In her hands was a gun, its barrel still searing hot against his forehead. Her eyes narrowed. “Do you know who I am?”
“I know who you are, Brigitte Haas. My little bunny.” He’d teased her endlessly about her name, always earning an indignant stop it! followed by her raucous laughter that filled the air with music.
Her lip curled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I loved you once, and?—”
Pain bloomed in his jaw as she struck him with the butt of the gun. “You took my parents. Left me to grow up alone. Now your witch is haunting my dreams. Why won’t you just leave me alone?”
“Everything Armina Voss told you was a lie. Do you remember anything?” he asked, catching a loose tooth with his tongue. Before, she’d always remembered when she saw him, just before the terrible, bloody end. Maybe it wasn’t time. Maybe he’d fucked it all up by trying to get her here.
Then came another gunshot, this one from far behind Brigitte. She ducked, covering her head, and Julian sat up abruptly to see Paris in the doorway. His eyes were brilliant red, sweat pouring from his face. “Julian,” he croaked. “Get off him.”
Scarlett whirled and raised her gun. Julian caught her arm from behind and forced the gun up as she pulled the trigger. Paris dodged past the door, and Scarlett scrambled after him to give chase. With another burst of wood smoke, she was gone.
“No!” Julian protested, sprinting after her. His leg buckled beneath him, but he forced himself onward, through the smoke-filled thoroughfare and up the stairs, into the searing light of day.
Her scent was still thick in the air, but the light was so bright that he could barely see. The world was suddenly too loud, too big, too much. He staggered back, and a firm hand fisted into his collar to yank him downstairs.
Paris tossed him bodily down the stairs, then slumped onto the floor next to him. “The hell is wrong with you?” he said.
Misha sat on the floor, awake, but looking dazed. Thin lines like cracks in glass covered his arms, streaked with blood and soot. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know what she did. I feel—” He shuddered and scrubbed at his arms as if something clung to him.
“It’s all right,” Paris said, sparing him an indulgent smile as he offered a hand. “We’re going home.”
Forty-five painful minutes and a sunrise drive later, Julian sat in an exam room with Rhys Collins swearing as he picked bullet fragments out of Julian’s thigh. “This is absurd,” Rhys complained. “Why in the world were you out in the field, sir? Isn’t that what your brainless lackeys are for?”
“I’m right here,” Paris said drily. “And he insisted.”
“All this bloodshed and nothing to show for it,” Rhys muttered.
Julian raised an eyebrow. “Watch it, Rhys. And not that it’s any of your business, but I got a tracker on her.”
Rhys looked unimpressed with his victory. “All the better to find her and let her shoot you again?”
“How’s the new clinic space? Have you visited Infinity since the renovations finished?” Julian asked.
“I’ll give that subject change a three out of ten,” Paris said drily.
Rhys smirked at the Frenchman, then said, “Looks lovely. I’ll be visiting tomorrow after sunset. Olivia’s asked me to inspect it and make a list of equipment I’d like.”
While they’d been able to recover much of the structure of Infinity—partially driven by a stubborn refusal to cede ground to the Shieldsmen—the Night Rose clinic was a loss. Rather than purchasing another expensive building in Midtown, they’d gutted part of the barracks in the basement and turned it into a small clinic for Rhys. Given that the Nightwatch would be headquartered at Infinity, it made sense to have him on-site.
“Anything you need,” Julian said. Soon, he hoped that Rhys Collins would be bored out of his mind because the court wasn’t getting ripped to shreds on a nightly basis, but until then, they would be prepared.
The other man gave him a wry smile. “While your attempts to distract me from your recklessness are quite transparent, I appreciate the generosity.”
Thirty minutes later, Rhys sent Julian back to his quarters with orders to eat and rest, as well as orders to Paris to make sure that he did. Julian lingered in the foyer of Building Two, their makeshift hospital. “I want to check my office,” he said.
“The tracker,” Paris said. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to babysit me,” Julian said.
“Clearly, I do. If you want me to fuck off, use your power. Otherwise I’m staying with you,” Paris said. Despite the self-assured bluster, Julian could sense his unease, even lingering anger at what he’d done earlier.
They didn’t bother with the large umbrellas stowed in every building, simply broke into a run and crossed the lawn to the central building that contained their offices. It was quiet inside, with the rest of their vampire family already gone to bed and none of their few human allies awake yet.
Or rather, it should have been. Instead, he heard a quick human heartbeat and a familiar scent. His brow furrowed as he hurried down the hall and into the big corner office where Olivia worked. She wore exercise clothes, her hair hanging loose around her face with no makeup on. Her head snapped up and she lurched to her feet. “You both look terrible,” she said.
