21. Katalina
KATALINA
Last night was the full moon. I hadn’t slept a wink.
Each day, we’d been over maps and theories. We’d searched the old tunnels under New Orleans, branching off from where Gideon had been taken.
Weary, we all sat around the scarred table in the room where the bikers had what they called “church.” We were preparing to expand the search. Several of the brothers were arguing about where we should start.
“For fuck’s sake,” Dexter grumbled. “We’re supposed to be brothers. Perhaps some of you need to go to church.”
The others snorted. I saw the humor, considering the majority of us in the room were what many would consider condemned by God.
But then it hit me. Slowly—very slowly—I looked at Boomslang. “I know where we need to go.”
The president’s expression hardened. “Where?”
My voice was cold. Sharper than any blade I’d ever carried. “The last place Rafael ever took me.”
The words hung in the air. Every eye in the room settled on me.
Boomslang leaned forward slightly. “And where exactly is that?”
For the first time since Mako uttered Rafael’s name, I hesitated. Not because I was hiding anything. Because I suddenly felt very, very stupid. How many times had I been there?
Four? Five? Maybe more.
Enough that I should have noticed. Enough that I should have questioned it. Instead, I had simply accepted it. Like I’d accepted everything Rafael told me for nearly a hundred years. Slowly, I exhaled. “An abandoned cathedral.”
Silence. Then Zeus blinked. “A cathedral.”
“Yes.”
“A church,” Spook clarified.
“Yes.”
“A regular old church,” Spook elaborated unnecessarily.
Wanting to roll my eyes, instead, I stared at him. “No.”
“Well that’s good,” he muttered. “Because I was worried we’d all lost our damn minds.”
The Kings gathered around the large table while maps and photographs were spread out before us. It was like déjà vu. Only this time, Gideon was missing from the table, and I felt that in my chest. Some might say soul, but as a demon, we supposedly didn’t have one.
As they prepared weapons and coordinated teams, I explained, “It wasn’t somewhere we visited often.”
Boomslang listened carefully. “How often?”
“Eight to ten times over the years,” I replied. I’d never thought much of it before then.
His expression remained neutral.
“And why were you there?” Killswitch asked.
“I thought it was a safe house.” The admission tasted bitter. A safe house. A meeting place. Somewhere information was exchanged. Somewhere Rafael occasionally disappeared for an hour while telling me to wait.
I never questioned it. Because Rafael never encouraged questions. Questions were distractions. Questions got people killed for being too nosey. Questions meant you weren’t paying attention to your target.
Now I wondered how many answers I’d walked past without having a damn clue.
“There was always something strange about it,” I reluctantly admitted, ashamed that I’d never cared enough to investigate.
Mako crossed his arms. “Like what?”
Thinking about it, I frowned. Running over the visits in my mind. Recalling what details I could. Then it hit me. “The smell.”
Several heads lifted.
“What smell?” Hack asked.
“It was out of place there. Chemicals, I guess, for lack of a better way to describe it,” I replied.
The room grew quiet.
“Not every time,” I continued, my mind whirring. “Just occasionally.”
My stomach tightened as memories crystallized. “Bleach.” A pause. “Or maybe disinfectant? Both? The scent that lingers in hospitals,” I murmured. The scent I’d ignored for years. Because I never expected it to really matter to me.
“Damn it,” I muttered.
As I strapped extra blades to my thighs, I heard someone approach. The voice came from behind me.
“Hell no, you’re not,” Boomslang snapped.
I glanced up as I tightened the last strap. Zara stood near the stairs with her tiny arms crossed. A small rumble rose from her little chest.
Immediately, every protective instinct in the room was activated. Which was impressive, considering that half the room consisted of what would be considered by many as apex predators.
Dressed in all black, Boomslang shook his head. “Absolutely not. You are not going.”
The child narrowed her eyes. The resemblance to Gideon was becoming increasingly unsettling. “I know where it is.”
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. I felt the room shift.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
Boomslang crouched slightly, his demeanor changing from one of surly gruffness to cautious disbelief. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
Zara looked annoyed. Like we were all being exceptionally slow. “I’ve been there.”
Every muscle in my body locked. The room went silent. Not quiet. Dead silent. The kind of silence that comes when something impossible or jaw-dropping enters the conversation.
Mako slowly straightened. “You’ve what?”
Zara shrugged. “My parents brought me for my appointments. There were lots of stairs.”
Nobody spoke.
“There were cages too,” she added, her tone sounding too matter-of-fact for a five-year-old.
My blood turned cold.
“The man in white didn’t like when I bit people.” Her big eyes blinked up at me as she seemed to remember more than she was saying.
The room seemed to tilt. Nobody said a word. Probably because nobody knew what to say.
I stared at her. Really stared. Looking past the attitude. Past the sarcasm. Past the feral little Rougarou who somehow managed to charm an entire motorcycle club.
And suddenly all I could see was a child. A frightened child. One who likely remembered far more than she should.
An hour later, we stood before the cathedral, hidden in the tree line. The structure loomed against the dark Louisiana sky like a ghost. Ancient. Weathered. Wrong in an otherworldly way.
Moonlight illuminated broken stained glass and crumbling stonework when it peeked through the clouds. Ivy crawled over portions of the walls, while time had reduced once-beautiful carvings into worn shadows. Spanish moss swayed eerily from the surrounding trees.
The building should have felt abandoned. Instead, it felt alive. As if it were watching us.
Boomslang seemed to feel it too. An almost imperceptible shudder shook him. “So this is it?”
Solemnly, I nodded. “This is it.”
My stomach churned. Because the second I saw it again, memories began surfacing. Small things. Tiny details that had gone unnoticed before. Things I should have caught onto years ago. Things I ignored.
Darkness crept in as the clouds obscured the moon.
“Let’s move,” Boomslang murmured. Everyone pulled thin black masks over their heads and faces. The only thing exposed were their eyes. Next, they added gloves.
Worried, I glanced at Zara. We never should’ve brought her. Her large eyes held mine as Dexter gently tugged a small balaclava over her head. It was still a bit big, but she didn’t fight him or flinch as he ensured her soft curls were tucked in.
“What—” I began as Mako tossed one at me.
“Just in case,” Spook muttered from behind the mask.
“In case of what?” I asked. If we were caught, we were all fucked.
“Flame-resistant,” Mako replied with a shrug. “Booby traps.”
“Aren’t you all immortal?” I asked with a cocked brow and a smirk.
“Immortal implies one can’t be killed. Most supernaturals are ageless. There is a difference,” Hack calmly explained.
Put like that, I instantly sobered. Demons were essentially immortal, but there were a few things that could kill us.
My own parents were proof positive of that, and I hadn’t stopped to think about it like that.
Then again, I had entered every conflict without a lot of regard for my life.
I always figured when it was my time, it was time.
The mark along my spine changed that for me, but I hadn’t stopped to consider it. There had been too many other things going on.
“Point taken,” I conceded as I tugged the balaclava over my head, keeping my braid tucked inside.
On full alert, we moved toward the entrance. One large door was ajar, hanging by a single hinge. The interior was even worse. Dust coated everything.
Broken pews lay scattered across the floor. Rain leaked through sections of the damaged roof. The now-bright moonlight spilled through shattered stained-glass windows, painting fractured colors across ancient stone.
Yet, despite the decay… it was almost like a facade because something I couldn’t put my finger on gave off the impression of being maintained. Not visibly. I sensed it instinctively. Like parts of the cathedral were being preserved for a purpose, while others were left to rot as a cover.
Slowly, I moved toward the altar. My pulse quickened with every step. In my mind, I saw it. Rafael always paused here.
Always.
Every visit.
Without fail.
At the time, I assumed he was praying, which had been ironic in itself. Yet some of the older demons had held out hope that God would forgive them and bring them home. At that time, I placed Rafael in that category. Now? I knew better.
My gaze swept across the stonework. The statues. The carvings. The angels frozen in time.
Then I saw it.
An angel statue. Worn smooth by centuries. One hand extended outward. Fingers nearly resting against a section of the old wall that looked slightly different than everything surrounding it.
Carefully, I approached. With my fingers outstretched much as the angel’s were, my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
“No way,” Zeus muttered behind me.
Hesitantly, I pressed the coarse stone. Nothing. My heart sank, disappointment settling in.
Then it twisted. A loud grinding sound echoed through the cathedral. Everyone immediately raised weapons. Stone shifted. Dust exploded outward—and a hidden section of wall slowly slid open.
Cold air rushed upward. Ancient. Stale. Heavy. Darkness waited below.
“Is this the way your parents brought you in?” Boomslang asked Zara.
Her brows pinched in the center as she shook her head. “But it’s here.” Her small nostrils flared, and she pointed at the ground. “I smell it.”
We all glanced at each other. Boomslang finally motioned for Mako and Zeus to go first. One by one, we followed. Dexter picked Zara up and carried her.
The narrow staircase seemed endless. Slippery stone steps descended deeper and deeper beneath the cathedral. The farther we went, the more the temperature dropped.
The air thickened, and with every level we descended, my certainty grew. Rafael hadn’t been bringing me to a safe house. He’d been bringing me here. All along. But why?
My chest tightened painfully. Every lesson. Every mission. Every conversation. How much of it had been real? How much had simply been preparation? A useful weapon being sharpened for future use?
The thought made me sick. Because I wasn’t grieving my long-lost parents. I wasn’t grieving the loss of family. I was grieving the death of trust.
And somehow that hurt worse.
The other thing that settled like a rock in my guts was that for the first time in years—I wasn’t hunting a target.
I was hunting one of my own.