Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Seek enclave intervention when
encountering threats.
CIPRIAN
Dad won’t stop calling and demanding results like a drill sergeant. I explain . . . again, then hang up, frustrated that I’m letting him get to me. I’m already kicking myself for pushing too hard at the Naked Fang and destroying the camaraderie I busted ass to build.
Dad is keyed up. With the witch drama going on, he sees betrayal in every corner, including the Fringes.
Callum’s return isn’t helping. Their tension always spills over and lands on me.
Since neither of them will confront their shit with each other, I catch it on both ends.
Can’t lash out at the person you really want to?
No problem. Trash Ciprian instead. The family fuckup won’t complain about it; he’s too unserious.
Sliding my cap on backward, I glance at the shitty mirror in my apartment. It’s giving asshole, but that’s for the best. I know what happens when I let people close. Arm’s length it is.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I groan. If it’s Dad again, I’m tossing the damn thing in the toilet. Then I think about Sheena and scramble to unlock the screen. She isn’t doing great, and I’ll take a million of Dad’s lectures before I’ll let her down.
Worry churns in my gut as a voice memo pops up. I listen to it, rubbing sunscreen on my forehead and nose as my stomach twists. She sounds awful, but I can tell she’s trying to hide it. Wiping the excess sunscreen on my jeans, I type out a response.
Ciprian
I’m glad you got a lead. You sound like shit.
Three dots pop up, disappear, then reappear. I grip the sink with my fingers until my knuckles turn white. This whole situation makes me feel helpless.
Sheena
I know. Callum and Gideon will find something, I’m sure.
I won’t give up.
Ciprian
No, you fucking won’t. You can’t ever give up. Promise me, bestie.
Promise.
I need another promise from you while you’re at it.
Hit me with it.
I hold my breath, impossibly angry at the gods, magic, all the dead elders, and anyone else I can think of. I’m not equipped for anything but a solution to this problem. Sheena gets me. I can’t even entertain the thought of failure . . .
“She’ll be fine,” I say out loud, assuring myself in the mirror like a total loser, then typing ferociously.
Ciprian
If it gets worse, you tell me. You’re trying to act okay. I could hear it in your fucking voice. That’s fine, but don’t do it with me. Give me a chance to not fuck this up.
I hit send and release the breath I’m holding. There’s barely anything left to exhale. Like always, I’ve sucked the good out and left only scraps behind.
Sheena
Deal.
And for the record, you won’t fuck up. Not with me or Celine.
Ciprian
Code names, bestie. Gods, you’re the opposite of covert.
I snort as she edits her previous text, replacing Celine’s name with wings.
Sheena
Hey, only one of us managed to survive on the run for eight years! I’m twice as covert as you.
The burning fear in my gut slowly cools, and I take a series of deep, shaky breaths. Strength only. You’re the nightmare. Fear is your weapon, not your weakness.
I finish the stupid affirmation and head to the club. No more tiptoeing around. If I don’t get answers or make major progress getting Celine and Luca to trust me tonight, I’m going home to help Sheena—no matter what Dad says.
The energy at the club is off; I sense it as soon I step inside. Wanting to suss things out before I try to talk to anyone, I settle at a booth in the corner and watch.
Luca spots me from the bar, his eyes narrowing, then flitting past me to dart around the club like pinballs in an old arcade. I sit up straighter. He’s on edge. His normal smiles for the customers are nowhere in sight, and he barely manages them for the dancers. Something is wrong.
I’ve been sitting for almost an hour before I catch a glimpse of Celine. She storms out of the back hall and over to Luca, her wings shimmering as if they’re made of metal. They talk briefly before she disappears again.
I keep watching.
Alistair appears a few minutes later, wearing long sleeves and a pissed off expression.
He saunters over to the bar, but there’s a hitch to his normal walk.
After a few minutes talking to Luca, he tosses his hands up in the air.
They both glance down the dark hallway. Trouble in paradise?
Alistair is edgy and worked up, but Luca doesn’t appear angry with him over it.
Celine reappears, working the floor and tossing Alistair a tense glance. He calls out for her. She walks stiffly to his side. Alistair reaches for her, then drops his hands to his sides. She shakes her head. Dejected, he hangs his. I can’t hear them, but their body language says plenty.
Celine continues circulating, oblivious to Alistair’s growing frenzy. A caged animal, he starts to pace, drawing more than one curious glance. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. He’s losing it. Spiderweb cracks shoot up the sides of his glass a second before it shatters in his hand.
Alistair peers at the mess blankly. Luca darts to his side, his mouth moving as he picks up the shards of glass. No one looks directly at them, but I see a few patrons move further away. They’re picking up on the fury and getting out of the line of fire.
The stage spotlight rotates, glancing off them both. It’s gone in a flash, but not quickly enough to hide the red of Alistair’s eyes. He backs away slowly, then darts from the club so quickly he’s barely more than a blur.
Luca’s hands fist as he watches him go. Curiosity wars with my concern, and I make a snap decision to follow Alistair.
I wait for Luca to go back behind the bar, then send out enough magic to blur the surrounding air.
My nightmare demon heritage comes in handy when I want to avoid notice, and something this simple only costs me a fraction of the fear I have stored.
The door slams behind me and I wince. Alistair isn’t in sight, but his scent remains. I trail after him, listening carefully and keeping my distance. After about four blocks, I hear his footsteps making angry clacking sounds against the pavement.
When they cut off abruptly, I freeze, listening to the eerie silence until I question my sanity.
A grunt, harsh and loud, breaks the quiet.
It’s followed by the clang of metal. Before I can overthink the decision, I race toward the sound, adrenaline prodding my magic until it hums eagerly inside me.
I careen around the corner, my eyes trying to make sense of the chaos. Three armed men surround Alistair. They’re grunting in another language that sounds oddly familiar. Alistair’s fear hits me, hot and sticky. That’s when I spot the sword sticking out of his side.
This isn’t right. Only cowards ambush someone three on one. They’ll pay for this. I’ll make sure of it—right fucking now.
Latching onto their minds, I throw my magic at them. Like a net, it covers the consciousness of all three, leaving Alistair alone. Gritting my teeth, I drag them into the depths of a nightmare they won’t live to wake from.
I replace the dark concrete walls with flames ten feet high. They scream with terror as they watch each other grow teeth as long as their forearms. It’s not real, but they believe it is, and that’s all that matters. I smile as they turn on each other. They always do.
They fight each other clumsily. I dart in and snap the nearest one’s neck.
As he falls, I take his sword and plunge it into the second attacker’s heart.
The third decides to take his chances with my imaginary flames, but I grab him by his hair and throw him over my knee.
His spine gives way. I break his neck, and his screams cut off abruptly.
Alistair falls to his knees, and I drop the nightmare to go to him. His breath is wet and raspy, and there’s blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
“That doesn’t look good,” I mutter. “Don’t die, man.”
The sword in his belly is buried deep. I’m scared to touch it. Taking a closer look at the hilt, I notice it’s engraved with markings I don’t recognize. Fabric shifts behind me, and I turn and see wings shoot from the backs of two of the bodies. Those weren’t there when I killed them.
Alistair fumbles with his phone, his fingers slick with blood. The asphalt is soaked with it too, the streetlight revealing the grizzly scene.
“Who can I call?” I ask, my anxiety growing by the second. I might have been too late. He’s losing way too much blood, his already pale skin taking on a gray sheen.
I try to put pressure on the wound without removing the weapon. Alistair’s mouth falls open, but he can’t get any words out. I frown at his fangs, then jolt upright as it clicks. “Blood, you need blood, right?”
His eyes dip closed, and I curse. This is probably stupid, but I can’t let him die. I told myself I wouldn’t hold back tonight.
Shoving my wrist into his mouth, I pierce my skin on his fangs after he fails to bite down and do it himself. As soon as my blood hits his tongue, his eyes shoot open, the perfect match to the surrounding gore.
“Don’t suck me dry,” I whisper. “And tell me what to do about this fucking sword when you get a chance.”
Alistair growls deep in his throat, then latches on to my wrist. A shudder runs up my spine. It’s followed immediately by a zap of arousal so sharp it almost hurts. I swallow the moan that wants to escape, shocked as my battle adrenaline switches to white-hot lust in a heartbeat.
Footsteps echo around the corner as Alistair opens his mouth around my wrist. “Pull the sword out. Now. Keep pressure. More blood.”
I nod, gripping the hilt of the weapon with my free hand. “Do you want me to do a countdown or—”
“Yank it out, demon,” he snarls.
“What the fuck is going on?”