Chapter 26

Red engulfs my normally pitch-black vision, the color so deep and vibrant, I’m barely aware of anything else.

All I can hear is Bronson’s pained whimper, followed by the roar of our unknown assailant.

No. Not Bron. Not him. Please, not him. I can’t live without him.

That thought plays on repeat in my head as I stagger to my feet, my stomach roiling and my hands shaking slightly as a heady combination of fear and white-hot, toe-curling anger rumbles through me.

“Bronson?” My voice is a breathy whisper, but when I receive no response, not even a rumbly growl from my overprotective wolf shifter, I…explode. There’s no other word I can think of to use for it. Tendrils of darkness creep at the edges of my vision, coiling around the garnet color like slithering snakes, hissing and biting. I can feel something happening to me, but I don’t stop the change. I physically can’t.

All I know for certain is that Bronson is injured and that someone is trying to kill him.

And that makes my inner beast furious.

Murderous.

Deadly.

I slip easily into the intruder’s head to see that he’s staring down at Bronson. And my poor, sweet, protective wolf shifter…

There’s a gaping wound in his chest where the bullet hit him. His blond, tousled hair is matted with sweat, and his gorgeous eyes are currently closed, his lashes like shadows against his cheeks. The only relief I feel is the knowledge that he’s still alive, that his chest continues to rise and fall steadily, even though blood pours from his wound at a rapid pace.

And then the assailant’s eyes flicker to me, and he actually staggers back a step.

Dark horns poke through my mane of obsidian-colored hair, curling at the ends like a ram. My eyes are red. And not a pinkish-red either, but the color of blood. Something cold and deadly and macabre. Luminescent white wings erupt from my back, fluttering in a breeze I don’t feel. Each feather seems to shine with its own inner light, appearing almost pinkish and pearlescent in the sparse lighting.

For the first time ever, I give in to my wrath. My anger. My pain.

No one hurts my men.

No one.

The assassin—I have no idea if it’s a man or a woman—takes another step backwards as I descend on them like an avenging angel. No, maybe angel is the wrong word, despite the nickname Damien gave me. There’s nothing angelic about the scowl on my face and the fire burning hotly in my eyes. I’m death and vengeance, all wrapped up into one. But no amount of pretty packaging and immaculately placed bows can hide the truth from both of us—I’m dangerous. And maybe, just maybe, I’m evil too.

I don’t allow myself to fixate too long on that epiphany as I continue to stalk forward, my wings rising behind me until it blocks out all light.

“Please,” the voice—masculine—begs, his vision distorting with his full-body shakes. I want to laugh haughtily, though a distant part of me recognizes that it’s not truly me who wants to do that. It’s my power, exacerbated by my rage and incandescent fury. By my need for vengeance against this man who hurt someone I love.

“There will be no mercy.” I don’t recognize my voice. Surely I don’t sound like that. Right? Goosebumps ripple even across my skin.

But I don’t give myself a second to ponder that as my arm shoots out, capturing the man by the throat. My face fills his entire vision, and I can’t help but note, with a mixture of both morbid fascination and growing horror, that cracks of lava have opened up on my skin, leading to my hand still wrapped around his throat. It’s what happens to the twins when they “demon-out,” as Abel likes to joke.

It has never happened to me before.

“You will pay!” I scream in his face, the red of my eyes devouring the irises and pupils completely before expanding outwards. I want to be scared of myself, horrified even, but a dark, sadistic smirk tilts up my lips instead. It’s weird on my face. Unnatural, as if that smile belongs to someone else entirely.

As he begins to sob, I shove my fist through his chest, just as I did with Alyssa, and grab his heart in my hand, relishing the amount of power I hold. One squeeze…

That’s all it would take.

One. Squeeze.

“You shouldn’t have touched my mate,” I whisper, and then I pull his heart from his chest cavity and crush it in my hand.

I must’ve passed out.

I don’t remember it happening, but when consciousness returns to me, I know innately that I’m being watched. Again. The darkness is not the one I have grown accustomed to.

This one hides beasts and monsters, shadows and silhouettes.

“Nick?” I spin slowly, attempting to orient myself to my new surroundings as my mind struggles to remember what just occurred. I was with Bronson in the kitchen, baking. And then…

And then the assassin.

What did I do?

I place a hand to my forehead as my brain screams at me, taunts me. I know in the deepest recesses of my soul that something horrible happened. I did something horrible, something that even now, with no memory of it, turns my stomach.

Is Bronson hurt?

Oh, God. Please no.

Why can’t I remember?

Panic thrums through me, electrifying my already frayed nerves, and the pounding in my head intensifies.

“Nick!” This time, my voice is more of a scream than a plea. I will quite literally kill him if he had a hand in what happened.

The morbid direction of my thoughts momentarily startles me, but not enough for me to regret them.

I will do anything to keep my mates safe, even if that means killing other people.

When did my life come to this?

Nick’s honeyed voice answers me immediately, “You are safe.”

“Where am I? What happened?” I fire off the questions in rapid succession, turning in the general direction I thought I heard his voice. It’s so hard to know for sure—it seems to bounce off of every wall. Off the floor I don’t feel under my feet. Off the ceiling I can’t see or touch.

Everywhere.

And…

Nowhere.

“You are safe,” Nick repeats, and I feel something touch my cheek, soft and warm. When I spin towards him, my heart in my throat, the pressure disappears as quickly as it arrived, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. “You used your powers. You are strong, little one. Stronger than I initially suspected.” His voice turns contemplative, and I imagine he’s eyeing me like I’m some sort of exotic specimen beneath a magnifying glass. Something for him to watch and observe. Study. Poke and prod at.

When I take a step away, he releases a heavy sigh. “I am not going to hurt you.”

“Am I in your…home?” I question, testing the word out softly. Home. Where is his home again?

Everywhere and nowhere.

That doesn’t make any sense, but then again, none of this does. I half wonder if this is nothing more than a demented dream that I’m having, a way to compartmentalize everything I’ve been through. Maybe I hit my head? Again?

Why do I remember every interaction perfectly when I’m asleep but never when I wake up? What does he do to me?

“You are in my home,” he confesses, and then his voice turns despondent. “But I have a feeling you will not be for long.”

“What does that mean?” I ask, agitated and confused. “How do I keep…coming here? Why do I keep coming here?”

And why am I struggling to articulate the questions I so desperately need to ask?

“I bring you here,” he admits from directly behind me. Hot breath ruffles the hairs around my ear, and I shiver involuntarily, trying to squash my immediate and instinctive reaction. “You have always been here. Sometimes, I get…lonely. But then I hear you and see you, and I am no longer alone. When you arrived, I sensed you immediately, and you woke me from my slumber. I have been too weak to visit you until recently. I am sorry I have not been able to protect you the way I should have.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” I can feel my nose begin to scrunch together. It sounds as if…as if Nick’s been watching me for a long time. As if he’s been waiting for an opportunity to meet me himself. But who is he? Have I seen him before? I nearly snort at my unintentional pun, but it’s the truth. I feel like I would’ve noticed a stalker. Or at the very least, my men would’ve. And what does he mean about waking up when I arrived? Does he mean when I arrived in the prison?

Thousands of questions settle uncomfortably on my tongue, tasting of poison, but I can’t figure out how to ask any of them. I need to tell Kai about this encounter. That is, if I remember it when I wake up.

“Everything will make sense in time,” Nick cajoles, answering the question I forgot I asked. Another sigh escapes him, this one heavy with emotions I can’t even begin to untangle. “But for now, you need to wake up, little one. Your other mate is worried.”

“Wake up.”

“Wake up.”

“WAKE UP!”