeling anything?”
“No.” She frowns slightly. “That’s the weird part. The echoes of energy that should be here, they’re gone. All of it. It’s like the place has been bleached.”
“Council protocol,” I say. “After a crime scene has been processed, they use a sweeping spell. Removes any lingering magical signatures.”
“Why?”
“To prevent ne’er-do-wells and unsuspecting humans from stumbling in and causing problems.” I survey the room with a critical eye. “Cuts down on hauntings, too.”
Regina nods slowly. She moves to a bookshelf built into the far wall, running her fingers along the spines.
“These were mine,” she says. “Grimoires I left behind. Kyle must have moved them.”
She pulls one out. Leather-bound, the spine is cracked from use.
Killian watches her silently. “Anything you want to take with you?”
Regina stares at the book for a long moment. Then she slides it back onto the shelf.
“No.” Her voice is flat. “Nothing worth keeping. They would have taken everything useful.”
She turns and heads for the door. Killian and I exchange a glance and his expression is unreadable, but I can guess what he’s thinking.
Watch her. Protect her. Don’t let this place hurt her any more than it already has.
For once, we’re in complete agreement.
The basement stairs are narrow and steep. It’s an old house, and seems to groan with every step.
Regina descends first. Her posture changes as we go deeper, shoulders drawing in, steps becoming more cautious. I don’t need to access the bond to tell she’s anxious.
This must be where it happened.
The basement is a single large room with stone walls and a concrete floor. A single, naked bulb dangling from the ceiling makes it look like something out of a horror movie. Nothing like the relative comfort upstairs. In the center, bolted to the floor, is a set of heavy chains.
Regina stops at the bottom of the stairs.
I watch her staring at the chains. At the dark stains on the concrete beneath them.
“That’s it,” she says. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “That’s where they kept it.”
The werewolf. The creature that scarred her and nearly killed the man she loves.
May have killed him yet, in all likelihood.
Killian moves to her side. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”
“I’m fine.”
“Regina…”
“I said I’m fine. Promise.” She pulls out of his reach and walks toward the chains. Her steps are measured, like she’s approaching something that might still bite.
She stops in front of the chains and extends her hand, as if she’s still seeing the ghost of the creature she took pity on, and at such great cost.
I open my mouth to tell her we need to leave. That this was a mistake and whatever she’s hoping to find here, it’s not worth it.
Then Killian collapses.
It happens fast. One moment he’s standing beside me, the next he’s on his knees with both hands pressed to his skull, a sound tearing from his throat that’s half growl and half scream.
Regina spins around. “Killian!” She’s at his side in an instant, her hands on his shoulders, trying to see his face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
I move closer, examining him with senses that extend far beyond the physical. The dark veins under his skin are pulsing. They’ve spread even farther since I caught a glimpse of him this morning.
“We need to leave,” I murmur. “Now.”
“What’s happening to him?” Regina’s voice is sharp with fear as she looks up at me, those verdant eyes pleading with me to do something.
“The werewolf that bit him was kept here.” I grab Killian’s arm and haul him to his feet. “Technically, it’s his sire. There may be some lingering resonance in this space, something the Council’s sweep missed because they weren’t looking for it.”
Killian’s eyes are squeezed shut. His teeth are clenched so hard I hear them grinding. But he’s on his feet. The fact that he hasn’t pushed me away is not a good sign for his current state.
“It’s triggering his condition,” I continue, pulling him toward the stairs. “The connection between sire and spawn is strong. Even in death.”
Regina grabs his other arm. Together, we half-drag, half-carry him up the narrow staircase.
The main floor is a relief. The oppressive weight of the basement lifts as we emerge into the foyer. Killian is breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead, but he’s steadier now. The veins have stopped their rapid expansion.
Footsteps thunder from the east wing.
Sean appears first, skidding around a corner with his one good eye wide with alarm and a gaudy scarf around his neck that wasn’t there before. “What happened? We heard—” He stops when he sees Killian and yanks the scarf off, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Shit.”
Micah is right behind him, Rowan close on his heels.
“Is he okay?” Micah cries.
“I’m fine.” Killian’s voice sounds rough as he finally speaks. He pulls away from me and Regina, straightening to his full height but staggering a bit.
“You don’t look fine,” Rowan says carefully.
“I’m fucking FINE.”
The words are a clipped growl. His jaw is tight, his hands clenched at his sides. A trickle of blood drips from his left fist.
His claws are growing faster. I noticed that the other day. He’s holding himself together through sheer force of will, but the monster is winning, inch by inch.
The pack converges, surrounding him, instinctively putting up a wall between their ailing leader and their mate.
But I notice what the others don’t.
Killian’s hand moves to his face. A quick, subtle motion. Wiping something away.
Blood. A thin trickle from his nostril.
He catches me watching and our eyes meet.
The look he gives me isn’t fear but something much colder.
A reminder.
You made a promise.
I hold his gaze for a long moment, then I incline my head. Just slightly enough to serve as an acknowledgment.
I remember.