Fear and guilt vie for first place, but I continue to shove them down deep. The present is the only thing that counts. I head to the kitchen to heat up leftovers. He missed a great lunch. I made the lasagna hoping the smell would wake him, but of course, it didn’t.
One week. How long is too long? Maybe I should call Charlie and get the healer’s number and ask. I think about it and decide to give it a couple more days. Time, she said. I snort. All these years I’ve had nothing but time, but now the clock is ticking. Loudly.
After lunch, I grab a soft sponge and a bucket with soapy water. Bathing Hawthorne outside has been the easiest. It’s private, and I don’t have to worry about him falling or the water splashing onto the floor.
First, I wash his hair. Spearing my fingers through his thick mahogany locks, I take the time to shampoo every strand untilit’s shiny and clean, massaging his head and neck. Then, I move on to his body. Over the last few days, his body has responded, muscles lightly flexing, but that’s been the extent of it. My little beacon of hope. Running the sponge lightly across his chest, I can’t help but devour every sun-kissed inch.
When his breath catches, it takes me a moment to understand, but the second I do, I run the sponge across his chest again. Wait. Was that…? There. His breathing, steady as a rock, picks up its pace. I inhale sharply, filling with hope.
“Hawthorne, I need you to wake up,” I murmur, kissing him lightly on his lips. “Please, please, wake up. I need to see those beautiful green eyes of yours. Hear that smooth voice that sends shivers down my spine. I want to hear you say my name.”
His breathing steadies again.
With a sigh, I drop my head onto his chest. A knot forms in my throat. All I want to do is cry or scream, but I swallow it down and pat his arm. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I finish his bath and dry him off, then wheel him back into the living room. We usually watch a little TV in the afternoon. Lifting him into the bed, I pull the sheet up and leave him resting there.
I flip on the news and watch as the camera pans across an exploded minefield. With a gasp, I lean forward and scan the war zone. There are no bodies, but that doesn’t mean much. The council would have sent in a clean-up crew before the humans got there. I hold a hand to my mouth. Did they survive?
I grab my laptop from the office and navigate to the council’s website. A banner displays a message notifying users that a live press conference will be held tonight to update everyone on the developing situation.
Four hours. I set the timer on my new phone and walk over and slip into bed beside Hawthorne. Curling into him, I pray to the gods like I haven’t done since I was a child, begging andpleading for their grace. Hoping they’re alive. Hawthorne needs them…and so do I.
Hours later, I open the laptop and watch as Daegan, the head council leader, and Lord de Vere, Jamison’s father, stand behind the podium and inform the supernatural community of the loss of forty-seven members. Shouts ring out from the crowd. They haven’t lost this many in a long time. Numb, I continue to listen, but they refuse to release the list of names until all family members have been contacted.
If they’re… Tears slide silently down my cheeks. I can’t think about it.
The two councilmembers finish their announcement with the promise of another live press conference tomorrow.
35
MATHIAS
Charlie didn’t have the license plate for the SUV Phaedra was driving when it left the airport in Rome. Cameras follow the vehicle for a while, but winding roads and urban planning that evolved over thousands of years mean tracking is scattered. He tried to reach out to her for me but received no response. She must have realized the phones were hacked and ditched hers.
The laptop I gave Hawthorne has a beacon on it, but it’s either turned off or the battery is dead. Still, I keep the program locator running just in case. Why didn’t I add another tracker to their bags or a burner phone with our numbers?Damn it.I should have anticipated and planned accordingly. If I had, Phaedra and Hawthorne would be here. With us. Safe.
I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. No matter which way I turn, it’s roadblock after roadblock. Jamison stirs beside me but doesn’t wake up. Technically, he should be dead. At some point, I’m going to have to tell him I gave him a drop of my blood tokeep him alive. We never talked about it as an option, so I don’t know how he’ll react.
Gatlin is supposed to return this afternoon. The interrogation isn’t going well. All of the humans are willing to die for this cause, and not one has given us any leads to follow. Without evidence, we can’t reveal the council’s involvement, so the traitor remains in our midst, pulling our strings and accepting devastating losses.
A vampire stepped out of one of the portals to alert the human soldiers and call for their retreat. Her profile was to me, but I know I’ve never seen her before, and all my efforts to identify her have proven futile. She must be new to this world. We get a few every year. Most of the time, the gods are able to keep the portals closed, but on rare occasions, they open. Those who are willing to step through are searching for something—safety, a loved one, adventure—the reasons are numerous and varied. All newcomers used to register with Nolan, who would take their tithe and enter them into the official record. Nobody has picked up that task since he passed.
If the vampires are working with this human group, it would explain a lot. The weapons they use are not effective on us, only those with magic. Coincidentally, it all kicked off around the time of Nolan’s death, which makes me wonder if they took him out first. An attempt to take down the council and establish a new world order, perhaps?
But who is the other group working with? They were the ones who broke into the museum and Phaedra’s condo. Killed Letz. The footage at her condo suggested someone used mage magic to hide themselves from the cameras.
Vampires. Mages. Two of the strongest factions on the council. If one got an inkling the other was trying to take over, they would do everything in their power to thwart them. I frown. The only mage with enough power to fund and direct a group ofhumans is Jamison’s father. And if he’s the traitor, we’re in one hell of a predicament.
The door opens, and I glance up, expecting Gatlin, but instead it’s a young nurse. A shifter named Eloise, if I recall. She smiles at me, but when she does, her steps falter and her eyes widen. As if entranced, she moves closer and halts right in front of me.
Damn it.I slip my glasses back on and smoothly tell her, “Tend to Jamison.”
She shakes her head and gives me a puzzled look before moving to check on her patient. “Vitals are good. I’m reducing the pain medication. He should be more alert when he wakes. If he’s hungry, call us, and we’ll bring him a tray.”
“Thank you,” I reply, watching her closely as she leaves.
To my relief, the compulsion seems to have dissipated. It’s why I wear these glasses. There is a special lens in them to prevent susceptible individuals from falling under mine. While some vampires have the ability to compel, it takes concentrated effort. Unlike me. It’s completely effortless and begins the moment they meet my unfiltered gaze. I’ve yet to encounter anyone immune to my ability.
