by Rhea Watson
I hesitated, debating whether or not to just snap his arm at the elbow and take the lower half with me, when a spotlight exploded across us, blinding white light flooding this unassuming back corner. Shouts erupted around the grounds, black figures swarming from all directions. Right. Decision made. I leapt up the eight-foot wall, kicked through the barbed wire frosting, then shoved the tattooed portion of the warlock’s arm into the shimmer of the ward.
The protective bubble parted, splitting as soon as it touched the tattoo and offering a sliver to squish through to freedom. Still barely clinging to my back, Alecto yelped when the ward singed her sweater, accidentally brushing against it as I hurried through the opening. When a storm of spells and hexes rained down on us, I abandoned what would have been a very valuable prisoner and blitzed into the highlands.
Headed for Jack Clemonte—and sanctuary—without delay.
22
Jack
When a frantic knocking at my hovel’s door roused me at precisely 2:27 in the morning, I assumed it was Donovan’s lackey here with news that things had taken a turn. After all, what else warranted a wake-up call at such a bloody ungodsly hour in the morning, after I’d clocked maybe, oh, forty minutes of shut-eye. Sleep-addled and clumsy, I stumbled off the pullout and staggered around the pitch-black flat, cracking my knee on the corner of the coffee table as I scavenged blindly for clothes.
“Give me a blasted second,” I bellowed when the knocking turned to pounding. Honestly, if he didn’t calm down, I would throttle the little twat right there on the landing and deal with his corpse later.
The head of the Clemonte legal brigade was an intense type A warlock named Donovan McCavish, Irish-born and sharp as a whip. He navigated our social circles like a hammerhead, and finally, finally, he had enough evidence on my behalf to rip Iris Prewett and the high council apart.
Nothing but scraps, he’d promised over the phone. Just bits of chum for the other lesser sharks to fight over by the time he was through with them.
We intended to march on high council headquarters in three days, and Donovan had dispatched his rat-faced clerk from London—Gerald, was it?—to prep me for the stand. That baby warlock was barely out of post-grad diapers, still young enough to date some of my oldest students without scandal, but he had grand ambitions of emulating Donovan’s success.
And if he didn’t stop knocking at my bloody door, he wouldn’t live long enough to try.
Sweats on, I yanked a T-shirt over my head, belatedly realizing it was inside-out and backward as I ripped the door open with a snarl.
“What—” My scrambled mind shorted out. Oh. Not Gerald at all.
Not in the slightest.
Bjorn—and Alecto.
My girl. My little one in his arms, head slumped, limp and pale, tiny compared to the vampire cradling her.
And was that… blood? Black smeared her forearms, her knuckles, and when she finally lifted her head—with great difficulty—she…
She…
Rage dragged me under like a riptide.
What the fuck had happened to her face?
Who…?
Why?
“What in the seven hells is going on?” I demanded, stealing Alecto from his arms. Blood and dirt caked both of them, the only thing clean about Bjorn his misbuttoned dress shirt that was about a size and a half too small.
“Long story,” the vampire admitted as he scrubbed at his cheeks, eyes on Alecto as I bundled her to me. Gods, she was so cold—too cold. Too pale. This little one had been a fighter from the start, strong and determined. Sure, she had come to me on some of her darkest days, but she had never felt like this. Her aura barely made a blip in the ether, like her internal battery had plunged into the negative, and her body was just so… light, so loose and drawn.
Jaw clenched, wrath bleeding across my vision and tinting the whole world red, I looked to Bjorn—glared, like this was his fault. He merely stared back, eyes unusually heavy, and shrugged.
“Care to harbor two academy fugitives for the indeterminant future?”
“Get in,” I ordered gruffly, stepping aside to let him pass, then dragging the door shut behind me. Fugitives? How could my little one be on the wrong side of anything after what some animal had done to her face? I wheeled around and found the vampire standing in the middle of the flat, arms at his side, ice-blue gaze still locked on Alecto like he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Was that when this happened: when he looked away? I needed answers, and I needed them bloody yesterday. “Bjorn, tell me everything. Now.”
And he did. In fact, once he started, the vampire couldn’t seem to stop spilling horrors I already had some vague knowledge of through Seamus—then new terrors that made my blood boil. Public whippings and an army of the possessed?
Root Rot had gone straight to hell in my absence, quite literally.
Which was just… great.
Like I needed to feel guiltier for being manipulated out of my dream job. I had anticipated the old punishments would return, but this? This was another beast entirely.
Since boyhood, multitasking on little sleep came easy, and I tended to Alecto throughout Bjorn’s tale of woe. My body might have stiffened with rage, resolute as a mountain and determined never to crumble before my enemies again, but I couldn’t just stand around—I had to move. Had to keep my hands busy so I didn’t punch them through the flimsy walls.
With an ear to Bjorn, I tenderly set my little one on the end of the sofa bed. Reluctant as I was to let her go, I did, her care requiring supplies—but first, a clean set of clothes. Squatting next to a traveling trunk I had yet to unpack, I rooted around my London wardrobe for the softest, coziest pieces available, ever mindful of Alecto out of the corner of my eye.
To her credit, she didn’t immediately collapse without a man propping her up. She leaned back on her hands, curls matted, her complexion nearly as white as Bjorn’s and a little sweaty. Sickly. She looked like she had been through Hell, and for as long as I lived, I would never forgive myself for not being there—for letting those I loved go through this alone.
And, frankly, that included my students. I loved them in a different way, but as I listened to Bjorn and tried to digest the events of the last twenty-four hours, I hated myself for leaving those children to fend for themselves. Already their covens and packs had turned their backs, and now, the captain of their ship, the head of this new family, had abandoned them to demons—and Iris.
After digging out a silky jumper and a pair of cotton sleep trousers that would be much too big, I returned to Alecto’s side and started undressing her. And she let me. No fight. No fuss. She raised both arms when prompted by my quirked brow, and I carefully peeled that damp men’s Root Rot sweater from her shivering body.
Then the white blouse below, blackened with what I now knew to be demon blood.
Below that—bruises.
Too many to count. Black, blue, purple, green: a rainbow of misery decorated her torso. Not only did she require a hot meal and a long shower, but she needed a healer this instant. Scowling, I inspected each bruise quickly, not wanting to leave her sitting there trembling for long, but I had to make certain they weren’t too dark. Surely Bjorn could tell if she had internal bleeding, right? Attuned to her heartbeat, the vampire would know if she had sustained a critical blow at any point.
Then her face—slashed to ribbons by Iris of all people, a witch so scrawny and thin I’d always thought a strong gust of wind would one day break bone. To learn that Bjorn had done so instead, shattering her rib cage in retaliation for the savagery inflicted on Alecto… Well, it made my heart rather happy.
But that was a lone glint of light in a sea of bleak, black darkness.
Alecto unclasped her bra with a wince, straps slipping over her rounded shoulders before she tugged it off, and while both Bjorn and my gazes fell to her bare breasts, there wasn’t a whiff of lust in the air—just concern. Fear. Apprehension and unhinged rage as we both took in the entirety
of her body’s damage, the bruises painting such a horrid picture.
“And, you know,” the vampire muttered, trailing off at the sight of the witch he so obviously loved beaten and bruised, “now we’re here. Fucked.”
“Seamus has kept me apprised of the comings and goings at the academy,” I told him while I stretched out the jumper’s neck so that it didn’t touch a single curl as I slipped it over her head. “But I haven’t heard from him in a few days… I thought maybe—”
“You assumed the worst?”
I gritted my teeth as I gently fed Alecto’s arms through the sleeves. Two days ago, I had jogged out to campus, but with the ward intact, only emptiness greeted me. No one opened the barrier. No security guard poked his head out for a sneer. Nothing. It was just… gone.
Little did I realize at the time that my Alecto was confined to a prison cell, horribly scarred and awaiting a verdict that would be just as biased as mine.
“Yes,” I said roughly, crouching by my little one’s side, “I assumed the worst.”
I needed to get her trousers off and put her into something more comfortable, but from her pained expression, just the jumper was enough for now.
“Well, the worst is here,” Bjorn remarked. At this point, the vampire had plodded over to the kitchen counter and hauled himself up, long legs dangling, feet nearly at the floor.
“They t-took Gavriel.” My gaze snapped to Alecto at her dry rasp, the effort to speak more than apparent. But, with a deep breath, she sat straighter and leaned forward, as if determined to insert herself into this conversation. Typical darling bratty behavior, and I loved her for it—for all of it. “He didn’t do it. He didn’t cause this.”
“I don’t even understand why they would look at him,” Bjorn added, his deeply furrowed brow suggesting he was just as lost as the rest of us. Sure, Gavriel could be a bugger on the best of days. Even when he was trying to do something good and selfless, like forcing me to set my pride aside and admit Alecto was too valuable a woman to lose, too perfect a submissive to discard, and too ideal a mate to just forget—he proved more than capable of acting like a complete and utter prick.
But Gavriel had never struck me as a big bang fellow. Insidious puppet master? Sure. That seemed more the fae’s speed. Exposing himself, taking such a ridiculous risk knowing his girl could get hurt in the process? Not his style.
Guilt suddenly warped Alecto’s expression, and she ducked her chin quick, as if hoping we hadn’t noticed. From Bjorn’s faraway look, centuries of life and wisdom clouding his gaze, he hadn’t caught it.
But I had.
Maybe Gavriel was more out-there than I thought.
Because my little one was hiding something about him—it was written all over her face.
Head cocked, I caught her chin on the tip of my knuckle. “What do you know, little one?”
She resisted at first but eventually surrendered, lifting her head back up with a sigh.
“It’s a sworn secret, so I can’t go into details.” Her gaze tangled with mine briefly before dropping to her lap. “But he has connections to Darkwell Academy. Nothing, er, dark, and he isn’t influenced by anyone or being blackmailed. He’s definitely being framed for this.”
Once again, Alecto Clarke had kept secrets—secrets that might have damned us. First Bjorn. Then Alice. Now Gavriel.
And she knew it.
The welling tears, the deepening blush, the fidgeting fingers—she sensed history was about to repeat itself, same as me.
“So, Gavriel’s been framed,” I rumbled, mind whipping through recent events, “and you two were imprisoned.” Three tight-knit connections I’d forged at Root Rot Academy, one by proxy, all punished. “Funny how that happened.”
Alecto swapped glances with Bjorn, something private flowing between them, and I eased back on my haunches, not exactly thrilled to be out of the loop but accepting that they had a connection I couldn’t—and, honestly, didn’t want to—touch.
“We have to find him,” Alecto said, her statement more a plea, as if begging Bjorn and me to take her side. Of course we would. I wasn’t Gavriel’s biggest fan, but he didn’t deserve whatever was headed his way for a crime he didn’t commit.
Hopefully.
If Alecto trusted him, I did, too…
Well. Ninety percent, anyway.
“We will.” I perched beside her on the sofa bed, engulfing her whole thigh in my hand and squeezing gently. “Tomorrow.”
Bjorn hoisted an objecting finger. “Technically, today is tomorrow—”
“No, not tomorrow,” Alecto snapped, prying my hand from her thigh and shooting to her feet. “Now.”
But then she swayed, knees knocking, balance shot to shit, and I steered her back down by her hips, perfectly capable of dealing with a tired brat throwing a tantrum.
“You’re no good to anyone right now,” I reasoned, my tone assertive but gentle—not quite an order from her Dom, but verging on it. “Neither of you.”
Bjorn scoffed. “I beg to differ.”
“I’m fine,” Alecto argued, trying once more to stand until I snaked an arm around her waist and trapped her in place. She huffed, struggling against pure muscle and Clemonte grit.
“You both are material witnesses to crimes that have taken place at the academy,” I said, stating what felt like the obvious. “You can vouch for Gavriel’s character and speak to the horrors of the demon invasion firsthand. You are valuable to the prosecution and detrimental to the defense.”
Hearing Iris had squirreled away in my office’s panic room—a hole I’d used as a wine cellar for the last three years—didn’t surprise me one bit. Bjorn, Alecto, and Gavriel, meanwhile, had countless witnesses, staff and students alike, who could attest to their heroics during the attack. And they were connected to me. Hardly a surprise that those in charge of my school wanted to chuck them back in a cell and throw away the key for good.
These two were chinks in the armor.
Meanwhile, Gavriel had become a scapegoat for the real villain of this story.
“Okay, fair point.” Alecto smoothed her hands up her cheeks, warping the angry pink lines, grimacing through the pain even I felt. “But this is the ideal time to make a move. No one would expect it, right? I-I can do it. I’m okay. Just give me a second and I’ll be fine to go—”
“You’re not fine,” I growled, temper piqued—but not necessarily at her, not entirely. “I won’t let you go back out there tonight.”
Her brows shot up as she finally twisted out of my grasp, and Alecto shuffled down the bed like I’d slapped her—and not in the fun, kinky way. “Let me? Who do you think you—”
“I am?” I finished for her, squaring up, rising to my full height and glowering down at her with the wrath of a frustrated headmaster, a masterful Dom… and a man devastated at the sight of his girl, his heart, beaten in his absence. “I’m yours, Alecto.” Her eyes rounded, all the previous insult falling away, replaced by an expression unreadable enough that it made my mouth dry and my throat tight. But never mind. No stopping it now. “And you’re mine. And I’m not risking you again. I won’t. Do you think he will either?”
I jerked a nod in Bjorn’s direction, and in the pause, I found the vampire with a clenched jaw and a downcast gaze. No. He wouldn’t. The recent past promised Bjorn was ready to burn the world for her, but he wouldn’t toss her to the wolves just because she demanded it. None of us would.
Alecto’s eyes watered the longer she watched him, and when they finally drifted back to mine, reason and rationality entered the scene like the sun just poking above the horizon, acquiescence imminent.
Hopefully.
Because I didn’t want to restrain her, tie her to this bloody terrible sofa bed and force her to stay put.
Not tonight, anyway. Not outside of a scene.
But, damn it, I would if she insisted on carrying on like this.
“Listen,” I urged, my hand on her knee, “I know Gavriel is yours, too. An
d you’re his. And of course we’ll find him, but be reasonable.”
Alecto scrutinized me for a long moment, from my earnest expression down to my hand, which she soon covered with both of hers. Despite her pallor, the sheen of dizzy sweats streaked across her brow, her wounds bright as neon, she gripped hard. Squeezed my hand like she was afraid she might lose me.
“Jack…”
Like I’d take it all back.
No. Not again. I had almost lost her once before because of hubris and martyrdom, and then all this happened.
“I can’t stand what they’ve done to you,” I told her in a broken whisper. I had always been a confident speaker, accustomed to delivering speeches and leading meetings. My voice never cracked, never wavered, never faltered. For her, it did that all and more, my heart beating out in the open tonight, exposed and vulnerable. With a sharp breath, I brushed the backs of my knuckles across her cheek, fighting the undercurrent of rage. At the start of all this nonsense, anger made itself at home in my soul, sharp and bitter like an aged whiskey—but it had never felt like this, so raw and unchecked, explosive, maybe even a little violent. “I’ll never forgive myself.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Bjorn interjected gruffly.
“I wasn’t there.” And that was fault enough.
“We were.” A familiar anger warmed in Bjorn’s cheeks, the dull pink so vibrant on his porcelain flesh it would have been a furious scarlet on anyone else. No doubt he regretted what had happened—felt the same guilt, the same wrath, the same thirst for revenge. Yet, somehow, he was doing a far better job of keeping it all under the surface. Expression like granite, a mask I recognized as one from my personal collection, the vampire tipped his head to the side and cracked his neck noisily. “We were there, and it happened anyway.”
“Stop talking about this”—Alecto pointed at her face—“like I’m not in the room. I don’t need my men to protect me—”