by Alyssa Day
They quickly exited the car and raced up the stairs, and when she unlocked her door, she was relieved to see that her housekeeper—her one monthly splurge, since she worked such long hours—had been there. The place smelled like lemons instead of stale wine.
She reached over to flip on the light switch and tossed her keys in the bowl on the table by the door.
And then the world exploded.
…
Lights, flashing.
Darkness.
Pain.
Bane’s face, a cruel slash with red, red eyes.
Darkness.
Pain.
Annie, bending over her, tears welling in her beautiful eyes.
Darkness.
Pain.
The O.R.—except the perspective was all wrong. She was on the table, instead of standing over it, and Meara’s piano was crushing her chest. She couldn’t breathe, and they wouldn’t listen to her. Nobody wanted to dance; the music was dying.
Darkness.
Pain.
Annie, again, this time in a brightly lit room filled with flowers.
Trying to speak. Her voice broken and rusty. “Bane?”
Tears on Annie’s face. “Oh, honey, I know there’s pain. But you’re alive, and you’re going to stay that way. It was touch and go there for a while, but we got you back.”
“Bane,” she tried again but then slipped back into the darkness and the pain. So much pain.
A nurse, one of her favorites. Henry.
The pain, again—and then the coolness of relief.
She let the ocean of waiting dark pull her back down. Bane would come. He’d said forever.
He would come.
…
He didn’t come.
But, at dawn, her father did, and he took the darkness and the pain away.
Chapter Forty-Four
Bane lost his mind to berserker rage when the explosion harmed Ryan, and he never found his way back to reason.
When the bomb came through the window, he’d thrown himself between it and Ryan, but he’d been too late, too slow, too useless, too fucking arrogant in his belief that he could protect her. He’d expected magic, not technology. The walking dead, not human-made explosives.
By the time his body had healed itself enough that he could open his eyes, the humans with their fire trucks and ambulances had arrived, and he’d had barely enough strength to conceal his presence from them. He’d watched them take her, hooking her up to needles and tubes, knowing that he was too broken and weak right then to try to heal her himself.
Knowing that she’d never once even evinced interest in the Turn, as applied to herself, so he had no right to force it on her, even to save her life. And she was Nephilim, which meant the Turn wasn’t even an option.
That was the realization that had sent him into the darkest reaches of hell.
She could have died, and it would all have been his fault.
Entirely his fucking fault.
After the ambulance had screamed away with its precious cargo, he’d managed to call the Shadows and crawl into the Between. Managed to make it to his house, where the byways dumped him out in the middle of the ballroom, where everyone still gathered.
Bram Stoker let out a mighty woof when the blackened, smoke-smothered thing that was Bane’s broken body fell into the room. After that, Bane switched into and out of moments of lucidity while Meara and Edge and Luke all gave him blood, since theirs was so much more powerful than bagged blood.
While they talked over him about retaliation and revenge and plots.
When he finally looked up at them, finally had enough strength back to stand, he only said three words:
“They all die.”
That night, Death rode the highways of Savannah, borne on currents of air and on steel horses. Bane, Meara, Edge, and Luke tracked them all down—every single one of the blood-thralled humans and any of the werewolves still at large—any and all who were bound to the necromancers.
They killed them all.
They found the man who’d made the bomb and killed him, too.
The Chamber’s messenger, they found in a hotel on the river, cringing in a corner when they smashed through the door to get to him.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he babbled. “They called it off, once they learned what she was, but it was too late. The bomber was already on the job. But Constantin would never, they know what she is. Please. Please! They don’t want her harmed, they just…”
His frantic begging faded off when he realized that what he’d been about to say—that they only wanted to abduct her for her blood—was no better.
“Where are they?”
The man cringed, and hopeless tears started to roll down his face. “I don’t know. They don’t trust anybody with that kind of information.”
Bane left the messenger alive so he could deliver a new message.
“You tell Constantin, Sylvie, and the Chamber this,” he told the terrified messenger, whose mask of calm had vanished at the sight of Bane’s blood-covered face. “I will salt the entire eastern seaboard of this country with their ashes if they ever set foot here again.” He picked the man up by the throat. “Do. You. Understand?”
The coward cringed and babbled and huddled on the floor after Bane dropped him, and Meara looked down at his cowering and crying with utter contempt.
“I think he understands,” she told Bane.
“Not enough. Not yet,” he roared.
Meara stopped him before he could do more than break one of the man’s arms.
“He needs to die.”
“I know, but not yet. Not until after he delivers that message. He’s nothing, Bane. Let’s go.”
And then, having found and destroyed some of his prey, but with no way to track the necromancers, Bane returned to the roof of the building opposite the hospital and planned to stand guard over Ryan until dawn forced him into the dark.
…
Meara joined him later that night, climbing up to where he sat in his lonely vigil.
Locked out of Ryan’s life. Her heart.
Her sunlight and goodness.
By his own choice.
He’d watch over her every single second of every single night, and he’d hire professionals to watch over her all day. Mercenaries. Hardened men who would throw themselves in front of a bullet, for what Bane would pay them.
He’d already reached out to the local witches’ coven to ask that they ward her in every way they could possibly imagine. Her home. Her car. Her friend, Annie. Hell, he’d pay them enough to ward the entire fucking hospital.
“You can’t do this,” Meara said gently. “Torture yourself. Why don’t you just go to her?”
“Because I can’t keep her safe if she’s anywhere near me,” he managed to say, with a voice gone rusty with disuse. “I’ve known all along that I might have to kill her. Now I know that being with me might do the job for me. I can’t do that. Not to her.”
“Doesn’t she deserve to make that choice herself?”
“No.”
“They know what she is. They’ll come for her, whether she’s with you or not.”
“That’s why I’ll make sure none of them can ever get anywhere near her. If they step foot in Savannah again, they die.”
“Bane—”
“No.”
He closed his eyes against the concern on her face. When he opened them again, Meara was gone. He waited until the dawn began to strengthen, almost past the edge of when he could safely travel through the Between, and then he went home with plans to pace the floors, reading hourly check-ins from the security team, until dusk.
When he walked into the house, Hunter, pale but strong, stood staring at him with glowing red eyes. He should
n’t have been able to be awake past dawn, but nothing else about Hunter’s Turn had gone according to tradition, either, so Bane wasn’t surprised.
“You survived the Turn.” Bane wanted to feel glad, but only a dim sense of relief made it through his grief.
“Yeah. Harder than I imagined, though.” Hunter’s lips pulled back in a grimace, and his new fangs extended.
“I’m sorry for that. I had no idea it would be such an ordeal, or I wouldn’t have—”
“Don’t say that. I’m glad not to be dead.”
“Not dead is good,” Bane agreed grimly.
“They told me. About what’s happening. The doctor and the Chamber. Everything we have to face.” Hunter stumbled a step and put a hand out to steady himself.
“We don’t have to face anything. You should leave. Get far away from Savannah and everyone who knew you here. Running into people from your life before can be difficult. And you don’t need to be any part of this coming war, either.”
Hunter’s eyes flared an even hotter red. “You don’t know me at all if that’s what you believe.”
Bane whirled and smashed his fist through the wall. “I don’t know anything. Don’t you understand? I love her. I love her, and I put her in danger.”
“Seems like her own Nephilim nature is putting her in danger now,” Hunter said, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re just going to leave her out there on her own?”
“Not on her own. I have people protecting her night and day,” he snarled. “She’s better off away from me, though.”
“Is she?” Hunter shook his head. “You’re a damn fool to let her go.”
“You don’t understand,” Bane snarled. “She’s in danger just from being near me. The Chamber will never stop coming after my territory.”
“And what does that matter? You think your pride or your damn territory matter one fucking bit compared to losing someone you love? Ask me about Hope someday, and I’ll tell you what pride is worth.” Hunter’s face was stark with remembered pain. “It’s worth exactly nothing, my friend. Exactly nothing.”
Before Bane could respond, the hours-old vampire turned his back and walked away.
Chapter Forty-Five
Two days later…
When Meara finally answered her phone—and Ryan had only gotten the number by sending Annie to threaten Katrina the shop owner with a lawsuit—she didn’t open with hello or how are you. Instead, she only spoke six devastating words.
“He doesn’t want to see you.”
“Meara! Just tell me. Is he okay?”
“He’s…he’s alive.”
And then she hung up.
Ryan finished dressing, having finally talked the doctors into releasing her, although they couldn’t understand how she could have healed so quickly. It’s not like she could tell them that she’d been literally touched by an angel.
Her father. Ramiel.
One of the Fallen.
He’d only stayed for less than a minute, healed her, and said he’d be back. And every minute of every hour since then, she’d tried—and failed—to remember exactly what he looked like. There had been light.
Lots of glowing, golden light.
Warmth.
An overwhelming sense of tremendous power and tremendous peace.
And then she’d woken up the next morning, completely healed. It had taken some fast talking to keep anyone from checking her bandages or repeating any x-rays. In the end, only the fact that she was a doctor on staff and was threatening to check herself out AMA—Against Medical Advice—convinced them to let her go. Annie had gone home, finally, to get some sleep, so now was the time to escape.
She was going straight to Bane’s house, and he’d damn well see her and talk to her, whether he wanted to or not. She was furious.
Livid.
Who the hell did he think he was to make her decisions for her?
Because that’s exactly what this was. He was afraid, because she’d been hurt. He didn’t want her to get hurt again.
She got it. She felt the same way about him.
But Bane had said forever. And promise you won’t leave me.
And, unless she was totally crazy, he’d been about to tell her he loved her. Now, though, he thought he could get rid of her so easily, for her own good, no doubt.
“Oh no, you won’t, you arrogant ass,” she told her empty room.
She was Nephilim, not some ordinary human he could brush off. She’d kick his ass if he even thought about trying. Moving slowly, in case anybody saw her and wondered why she’d healed so miraculously—talk about your puns—she picked up her backpack and headed out.
She had a few stops to make on her way to convince a vampire that he needed her in his life.
Chapter Forty-Six
The doorbell rang at five minutes past sunset, and Mrs. C called out that she’d get it.
Bane, pacing the floor from kitchen to parlor and back, over and over, with brief breaks to check his phone for status reports, barely registered his housekeeper answering the door until she called his name.
“What do you mean, she left the hospital? Where the fuck is she? What am I paying you a damn fortune for if you can’t keep track of one wounded woman?” he shouted into the phone.
Mrs. C leaned around the open door and stared at him, wide-eyed. “Bane? I—it’s for you.”
“Send them away,” he snarled and kept pacing.
“Nooo, I think you need to see this.”
He started to snap at her, but Mary Jo didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his rage, so he walked over and yanked the door open.
A young man holding the strings to what looked like dozens of balloons stood on his porch.
“Are you Mr. Bane?”
Bane just looked at him, and the boy’s face paled.
“He is,” Mrs. C said, smiling broadly.
Traitor.
“I have to sing, dude,” the boy said, shrugging. Then, much to Bane’s horror and Mrs. C’s amusement, he burst into song.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
You’re wrong, wrong, wrong, but I’m coming for you
Happy birthday to you
Bane stared at him, willing him to stop. Wondering why his own skin was trying to leap off his body. When the kid finally quit making that hideous noise, Bane glared at him and said the first thing that came to mind.
“It’s not my birthday.”
And then the reason electric sparks were jumping off Bane’s nerve endings stepped out from the side of the porch, where she’d been hidden.
“Don’t scare my balloon guy,” she said, a little smile playing on her luscious lips.
Ryan.
He automatically started to reach for her but then came to his senses. First, because he needed to stay away from her. Second, because he didn’t want to burst into flames right there in front of the singing messenger.
Ryan smiled at him, her entire heart in her eyes, and then she handed the boy a fistful of cash. “Thanks.”
“Sure. Good luck.” The kid glanced at Bane and then leaned over to whisper to Ryan, handing her the balloons. “He’s hot.”
“I know,” she said, smiling.
“It’s not my birthday,” Bane repeated, like a fool, after the kid left.
She ducked under his arm when he belatedly tried to block her from coming inside. “But you are wrong, and I did come for you, so the song was mostly right.”
Mrs. C hugged Ryan, glanced at Bane, and then took the balloons. “I’ll just go…bake a pie or something. Make some soup.”
“I don’t want to see you, Doctor,” he said, his voice harsh, hating himself for the necessary falsehood. His mind shouted out a plea that was entirely the opposite:
Please c
ome back to me, before I die of loneliness.
Ryan poked him in the chest. “Liar. You love me. You said forever.”
“I was just trying to get in your pants, Nephilim,” he lied, his heart shattering. Vicious and cruel, both, should be enough to drive her away. It was for her own good. For her safety.
For her life. “Worked, didn’t it?”
She blushed but stood her ground. “I got in your pants, too, vampire. No. No. You don’t get to choose my life for me.”
She took a deep breath, and he had to physically step away to keep from touching her. To keep from falling to his knees and begging her to stay.
Instead, he said nothing at all.
“I don’t know how it happened so fast, but I’m in love with you, Bane,” she said, each word a knife in his heart. “But I want to be your equal, not the poor woman you have to protect. I’m not going anywhere until you admit you love me, too. And we already know you can’t use compulsion on me. You’ll have to bodily throw me out of the house to get rid of me, and even then, I’ll keep coming back and coming back and coming back. You love me. You all but admitted it. What are you going to do about it?”
He slowly blew out the breath he’d been holding during the speech that had shredded his soul. He knew her tenacity, knew she meant what she said. So he changed his tactics and went for honesty.
“Yes. I love you. But how I feel doesn’t matter. These are warlocks. Worse—necromancers. And they don’t hesitate to hire humans with guns and bombs. The Chamber wants my territory, and now that they know about you, they want you. They want your blood. You need to move. I’ve just been waiting for you to heal, so I could send people to help you pack up and leave town. Far away from me and far away from Savannah. Do you hear me?” He was shouting by the end of his damn speech, shaking her by the shoulders, but he didn’t see an ounce of fear on her beautiful face.
No, what he saw was defiance.
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she shouted right back. “And I don’t care about the damn warlocks.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Before Bane could even think up a response, the door blew off its hinges so hard it smashed against the wall.