Chapter 17 #4
The pulsing anger that had enveloped her during the spell had softened to an unexpected gentleness. If she had an ulterior motive, she’d hidden it well.
“I know this will hurt. Losing her will hurt. Find comfort in knowing you’ve done everything. Even the willingness to sacrifice your life for her. Don’t let this break you.”
Something in the wavering of her voice led me to believe it wasn’t the first time she’d given this speech. Her words of comfort didn’t dampen my sorrow and hopelessness. I now had fewer than twelve hours to find the person who cursed her.
A needle in a haystack.
My mind became a whirl of ideas. Some feasible options: Get access to the cameras from the night of the attacker’s escape at Whitaker Park.
Diehle was super dead and there was absolutely no way I could get any information from him.
And I wasn’t even sure he was the demon who’d helped with the curse.
A person who crafted a curse with a kill switch that prevented them being located, and had a sleek execution of it, wasn’t above dealing with another demon.
Did demons keep records of their demonish deals?
That idea would be the best if Diehle was the demon and I could gain access to his house.
There would be a name, a point of contact, some distinguishing information.
With a video, unless there was face recognition software, I wouldn’t know the person.
I could go to social media in the hope that someone would recognize them. But how likely would that be?
I had fallen so deep into my rabbit hole of ideas and next steps, Darby hugging me startled me back into the present.
“Do what you need to and once you’re done, come to the house. You should not be alone.” She’d accepted my failure while I was brainstorming ideas.
“I can’t. I’ll need to be with Walden,” I said. “Her dad,” I added to answer her inquiring look. The thought plunged me into an icy pond of guilt. I shouldn’t have lied to him. Now I had to tell him that withholding information kept him from being with his daughter in her final minutes.
Corrine and Darby nodded before departing, leaving me with my myriad ideas. Cirrian hadn’t taken his eyes off me the entire time but had the good manners to keep his face devoid of any expression.
Once they were out of the room, I positioned myself between Cirrian and Amelia. He remained silent, his brows drawn together. I took him dropping his cloak as confirmation that the vampires were no longer in the house.
“I need more time. Just three more days.”
“There’s nothing you can do in three more days that you haven’t already done. You’ve exhausted all your possibilities. She is now mine. Let me do my job, Kara.” At his determined approach toward her, I retrieved my blade, putting it between him and her.
“Three days,” I threatened.
His eyes flicked to the knife. “Are you threatening me with a good time?”
“Fuck you. Don’t you dare be flippant. Give me more time. I swear—”
He’d moved closer. Our height difference placed the blade just below his ribcage.
He was positioned so close to the point that I expected to see a spread of crimson spill over his white shirt.
White. It felt symbolic for some reason, as if he saw himself in an angelic way and not the dark cast of death.
I scrambled through all the possible options I’d thought of earlier. “One of those will work,” I told him.
“They won’t. You’re so sleep deprived you can barely stand. I’d feel like a monster even fighting you.” He took hold of my hand, wrenched the knife from it, and tossed it onto the end of the bed.
“I’ll kill you if you go near her.”
That only garnered a pitying look from him. His hand slipped around me, his voice as soft and soothing as it had been at Diehle’s. When I relaxed into him, I tilted my head up to look at him. He leaned down, his lips pressed against my temple.
Then he embraced me tighter, his hands splaying against my back.
I welcomed the heat to my body that had been shedding warmth like layers of clothing.
He pulled away, his nose brushing against mine, before gathering some of my curls, stretching them and examining them as if there were some answers there.
His fascination with it, me, and the situation was oddly reassuring. His deep introspection gave me hope.
“Kara,” he said in a graveled and low voice, “if given the three days, do you truly believe you can achieve your goal?”
Achieve? No, but I would try my best. I needed to sound certain and deliver it with a convincing tone. But the lie wouldn’t leave my lips, so I simply nodded.
His smile was weak, his nod contemplative. Exhaling a long breath, his hand cradled my face as his thumb swept away a solitary tear.
His lips barely brushed mine in a chaste kiss. He pulled me to him, and I melted into the hug, finding unexpected comfort in his touch.
He whispered, “Then accept my apology for your inability to face reality and what I must do.”
I was plunged into darkness. And when the world returned, I was in my backyard.