Chapter 13

We hadn't confirmed it, but I was almost certain the person who lived in that apartment was the Spirit Marked. After discovering the elemental spirit, my team hightailed it out of the apartment building. There was no predicting how powerful the spirit was, but centuries of experience taught us how territorial they were when protecting their charge.

And I wasn't about to take any chances.

They confiscated most of the drawings, the sketch of my castle lit up in flames the most concerning. Even the portrait of Arabelle was astounding—she'd been dead for five hundred years, and how they drew such an accurate rendition was beyond me. Then again, witches were known for their tricks. Or this one was already working with the Hive, in which case, we were in deep shit.

Bal and his team left the apartment, but not the surrounding area. Keeping a close eye on the building, they waited for any suspicious activity or anything that could hint at who the owner of the drawings was.

Countless people entered and exited the building, but they couldn't be sure if any of them had been the resident of that apartment. Not that we knew what the witch looked like, but they knew to look for anomalies.

But that wasn't our only problem.

It had been more than twenty-four hours since my brother's escape from Bringham. We'd been monitoring Luther's club as well for any signs he was back in the States, but our surveillance team hadn't secured any leads. Seemed Luther and my brother had gone deep underground.

The club was heavily guarded, and unless we were certain Luther and my brother were inside, we weren't going to take any risks—even with the new reinforced body armor Trek had secured. Especially after what happened at the castle.

The toxin they'd used on my coven had wiped out more than half my warriors, and Larick was left fighting for his life.

I leaned back on the leather chair I was sitting on and swiveled away from the computer monitor, weary eyed from the countless videos, photographs, and files I'd been scanning in search of breadcrumbs, of any whisper of where my brother might be.

Running an exasperated hand through my hair, I was about to stand up and go for a walk when Trek strolled into the communications room, his skin seeming to glow with the flush of human blood running through his veins, his rich mocha-colored eyes clear and sharp—another sign he'd recently fed.

I tried not to think about it, but with everything going on, my abstinence from human blood wasn't just slicing my insides like razor blades, it was crushing my mind. I didn't know how much longer I could go on without feeding.

Thankfully, my team knew the rules. No feeding on the premises, even from a blood bag. I didn't question their sources. They knew I had zero tolerance for preying on humans near me. Most had a supplier with ties to a blood bank or hospital, and those using a host made sure I didn't know about it.

"Nothing new?" he asked as he plopped into the chair next to mine.

The blank expression on my face told him everything he needed to know.

He tapped on his keyboard, waking up the monitor. "Azrael and Luther will turn up."

Pushing to my feet, I blew out a rankled breath. "I should join the team. All this inaction is making me crazy."

"You're no good to them in your current condition."

I shot him a poignant stare. "So everyone keeps telling me."

"Kane," he drawled. "Bal is more than capable of handling this mission. We just need to hang tight."

Pressing on my temples, I paced. "That's the fucking problem. Hanging tight is all I've been doing since we arrived in this city. I'm tired of waiting around for something to happen."

"And what do you want to do, walk up to Luther's lair and knock on his door? Ask if Az is home?"

Shrugging, I sat my ass back down. "Why not? Fucker wants a piece of me anyway. We should get it over with."

He leaned back in his chair as he swiveled toward me. "Then what? Finding your brother is merely one of the pieces to this never-ending moving puzzle. The Vates Ordo is likely seeking to open that portal and all they need is that Spirit-Marked to end this world. If you go facing off with Az right now, we'll lose focus on the real mission."

I hung my head, elbows resting on my knees. "We've been fighting this war for far too long. Sometimes I wonder if it's not easier to let it all go to hell. I've been battling my nature for centuries, forcing all of you to suppress yours, and for what?" Raising my gaze to his, I continued, "If our kind is exposed to the world, the humans will try to hunt us down like animals. They won't care about what we've done to protect them. Maybe we should embrace our kind and be the predators we were meant to be. Perhaps Az was right all along."

A shadow of worry eclipsed Trek's eyes. "You don't mean that."

The air grew stale as I contemplated my own words. How much longer could I go on with nothing to fight for but a principle born out of a weak heart? "What if I do?"

Before Trek could answer, my satellite phone rang. Grabbing it off the desk, I rushed to answer. "Tell me you've got something," I said over the receiver.

"Our girl is on the move." Bal's deep baritone vibrated through the phone.

My jaw tightened as I jumped to my feet. "You sure it's her?"

"Apartment lights came on a little while ago. Gideon had eyes on the windows. Caught glimpses of her and her guardian talking. Things got heated it seemed, and she left. We followed her for a couple of blocks until the sylph flew in out of nowhere. Then things turned really interesting."

I paced. "Go on."

"Something he said set her off, and she sprouted a tornado in the middle of the fucking street. Should've seen it. Cars lifting off the ground. Trees practically bending in half."

An electric coil wrapped around my gut, sending warning shocks through my body. This was worse than I thought.

"Judging from her interaction with her guardian," Bal continued, "it doesn't seem she meant to stir up the wind. I'm afraid we're dealing with a newbie."

An untrained witch was a liability, even more so if she was a Spirit Marked. The source of their power was fueled by their emotions. If she was unstable, that meant she was extremely dangerous. "Proceed with caution. Don't engage until I give the order."

"Caleb just radioed in. She exited off the train and is headed toward Requiem."

I vice-gripped the satellite phone. "Luther's club?"

"Seems we're in for a fun night. She's gotta be working with him. Or the witches. I mean, what are the chances the Spirit Marked is headed toward the most underground vampire club in the city?"

"Do not engage," I gritted, heat flooding my veins at the realization I'd lost control of the situation. My brother had escaped and the Spirit Marked was most likely already working with the Hive. But saints be damned if I would allow the rest of my team to walk straight into a deathtrap alone.

Bal grunted. "What if we lose her again? For all we know there could be a labyrinth of tunnels running underneath that club and that's how they've been getting around unseen."

"Keep your distance. I'm coming out to meet you. Wait for my orders."

I felt the hesitation in his breath, sensed his anger through the unspoken words. He didn't agree with my decision, didn't like me tromping on his turf. This was my team, but those were his men. "Bal, tell everyone to stand down. No one is to engage the target until I arrive."

The silence on the other end spun my muscles like a rope. Fed up with everyone questioning my stability, I spat my next words, "Balthazar, do not engage. Do you copy?"

More silence. "What if Azrael is there?" His clipped tone grated against my skin. He was my son and second-in-ccommand, but he never shied away from challenging my orders. It was something I both admired and loathed.

"It will be a fucking family reunion. Again, do you copy?"

After a long and resigned breath, he said, "Aye. Copy."

"I'll radio in when I'm close."

Pocketing the phone, I rushed toward our weapons cache.

"Family reunion?" Trek asked, following after me.

I shrugged, strapping a pistol to my thigh holster as he handed me some extra ammo. It wasn't the toxin-infused bullets Luther's men had, but if you shot a good regular round into one, you could incapacitate a vampire long enough to make an escape.

His eyes narrowed, gaze calling out my bullshit. "You don't have a plan, do you?"

I reached for an army blade and holstered it to my ankle. "I always have a plan."

"Not having a plan is not a plan."

I spun toward him, hands clamping into fists. "I buried him in an iron coffin for five hundred years. If I know my brother, he'll be full of rage and acidic insults. But he's not a blockhead. Azrael is calculated, like a cobra waiting for the right moment to strike. That moment is not tonight. Not when he's still going through his rebirthing process and likely not at full strength."

"So your non-plan is …?

"To capture the Spirit Marked with minimal collateral damage. Bring her in for questioning. Find out what the witches are planning, and why they need Luther and my brother."

He crossed his arms, jaw set as he eyed me. "And how do you plan to capture the Spirit Marked? We all know what happened when you helped capture Arabelle. She nearly burned down the entire castle. Took decades to repair the damage."

"Vampires are still faster than witches, and if she's as new to her powers as we believe, then as long as I can get near her fast enough, I can incapacitate her. Plus, five hundred years ago we didn't have this," I said, reaching for the tranq-gun stashed inside a metal case. Picking up two darts tipped with hypodermic needles, I examined them to make sure they were pre-filled with the sedative.

Trek raised a brow, head cocked to the side. "One of those can knock out a bull."

"Or a sylph. Taking him out will also dampen her power, especially if she hasn't learned how to tap into the All Spirit on her own."

"And then what?"

"I'll give her a sedative until I'm ready to interrogate her. Maybe Anya can help. She used to be in the Inner Circle, so I'm sure she remembers a way to bind the witch's power with the use of sigils or wards."

Trek leaned against the metal table holding our gear. "Anya's never dealt with a Spirit Marked. Wards and sigils might help temporarily, but Anya no longer has any magic of her own. If you want a better chance at neutralizing that witch's powers, you'll need a different kind of help."

I paused, taking in a slow breath. "Are you suggesting?—"

"It's time, Kane. The Sisterhood can help."

Placing the tranq-gun back in its case, I grunted as I snapped the lid closed with more force than I intended. "The Sisterhood left Anya for dead."

"Sabeena had to do what her hive demanded of her… what the doctrine demanded."

Stepping closer to him, I puffed my chest. He stood and met my gaze, his shoulders pulled back. This wasn't the time for this conversation. He knew how I felt about that treaty. "An agreement I was forced to sign, Trek. Those witches can't be trusted, simple as that. If the time comes when I need their help, I will measure my options."

Hooding his gaze, he took a couple of steps back, widening the berth between us and avoiding a confrontation that would derail us further. Putting his palms up, he said, "Alright. What about the sylph? What happens after you tranq him?"

I cocked a brow and patted his shoulder. "That's where you come in."

His forehead crinkled. "Is that right?"

Grabbing a key fob from the key rack, I motioned for him to follow me to one of our vehicles. "I need an iron cage. Preferably one small enough for a crow."

Sideling up beside me, he handed me some body armor as he kept up with my wide strides. "Good luck getting him inside," he said, voice pitched high with disbelief.

Pausing at the driver's door of a black Camaro, I said, "Thing about elementals is, when they are in their corporeal form, they must abide by the physical laws of the form they choose. Whether it takes a human or animal body, as long as it is in that form, it is susceptible to the same type of bodily harm of any living creature. Or in this case, a sedative."

"So, you're just going to wait for him to shift into a crow?"

Sliding into the driver's side, I placed the tranq-gun case on the passenger seat and made a quick sweep of the interior. Not what I normally drove, but I could appreciate its curves. If I hadn't been hunting for the architects of the apocalypse, I might've taken it for a spin.

"Kane?"

I pressed on the brake and hit the keyless ignition, rousing the car from sleep. Its loud yet smooth engine-purr traveling through my bones helped ease me into the plush leather seat. "Elementals can't stay in one physical form for too long or they begin to lose their sense of self, of who or what they are. Spend too much time as a human and they'll get swallowed up by emotion. Spend too much time as an animal and they will be governed by instinct rather than thought. Both pose a risk to their mission. It's how we were able to capture Arabelle's guardians, you recall, don't you? Too drunk to notice what was coming."

Trek's eyes glimmered with doubt, his neck muscles straining under his dark skin. "And if he doesn't shift?"

I smiled. "If he's anything like Arabelle's was, he will shift to get away, but by then, the sedative will have kicked in and he won't be able to fly."

"What about this iron birdcage you want me to get? Where the heck am I supposed to find one of those?"

Before shutting the door, I said, "You're my guy-in-the-chair. Do your chair-guy thing. Figure it out and call me when it's ready." I backed-up and peeled out of the garage as soon as Trek opened the gate, peering at his fading form in the rearview mirror.

He shook his head.

Witch or crow, I was not coming home empty handed.