Chapter 27
The parking lot of the clubhouse is dark when we return. I’ve seen other Blood Order members coming and going throughout my time here, and I’m all too aware of how quiet it seems now. How out of place something feels. My skin pricks, apprehension unfurling inside of me.
“Where is everybody?” I ask, squeezing a little tighter onto Aamon. He cuts his engine, signaling me to let go. I reluctantly drop my hands and hop off the back of his bike as gracefully as I can manage.
“I have something for you,” he says, ignoring my question. I pause mid-motion as I’m pulling off the helmet he insists I wear, hands hovering above my head.
“For me?” I toss him the helmet, turning to look over my shoulder to see who else he could possibly be talking to.
He chuckles. “Yes, for you.” He nods, his features still veiled behind his mask.
“Consider it a peace offering.” He repositions himself so that he’s facing me, leaning against the seat of his bike in a way that allows me to see all of him.
The length of his legs extend between us, his arms folded over his chest, flexing the cords of muscle and defined veins wrapping around his arms. There’s the smallest hint of a smirk concealed behind the shadows of his mask.
He’s replaced his typical vexed demeanor with one that’s more akin to Quinn’s temperament, and I find myself hugging my middle to shield from the uncomfortability of the shift.
“I don’t know if I should be excited or scared,” I say honestly.
“Why’s that?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.
“You extending an olive branch? My entire world may be upside down right now, but even I can tell that’s some sort of gods-ordained anomaly.”
He straightens, his body tensing in the little bit of moonlight filling the parking lot. “Trust me, Angel.” He steps up to me, reaching out a hand and smoothing my helmet-tousled hair. “I may be an anomaly, but nothing about me is gods-ordained.”
His presence is electrifying, especially in such close proximity.
Everything about him should be a warning to run.
And yet, I find myself leaning into his touch.
His words, dipped in darkness, do little to discourage me either.
And I’m suddenly wondering what it would be like to have those tattooed hands running over the curve of my ass, up my spine. Around my neck.
I blink and he’s gone, making his way towards the clubhouse. No, not the clubhouse… the garage. “You coming?” he asks over his shoulder. Quinn and Zeke are both trailing behind him. I jump into motion, not wanting to be left alone in the dark shadows of the parking lot.
“What is this?” I ask once we're all tucked safely inside the garage. Sterling is already inside, waiting for us. And someone else, as well. A male, from the looks of it, but his head is covered in one of those burlap sacks—either to conceal his identity or to keep him from seeing where he is.
“My peace offering,” Aamon explains. He’s behind me now and I jump at the close proximity of his voice. “Sterling shared with me what happened to you. What led to your banishment from Requiesse’s city center.”
My chest hollows. “And?” I ask, the word barely above a whisper.
“And that kind of behavior is not tolerated within the ungoverned district.” His words are so matter-of-fact, so devoid of emotion or concern.
But I can’t help but feel there’s more behind them.
Something between the lines that's begging my notice.
“I managed to do some digging. Asked around—discreetly, of course.” He nods as he goes on, a respectful gesture that confuses me further.
“Lafayette was more than willing to offer his help. He seems to have a soft spot for you. He was able to acquire the name of the male who attacked you.”
My face pinches as I look from Aamon behind me back to the male tied up and seated before me. Though my memory is still hazy from that night, I know one thing for certain: that male never made it out alive. Slowly, I shake my head. “No,” I exhale.
“No?” Aamon repeats. “Do you not wish to determine his fate? I assumed you’d want to make him suffer for what he’s done to you.”
“You don’t understand.” I shake my head more fervently now, fingers rubbing at my temples.
Perhaps if I rub hard enough, an idea will form to excuse this all away.
But there’s no way around it, no hiding this part of the truth anymore.
He’s made a mistake. I can't let a stranger suffer for the crimes of another male.
My voice is quiet, but firmer than I expected. “I did make him suffer.”
Aamon steps up beside me, lifting his mask so I can see the perplexed look in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“That night . . .” I turn back to face the hooded male, my gaze drifting from Zeke to Quinn, and landing at last on Sterling.
He is so far away from me, but there's a kindness in his silvery eyes that pushes me to keep going. “That male . . . a wraith attacked me. I—I don’t remember fully what happened because I blacked out, but I attacked him as well. To defend myself.”
All four boys wait for me to go on, not gathering what I’m trying to imply.
“Don’t you understand? I killed him.” It’s barely a whisper.
I hate how shaky I feel. “I took his life for what he did to me.” The burn in my voice sounds almost like another person, emotions overwhelming me—self-hatred, shame, anger, hurt.
“And then I crawled back home to my father in hopes that he would help repair the damage I had caused.”
Heat pricks the back of my eyes as I recall the look in my father’s eyes when his magic pushed me out of his car. “Only for him to exile me for my sins.” I swipe away tears I hadn’t realized had escaped. Sterling steps forward, but Aamon holds out a staying hand.
“Angel," Aamon begins steadily. "I’m not sure what happened that night. And I know the Watchers are powerful creatures. But I promise you, you did not take that male’s life.”
A sob slips past my lips as I turn away, running my hands through my hair. “You don’t understand,” I repeat again. But how could they, when they don’t even understand what I am. What I’m capable of.
Aamon’s hands land on my shoulders behind me, their heavy weight somehow grounding my quivering body.
“Wraiths are not that simple to kill.” He turns me to face him and my entire vision fills with his dark, assessing eyes.
“I’m sure whatever took place between the two of you was traumatic, to say the least. And I’m not saying you didn’t hold your own.
But unless you were attacking him with silver, he would have been able to make a full recovery over the last week. ”
“Silver?” I blink, brow furrowed. “But I remember—remember his blood.” I close my eyes as the memories surge.
That monster inside, the very reason my own father left me to die, exiled me from everything I’d ever known.
The monster I hated too, and the reason even now I couldn’t blame him for sending me away.
I was dangerous. An anomaly that both worlds would despise.
That even the fearsome Blood Order would reject if they knew.
Aamon shakes his head, as if to quell the storm he sees in my mind. “I cannot speak on what Raziel shared with you, but as High Quarter Alpha, he is well versed in the various methods to take out any and all touched by the Arcane. He would know that you didn’t take his life.”
And as if an afterthought, he strokes the outside of my arm. Leaning in, he whispers, “I’m sorry, Angel.”
I shove away the tears and pain and confusion, brushing Aamon off of me and facing the hooded male. “So then, this is him?” I ask. The question is directed towards Aamon, but my eyes meet Sterling.
He steps up to the male, grabbing a fist full of the burlap sack and waiting for Aamon’s command. “Release him.” Aamon's cold words echo through the cement garage. And with one singular motion, Sterling swipes away the sack
“Get me the fuck out of here,” the wraith yells, exploding in an instant as he rocks back and forth in the chair, testing his restraints.
He’d been so quiet before, almost as if the sack had contained some sort of magic to shut out his surroundings.
The sound of his hate-filled voice sends a chill straight through my chest and I retreat a step.
That’s when his eyes find me, the look of rage shifting to one of eerie amusement.
“You again,” he purrs, leaning forward. His hands are bound behind his back, the motion straining the sockets of his shoulders.
The pain doesn’t stop him though. He lifts his head to the ceiling, inhaling deeply.
“I’d recognize that smell anywhere. After all, it’s coated my fingers for the last week. ”
Sterling lunges forward, but it’s Aamon that lands the first blow, simultaneously smashing the wraith’s nose and sending Sterling flying backwards.
I shuffle back at the outburst, hands flying to my chest as I fold in on myself.
Quinn is behind me, though I’m not sure when he got there, and I land right against his chest. His arms wrap around me, and I lean into his touch.
“Fuck!” the wraith yells, tipping his head up in an attempt to stop the bleeding. “Why are you attacking me when she’s the one that trespassed on our territory?”
“Quiet,” Aamon spits. “You’re still alive for one reason and one reason only.” He takes a step back, leveling a finger towards me. “So she can see the life drain from your eyes, like she deserves to.”
“You’re siding with a Watcher?” The wraith looks appalled; there’s venom in his eyes as he levels me with a glare. The silence is full of all the threats he wants to say.
“Hey,” Aamon snaps, stepping between me and the wraith. “You don’t look at her. You don’t talk to her. Understood?”