Chapter 23

With her limp body in my arms, I ran across the street to where two black Suburban trucks idled.

Caleb high-fived Ice as she straddled her bike. "Damn, lass, you couldn't have timed that better if you tried."

"Like I said, you owe me a drink." Winking, she slipped her helmet back on and peeled off into the night.

Caleb whistled, placing a palm over his heart. "I'll give her more than that if she wants."

Bal smacked him upside the head. "Shut the fuck up and get in the second truck. We need to get our asses off the streets."

Bal opened the back passenger door to the first Suburban and helped me settle the witch down. Once we had her fully across the bench seat, he joined Caleb in the other truck.

Before closing the door, I had the sudden urge to move a lock of her red hair away from her face. The instant I touched the soft skin of her cheek, a jolt of energy shot up my hand. I jerked back, eyes widening.

Fear—raw and visceral—ran through her blood. Not hatred, not disgust. This witch harbored no ill feelings for my kind. It didn't make a lick of sense.

While one of my brother's gifts was compulsion, one of mine was the ability to feel people's emotions as potently as they did with a simple touch. But given how starved I was, I shouldn't have been able to feel anything. I'd not felt anything back at the club, either.

Our gifts needed fuel, and that fuel came in the form of blood.

And still, I'd been able to take in all that emotion as if it had been mine.

But fear hadn't been the only thing hitchhiking a ride in her veins—a sense of recognition flowed as well, as if she'd known me longer than I had her. Hell, I didn't know her at all. I didn't even know her name, yet she knew mine. And that jabbed me right between the sternum.

Who the bloody saints was this witch?

I had to give it to the young woman, though, she was a quick thinker. Resourceful, too. Wasn't everyday someone escaped being captured by vampires.

She almost slipped through my fingers twice this night.

I thought back to the moment she jumped into that piece of shit elevator. A part of me thundered with rage when she managed to slam the metal door in my face. I could've ripped it right off its hinges with my bare hands if I truly wanted to, but the instant my eyes locked onto her amber gaze, I hesitated.

I fucking hesitated. Because when our eyes fixed on each other, a surge of memories ricocheted inside my skull as if a bullet had been shot through my head.

She didn't just have the same-colored eyes as Arabelle; she possessed that same untamed, wild challenge in their depths.

Back at the club, she'd unlocked the cage to my beast, baiting me to taste her blood. But those eyes had unlocked something else. something more.

She's a witch, I reminded myself, as if that was enough to quell my hunger. After Arabelle, I'd vowed never to thirst for the blood of another hellion, yet there I was, my tongue hankering for a drop of her blood. It didn't help that her arm was bleeding, and her sweater was practically soaked in her blood.

Shit.

I couldn't keep doing this to myself. My lack of sustenance was a liability to my team. There was no other explanation for the tremors vibrating through my body, for my inability to stay focused around this woman. If I didn't drink blood soon, I would fuck up our entire mission.

And there was no chance in hell I'd allow that. We needed to get to the bottom of what the Hive and my brother were planning. Of why they needed this girl. Because if the plan was to open the portal, there existed little choice of what to do with the witch next.

Something tightened inside my chest.

If it came down to cold-blooded murder, could I go through with it? For the sake of the world?

I looked over at her somnolent face and puffed a labored breath. I'd cross that bridge when the time came.

Sitting in the driver's seat, Lars said, "Sir, we need to get going."

Right. Snapping out of my stupor, I closed the door and climbed into the passenger seat as Lars pressed on the gas and took off. When we jumped on the freeway, I pulled out my cell and called Trek.

"Boss," he said as if he'd been expecting my call.

"Target is secure. How're we doing with that intel? I need to know who this girl is."

He hummed as he tapped on his keyboard. "Okay, here we go. She wasn't too hard to dig up. Name's Avery Jaxson. Twenty-one. Parents died when she was seven—car accident. Grew up in Arizona's foster care system before moving to New York City five years ago…"

"That's all?"

"She had a few run-ins with the law, but nothing serious. All juvi stuff. Record's clean otherwise. Had a couple of odd jobs here and there, most recently at a pet store."

"No connections to Luther or his club?"

"That's all I got, boss."

"Hmm." Peering over to the back seat, I took a moment to catch my breath, remembering the feel of her soft skin and the electric pulse that shot up my arm when I touched her. She was more than she seemed. You wouldn't know it by looking at her that this petite, fragile-looking human had killed a squad of vampires and taken down a chopper.

"Everything okay?" Trek asked.

I blinked, snapping myself out of my turbulent thoughts and focusing on the blur of traffic racing past us in the opposite direction. "Nothing's adding up, that's all. She's a total mystery. Make sure everything's ready when we arrive. I knocked her out, but she's going to need a sedative."

"On it. And the sylph?"

"We were too late. Hive took him."

"Look at it this way, at least with him out of the picture, the witch might not be as strong."

"Don't count on it. She managed to down that helicopter without much effort."

There was a moment's pause, then he added, "Hey, listen. I'm sorry about Gideon."

I swallowed hard. With all the commotion, I'd not been able to process the fact we'd lost one of our own. A stabbing pain throbbed in my chest and a lump formed in my throat. What ate at my stomach wasn't only his death, but the ire and disappointment I'd seen flashing in Balthazar's eyes. Clamping down on the influx of emotions fermenting in my gut, I kept things simple, businesslike. "He's going to need proper rites."

"No worries." The coolness of his voice indicated he understood my unspoken message—that I wasn't ready to talk about it. "Bravo team was able to recover his body," he went on. "Preparations are already underway."

"Thank you, Trek."

"Don't mention it. See you when you get here."

An hour later,I stood inside the headquarters' dingy bathroom and wiped steam off the flimsy bathroom mirror. I stared at my dull eyes, water dripping from my hair. Sunken cheekbones and blanched skin spoke the truth of the physical ill overtaking my body. I'd pushed myself too far by refusing to feed.

Now Gideon was dead. And it didn't matter if his death was a direct result of my actions or an inevitable consequence of the work we did.

Gideon no longer breathed, and his death hung off my shoulders like a cloak made of lead.

The scalding shower had washed away the blood and dirt, but the true aftermath of tonight's mission would stain my hands red forever.

I would've never guessed the night would culminate with one of my men dead and a downed helicopter in the middle of Brooklyn.

A knot rolled its way down to my gut, landing like a pile of bricks. Deep down I knew I'd made the right call, but after the ungracious appearance my unwieldy hunger made at the club, I knew doubt had been cast over my competency. Balthazar made sure to remind me of that the moment we arrived back at headquarters.

Barely saying a word to me and refusing to look me in the eyes, he took off to prepare for Gideon's funeral.

I knew he blamed me for Gideon's death—that much was obvious—and he had every right to pin it on me. I'd made the call to go in after the witch.

If I hadn't, Luther's men would've captured her. The fact the Vates Ordo was there also confirmed our fears about them working together.

It'd been a tragic call, but it had been the right one.

I took full ownership of that. But my son believed I didn't care who I lost, so long as I always completed the mission. He was wrong, brutally wrong.

I carried every single death in my heart, the names etched onto its beating flesh with the jagged blade of their memory. If there was a way to permanently etch them onto my skin, I would carve the names into my flesh with my own knife and wear each scar with honor. But our nature made it impossible to mar our bodies, even intentionally.

Taking a weighty breath, I silenced the tempest churning inside. I needed to be strong. Needed to show that despite our loss, we'd not come home empty-handed. Gideon's death had not been in vain.

I wrapped a towel around my waist, exited out into my room and dressed. The sun would be up in a couple of hours and to honor his death, Gideon's body would be offered to the light in a proper rite. In the meantime, other preparations needed to be made.

The sedative we'd given the witch when we arrived was short-term, and Ice had agreed to monitor her while I cleaned off all the blood and grime.

A muscle worked in my jaw as I pulled on a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I'd hoped to do my questioning stateside but after seeing what the witch was capable of on that rooftop, I couldn't take any chances. As much as I hated to admit it, Trek had been right again.

I needed the Sisterhood.

The witch was worse than dangerous. Never mind what she did to me and the other vampires on that roof. What she did with that helicopter?

That crash could have killed innocent people. Maybe it had, but we couldn't confirm any casualties. Things were already messy, and we didn't need to attract unwanted attention from the authorities by getting involved with their investigation.

After lacing up my boots, I marched across the warehouse to where we were keeping her. As I approached the makeshift cell, I noticed Ice injecting something into the witch's IV bag.

I couldn't deny a certain type of feeling cycloned through my heart at the sight of the witch lying motionless on that cot—the only movement the rising and falling of her chest. Less than two hours ago she'd been on that rooftop belting out a scream so loud she nearly popped my brain like a grape. Then she'd made us chase after her, but not before flashing me a cocky, almost charming smile punctuated by the flash of her middle finger.

Bratty witch.

I'd gifted her a knowing smile, acknowledging her well-played move. As much as I wanted to despise her and as much as every cell in my body fired off alarms inside my blood, there was something about her that didn't settle right.

There had been innocence in those eyes. As if she hadn't meant to cause any of that carnage. As if she'd only been trying to protect herself.

Witches were always self-aware, a coat of arrogance draping over them like a second skin.

But not her.

Looking her over now through the bars of the cell, I couldn't quite fathom how so much power lived inside such a small human. She appeared so harmless.

Chuckling to myself, I crossed my arms and shook my head. Only a moron would let her small frame and delicate features fool them. The witch packed enough power to take out my entire coven if she wished.

Noting my presence, Ice exited the cell, closing the metal door behind her. "Hey."

"How's she doing?"

"Cleaned up her wounds." She threw a bloodied rag into a trash can as she stripped off a pair of latex gloves and chucked those as well.

My jaw clamped down as my nostrils flared at the scent of the witch's blood. Knowing my instincts, I took a few steps back and swallowed hard, but the saliva that went down my throat tasted of ash and nails. Resisting human blood was bad enough, but a witch's blood?

The car ride back to headquarters had been a nightmare. The potent swaths of her scent nearly drove me mad.

Now, I was getting hit with it again.

Oh, this was going to be a long fucking night.

There was a reason the treaty between the vampires and witches made feeding off a witch an offense punishable by death— to both the giver and the taker. The magical properties in their blood were like catnip to a vampire.

More like heroin, if I was being honest. And for the giver, the experience was sex on steroids on top of fucking crack. But this girl wasn't just a witch—the magic living in her blood would taste of starlight and infinite sunrises.

And of soot and betrayal.

Relaxing the tension in my shoulders, I blinked, resuming some semblance of composure.

Clearing my throat, I asked, "Was she badly injured?"

"Nothing serious. Stitched up the gash on her shoulder and the cut on her foot." She eyed me for a second, perhaps reading the unruly hunger in my eyes, and added, "And changed the bloodied sweater. Just gave her more of the sedative. She'll be out for several more hours."

I peered over at the witch. Dusky red curls fanned around her face, and a natural flush pinked her cheeks, showcasing the light sprinkle of peachy-colored freckles beneath thick-lashed eyes. Sensual lips parted slightly with each breath she took, and I found myself battling to tear my gaze away from her.

She looked so peaceful. And so damned-saints beautiful.

Pressure built behind my ribs. Stunning to the point of stealing a vampire's breath? Yeah, the witch was as dangerous as they could get.

Tension knitted through my shoulders again, wrapping around my neck like a serpent as I thought about what I needed to do. "Ready her for transport."

Ice quirked an eyebrow. "Transport?"

It had been a last-minute decision; hell, most of the team hadn't been briefed yet. "We leave at sundown."

"Where are we going exactly?"

"Home."

Her forehead crinkled, an ashen cloud of disbelief shadowing her green eyes.

We weren't going back to Scotland because I missed the comforts of home. To interrogate the witch, I needed the damn Sisterhood. Despite my reservations at working with that impish lot, I had no other option but to bring the witch back to my homeland and trust they wouldn't betray me to the Hive.

But that wasn't why Ice looked aghast.

She crossed her arms, matching my stance. "You're going to pack her up and whisk her to another country without her consent? Simply hand her over to the Sisterhood? You know what they'll do to her."

I remained silent. Neutralizing a Spirit Marked's powers required unconventional methods only the Sisterhood could execute, and it wasn't even guaranteed. The process was painstakingly difficult and not entirely painless.

Shudders ran the length of my back as I recalled Arabelle's skull splitting screams the night she was captured and taken by her sisters. That night was forever seared into my brain.

"I saw the look in her eyes back in that alley, Kane," Ice went on, dragging me back from my past. "That wasn't the look of someone working with the Hive or with scum like Luther." She pointed at the girl. "She is not the witch you think she is."

Holding her gaze, I chose stale coldness over discussing the matter further. I'd seen it too. The girl didn't reek of malice, but I couldn't take any more chances, not after what happened with Gideon. "Just make sure she's sedated for the flight."

I turned to walk away but Ice grabbed my forearm. "You're really going through with this?" She paused, waiting for a reaction from me.

I said nothing, my gaze unwavering. The decision had already been made.

She sucked in a harsh breath, her shoulders bunching as she let go of my arm. "This is not what I signed up for. She's innocent; she deserves the right to know what is going to happen to her."

The subtle accusation riding the undercurrent of her words stung. I knew why she'd said it, but she was out of line."This is not the same thing, Ice. What happened to you was beyond my control."

"Was it?" she challenged, her gaze sharpening.

We'd had this conversation before—hundreds of years ago when she was first made. I knew the psychological wounds would never fully heal, but I hadn't realized they still festered. I wasn't certain what the heaviness in my chest was, but the fact she still resented me dug a hole deeper than I cared to admit. "Would you have chosen differently?" I asked, my voice even, reminding her I had given her a choice.

"You mean would I've chosen not to become this?" She fanned a hand over her body.

"You wanted revenge. I gave you the sword." Stepping closer, I leaned down and gritted, "But it was you who sharpened the blade."

She swallowed deep, knowing I spoke the truth. Her transition hadn't been easy, and the first years of her new life had been stained with vampire and human blood alike. By the time we'd brought her home, the trauma had left the type of permanent scars vampire healing could never erase.

"This," I said, "what's happening with the witch, is not the same thing and you know it. You didn't witness what we did up on that roof. The power running through her veins is beyond anything I've ever seen, not even Arabelle had that ability."

"But does that give you the right to kidnap an innocent girl?"

"She killed vampires," I snapped. "She might have killed humans too. Regardless of what her intentions may have been, the fact remains. Her power is deadly, and I am not taking any more unnecessary risks. The Hive is up to something, and my brother is embroiled in those plans. I have no choice but have the Sisterhood assist in the interrogation."

She parted her lips, but I silenced her with a snarl. I was done being undermined. "We leave at dusk. See to it that she's prepped for the flight. Are we clear?"

Narrowing her gaze, the jade in her eyes darkened to a hunter green. "Aye."