Chapter Thirty-Three - Sen
Ramy drags a bleeding Elio out of the way as a wave of blood crashes into the door just as I slam them shut. We back up as the wood whines and distorts inwards, the glass creaking in its frame.
“Get back!” I shout, “Everyone, get back!”
We dart deeper into the mansion just as debris explodes inward.
The very walls shake with the force of something ramming against them as we run down the hallway. Elio’s blood leaves a trail on the green runners, then a wall bursts open in a hail of brick and smoke.
We make our way into the kitchen, jumping over the island as small swirling balls of shadow are tossed inside—imploding mid-air with enough force to knock off anything that hasn’t already fallen. A silent tidal wave of pressure pops my ears.
“So, how’s your plan to subdue her going?” Bran asks casually, his hair coated in plaster.
Tucked into a corner, Elio whimpers, face twisted in pain as his shaking hands clutch his wounded ankle. He must be healing himself since the bleeding has already stopped.
“At least they aren’t teleporting inside,” I say, as more of our home is destroyed.
“The…o-others aren’t powerful enough…” Elio gasps. “Only Summer can. The rings,” he chokes. “Not enough.”
Luc grunts as an apple hits his head. “And you can tell all that from the rings they’re wearing?”
Elio doesn’t answer, he’s too busy groaning.
More shadow bombs are thrown our way. The implosions are strong enough that the massive, silver fridge rocks back onto rubber feet for a second—before it lumbers forward, slamming down with a thunderous CRASH.
“No!” Ramy cries out, sounding genuinely upset.
“Fuck this!” Vidar roars. “Summer and Emma don’t get to come into our home and destroy it.”
“Vidar is right,” I bite out.
Luc puts an arm around Ramy, who’s staring at the fridge like he lost a friend. “And our plan is?”
I glare at him. “We’re fucking vampires, Luc. We rip out throats.”
“Finally,” Bran smirks. “A plan I can get on board with.”
I lunge over the island. I’ve never been one to hide, anyway. But more than anything, I want to make something bleed.
At incredible speeds, I dart towards an unsuspecting mage who dared bring their filthy stink into my home, grab them by the throat, then rip out their jugular with my fangs before they even have a chance to scream.
The mage’s blood sprays out in an arc that Vidar and Bran dart under, my Maker’s fists punching through the chests of two others.
I rush outside, thirsty for mage blood and hungry for violence, to find Bran with three bodies already at his feet. A bone-chilling smile stretches across his face.
But more blood means more ammo for our enemies.
I dodge multiple spears—crimson and sharper than any metal—then yell out as one pierces my stomach. The pain shocks me, like being dropped in ice water. But Luc is by my side, ripping out the sharp point just as it turns back into thick liquid.
“Just a flesh wound,” I say with a wink, then take out the mage who threw the spear, all within the few seconds it takes my wound to heal.
The scene before me is chaos: mage bodies on the ground, blood everywhere, the front of the mansion in ruins, and Summer standing between the wrought-iron gates, two large swirling shadow bombs hovering in her palms, the awful blood mage tome at her side.
Her eyes resemble a moon eclipsing the sun, tinged red.
But there’s something else I notice.
“Where’s Emma?” I shout to Vidar as he twists the neck of a mage.
We both look around, but she’s nowhere to be found, and my stomach begins to sink. If she isn’t here, then…
Summer and I lock eyes. My expression must show my growing realisation; she doesn’t flinch or move, but she has an apologetic look mixed with steadfast determination, and my stomach plummets.
Teagan.
I don’t make a choice.
Even if my brain cells weren’t drowning in panic, nothing would change—I run, leaving my family behind in the wreckage of our home to get to Teagan. I don’t care where he is. I will always find him.
Summer throws her swirling balls of shadow.
Pebbles, bodies, my family, me, and all sound and light are sucked towards a swirling vortex.
I fight against the incredible force, but with an enraged yell, I’m inhaled towards the dark centre, watching as the last of the mages scatter like rodents to save themselves, and Summer drops into her shadow with an air of confident finality—disappearing just as the vortex implodes and we’re shot outwards.
I collide with my car, my nose breaking as my head smashes into the hood. I crumple to my knees as blood leaks out of my face. Uncaring that my bones are healing and pain drags claws over every inch of my body, I jump up.
“Teagan’s in danger!” I shout, half-broken and so desperate it cleaves me in half. “This was a distraction!”
Terror makes it impossible to pick out a single thought as each one rushes through my mind. All I know is my soulmate is in danger, and I have to get to him. Like an idiot, I trusted what Emma told us, and it might’ve been laced with some truth, but there is more to this.
Vidar moves to my side, phone in hand. Yellow and purple bruises litter his face, but are slowly fading like ink being soaked up as he heals.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Luc yells. “We have to get to Golden!”
“Kai put something on our phones so we can track each other,” Vidar barks out, every shred of patience burned away.
I pace back and forth, my panic and dread rising.
“The police station,” Vidar announces. “They’re at the police station.”
We don’t waste time. Bran darts into the mansion and comes back with Elio on his back in the same time it takes Vidar to throw Ramy—who is slower than the rest of us—on his back.
Then, we run. We run so fast we’re nothing more than a blur.
My heart pounds against my ribs. All I can think of is Teagan, Teagan, Teagan.
If anything happens to him, it’ll be my fault. Isn’t his blood already on my hands? I should’ve done more to protect him from Summer the second I realised what he was to me.
Why did I wait so long to say ‘I love you’? Or to claim him? Or to touch him?
Teagan, Teagan, Teagan.
I reach for our bond, feel its strength, then push out all my feelings through it. I tell him I’m coming. I tell him I’m close. I tell him he’s the only person I’ll ever love. And if my heart is his, then his heart is mine.
We reach the police station to find it littered with rotting corpses dropped to the floor like puppets with their strings cut. Stinking smoke curls up from some of them, and there are scorch marks on the walls.
“What happened here?” Ramy gasps.
But neither Vidar, Luc, nor I pay any attention as we push through the station entrance to find more corpses on the ground, deafening silence and nothing else.
“They have to be here.” Frantically, I search the area. “Teagan! TEAGAN!”
There’s a whimper, more than one whimper, and I’m running towards the back to find a crowd locked behind a metal door. But none of them smells like sweet tea and warm sand. Like comfort.
“What happened here?” I demand, slamming my fist on the metal door to get their attention. “Answer me!”
“Nothing,” says a white, freckled man at the front, jumping back. “I…I don’t remember…”
“They’ve been compelled,” Bran drawls behind me, holding up a pale Elio.
“Fuck!” I scream, gripping hold of my hair and pulling.
I kick something. It’s more solid than the soft flesh of the undead.
Slowly, the air in my lungs freezing, I drop my gaze to another body. A fresh, familiar corpse with dark hair…