THIRTEEN
Her car steered down a quiet suburban street where other sleeping mortals dreamed of better futures. All blissfully ordinary and human.
Zarek lay twisted across the back seat, blood soaking into the fabric of Angela’s scarf, as the poison from the blade burned cold through his veins.
Every movement sent a dull reminder of how compromised he was.
The car was too small. He was too large. And he hated how he could do nothing. He was bred for destruction, the cause of death that lay out the rubble to bury the living, and she was too close to his fire.
But his fire, the very thing that controlled him and set him apart, had dimmed.
Worse, he had Angela’s scent surrounding him.
It was like colors blending into flavors of soft florals that gave way to an unvarnished symphony of scents.
It was honey stirred into warm oats, flavored with sweet pears and apples into a comforting scent that clung to her warm skin.
It battled against the metallic trace of rain mixed with adrenaline, fear, and the unmistakable iron of his blood.
Yet it was her scent that rose in this confined space, grounding him in a way he couldn’t explain while also being unbearable all at once.
She shouldn’t smell like this to him. He’d never bothered noticing the scent of a female because he never got close enough to try. Let alone think words of poetry.
And he most certainly shouldn’t be bleeding out in the back of this mortal woman’s car, a woman who had impossibly seen through the cloaking magic to kill a Black Cloak to save his life.
And yet, here he was.
If only he could read her mind.
Instead, he felt her emotions—impossible as it was—to know she was holding it together with a surprisingly firm resolve. She had more spine than some soldiers he’d trained to deal with tricky situations.
What’s worse, he couldn’t reach out to his brothers to take him home.
And how did he give directions to the Bone Zarek felt it immediately.
Wards.
Not aggressive ones. But a domestic kind of magic laid in careful layers, built to keep harm out. Just like the wards that had stopped him from entering the bookstore.
His jaw tightened. He should not be here, in her car, breathing in her humanity while poison hollowed him from the inside.
And yet, some reckless, traitorous part of him held onto her scent like a tether, because as long as he could still sense her, he knew the Poison Blade hadn’t taken him yet.
“We’re here.” Angela killed the engine and jumped out.
Zarek groaned as he tried to sit up, but the burning pain tore through him, which was odd as he usually embraced the burn. Her soft hand closed around his; the shock of it nearly stole his breath.
“You shouldn’t touch me.” He had never touched a human. His power would have burned them, like his sight drove them mad. Yet her skin met his, and nothing burned.
Helviti! The blade had damaged him more than he’d realized.
“Come on.” She gently pulled him from the car, then guided him to the front door. Her keys rattled with worried urgency.
But at the open front door, he stopped. He couldn’t move forward.
“The house is protected.” He couldn’t get past the barrier that wrapped itself around the house, like an invisible line that stretched to the perimeter of her house and front yard, skipping the back entirely.
“What?”
“I can’t go inside.” He panted from the pain tightening his chest as the poison made its way through his system, combined with the energy it took to resist this house’s wards. “Not unless you say it.”
She frowned. “Say what?”
“Welcome me in.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you like a vampire who needs to be invited in?”
“I am not a vampire,” Zarek snapped, offended. “I don’t drink blood. It’s the protection on your home.”
“Are you saying Aunt Claudine’s protection wards actually work?” Angela peered at her house as if for the first time.
He scowled at her. “It’s magic. A spell of sorts.”
“Pfft. As if.”
She really did not believe in magic?
“I can’t get past.” Obviously, because he wasn’t moving.
He must have looked like a mime pressing his hand against the invisible wall.
“Angela, please?” If he could get inside, behind this warded barrier, he’d be a lot safer than stuck on the streets at the mercy of the Black Cloaks while in this condition.
“Fine. What do I do?”
“Welcome me in.”
“Seriously?”
“Just say it.”
She muttered, half-embarrassed, “Welcome, Zarek. As my guest.”
And just like that, the wards shifted. The barrier parted the same way the veyll between the realms shifted, easing the pressure against his chest, back, and shoulders so that he could breathe again. Only for the pain to claim his attention.
“Thank you.” He then crossed the threshold into her domain.