Chapter 11 | Anna
It was after dark before I saw him again. Long after dinner. Long after I’d rambled around the manor trying to burn off the angry energy that had stuck with me since our argument.
I hadn’t burned it off. If anything, I’d grown increasingly angrier as the day wore on. I wasn’t fit for company. My mother, Grace, and Ophelia all steered clear of me. They sensed the tension in the air, but none of them were brave enough to ask.
I wondered if he intended to show himself at all.
I went to my old room and snatched a book off the shelf—a tattered copy of The Time Machine. Some part of me wished I could climb in one and rewind the day. If only to tell my past self, do not engage.
By the time I’d settled onto the bed and cracked open the book, the bedroom door opened. He stood there for a long minute, hand on knob, as if assessing if he was allowed inside.
The first thing I noticed was a smudge of something dark along the front of his shirt.
The second thing I noticed was the grass stains on his pants.
The sleeves of his shirt were pushed to his elbows.
His right arm had a slash with dried blood.
I looked at his hand—the one not on the knob—and thought I saw dried blood staining his skin.
I blinked, letting this sink in as I looked at him. And then the terror crawled up my spine and lodged in my throat.
He’d killed someone. Because of me.
When I said nothing, he closed the door, and he stepped into the room. He moved past me into the bathroom and shut the door with a snap. I heard water running in the sink. Then the shower.
So, he was going to clean up and pretend like there wasn’t a dead man somewhere on the grounds of the estate.
I forgot the book in my lap. I couldn’t focus on it even if I wanted to. I stared at the page but didn’t see the words. My heart pounded hard.
We’d fought together, sure. We’d killed together, too. But that was killing demons and high lords. That was not killing… others.
My mouth went dry.
I sat there trying to decide what to say to him when he emerged.
If he was willing to kill for me without telling me, what else was he willing to do?
The water cut off. There was silence for a long minute. I heard movement. The rustle of clothing. The swish of a towel.
Then he came out with damp hair wearing clean clothes—like he’d stashed them in there earlier—and still armed. His arm was bandaged.
He didn’t look at me.
He crossed the room to the window, his hand on the hilt of the knife. His face was a mask of resolve and determination. A man on a mission.
I understood exactly what he was doing. He intended to stand there all night.
“You killed someone.” The words came out flat. Factual.
He stilled. “Yes.”
Cold dread settled through me. No denial. No justification. That made it real.
“On the grounds,” I continued. “Close enough to the manor that you came back with blood on your hands.”
He turned from the window then. His gaze met mine. Steady and unflinching. “He was a Watcher.”
I swung my legs off the bed. My bare feet hit the floor with a thump as I stood.
“You weren’t going to tell me.”
“No.”
My chest tightened. “Why?”
“Because you didn’t need to know.”
Something snapped inside me. “But you came back here with blood on your shirt, and you didn’t think I’d notice? I noticed.”
His jaw muscles ticked along the edge. I was pushing him and I knew it. He said nothing.
“So, I don’t need to know when you kill someone for me?”
“I decided what needed to be done. I did it.” No hint of remorse whatsoever.
“And who made you the arbiter of that?” I demanded.
“I’m not having this argument with you again.”
His tone told me I needed to shut up and back off, but that was never an option for me. I was too hot-headed.
“Oh, right,” I said, the words searing through me. “You’re keeping me alive. You can’t lock me up and throw away the key.”
He was furious. He turned away from me, back to the window.
But I was furious, too.
“That wasn’t the first threat, Anna.”
I knew that but didn’t want to accept it. That’s why he sent Silas away. That’s why he stood guard outside the manor like a watchdog. Why he stood guard at the window now, not facing me.
“I want to stand with you, not against you,” I said, my voice quiet.
He turned to face me then, his eyes dark and dangerous like earlier in the day. “And when they use you to get to me?”
My chest went tight.
“Because they will,” he added.
And that was the real problem, wasn’t it? He hated the thought. He’d do anything within his power to stop that from happening. He’d lie to me, kill for me, without ever letting me have a say in the matter.
I stared at him for a long moment. At the man who would burn down the world to keep me breathing.
“I don’t want you deciding what I can face,” I said.
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes did. A fracture. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly,” I replied. “That’s what scares me the most.”
That he was willing to become something—someone else. Willing to cross lines without remorse. Was this the man he always was, and I never saw it?
I snatched my boots, shoving my feet into them without sitting. My hands were steady. My heart was not. Then I stomped to the door.
“If you keep fighting this war without me,” I said at the door, “you’re going to lose me, anyway.”
I didn’t wait for his answer.
I left the room and closed the door behind me hard enough that the walls rattled.
I stood in the hallway a long moment, closed my eyes, took a deep breath. There was no movement or sound on the other side. He wasn’t coming after me.
I didn’t want him to.
I made my way down the hall to the library. Standing inside the room, the silence was deafening. Only one lamp lit on my uncle’s desk, illuminating the cherrywood in a faint glow. I crossed to the liquor cart, poured myself a whiskey, and downed it. Refilled it.
It burned and did nothing.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I should let him do whatever he was doing. Still, it felt like surrender. Like handing him my autonomy.
I glanced over at the desk and noticed the top drawer partially open. Like someone didn’t close it all the way. Which was unusual. Anyone who’d come into this room would never leave the desk like that. Not me. Not Kincade.
I placed the glass down on the cart and walked to the desk. My hand shook as I pulled open the drawer, dread coursing through me at what might be inside.
There, an envelope. Not my name. His.
Why would he leave it there? Hoping I wouldn’t see it? Or hoping—dangerously—that I would?
I picked it up. The paper was thick. The seal already broken. I slipped out the note. The paper was crumpled, like it was crushed in a fist.
With my heart in my throat, I unfolded it. Read the four lines in a precise script.
You’ve had your freedom. You’ve made your choice. Now it’s time to understand the cost. Bring her to us—or we’ll come to you.
Oh, fuck.
My legs gave out. My pulse roared in my ears. I crashed into the desk chair, staring down at the carefully written words. The directive. The warning. The threat. And I’d been running around all day with an attitude while he—
He sent Silas.
He’d been standing between me and the firing line. He killed a Watcher.
He wasn’t deciding for me. He was trying to spare me the choice.
And, terrifyingly, I understood why.
He thought he was protecting me.
What he was doing was teaching me how alone he felt.
An ache settled deep in my chest, heavy and sharp. I folded the note, slid it back into the envelope, returned it to the drawer, and shoved it closed like I could trap the truth inside with it.
I heard a muffled noise downstairs. My head snapped up. I shot to my feet. My hand went to my waist. Even though I reminded myself to grab my dagger, I didn’t. I was standing there unarmed. Exposed.
I glanced toward the windows on the other side of the room, my heart in my throat. The curtains were drawn. No one could see in.
The noise again. I couldn’t make it out. It could be anything. Ophelia. My mother. Grace. Piers, even. Perhaps someone was in the parlor.
But at this time of night? Why?
My gaze cut to the library door standing open to the hall. No movement. No shadows. Nothing.
I thought of the vault behind me. What was in there I could use as a weapon? And did I have enough time to arm myself?
Then he was in the hall. Moving down to the stairs in stealth. I never would have known if I hadn’t been looking.
He never saw me. His attention was fixed on whatever he heard—or felt—or already knew.
Then another thud. Final this time.
And I understood the last piece of it.
He wasn’t doing this for me.
He was doing it to stop them.
I remained rooted in place, my hands shaking. Terror slicing through me.
I heard a muffled thump. A faint groan.
Oh, God. Someone was in the manor. Someone who didn’t belong. And he’d dealt with whoever it was.
And here I was a sitting duck.
The air around me shifted. The temperature plummeted. And I thought of what Decker told me so long ago—every elite Watcher had different abilities. He and Kincade were among the elite.
I jerked open the middle drawer. A letter opener gleamed in the faint light. I snatched it as the man suddenly appeared in the library feet from me.
He lunged for me. I stumbled back, the make-shift weapon in my hand. Holding it like I’d hold my dagger. But this wasn’t sharp enough to kill. It was sharp enough to hurt.
When he reached for me again, his hand landed on my wrist. His fingers clamped down hard, digging into my skin. I lunged toward him, jammed the letter opener into his shoulder. He jerked back and cried out—the exact desired effect I wanted.
Kincade would hear that. He’d come.
But the man still had his hand on my wrist, dragging me to him.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs. And then Kincade ran through the door as the man wrapped his arm around my shoulders, gripping me to his chest.
“Too late,” he said.
The last thing I saw was Kincade’s face twisted in recognition.
The world compressed—sound imploding, light folding in on itself. Then—boom—we were gone in a flash of light.
I was standing outside the estate grounds held captive by a man I assumed worked for Sebastian Crane.
“Let’s go!” someone shouted.
I was shoved into a black SUV with blacked-out windows, the man who captured me following.
Then we sped away into the night, leaving the manor behind. And the most chilling thing of all… Kincade was right.