Chapter 13

Even in his wildest dreams, he never imagined that he might have more than a few hours with the love of his life, that she would do something as normal as sit at a slightly dusty dining table and devour a massive sandwich while apologizing for being so hungry. Her holster was still strapped across her shoulders, a gun within easy reach, but she was relaxed considering the circumstances at least.

He knew he had to be acting strange; he gazed at her in wonder, like watching a solar eclipse. She was so real and alive and normal.

Safira and Paris sat in the living room speaking quietly after he'd scolded them for staring at her like a zoo exhibit. Then they'd turned their attention to him. Shea had certainly cracked a few ribs, but that witch's dark magic had been worse. He'd be fine after sleeping and filling his belly. After determining that he was relatively healthy, they'd both ranted at him for endangering himself for a solid two minutes.

He didn't care. He'd touched her, and she was still alive. Her presence was a gentle breeze that stoked that spark of hope in his spirit. He barely recognized the feeling that rushed through his veins. Was this…excitement? Was it happiness?

While Scarlett was eating, a car rumbled up the driveway. Her eyes cut toward the door, and she started to rise. Paris put up a hand. "It's Misha," he said, tossing her a faint smile. "My partner, who you also tried to kill."

"Sorry," she said.

He shrugged, then headed to the door. A smile curled across his face as he kissed Misha, quick and chaste, then tipped his head in a subtle gesture.

Scarlett's eyes went wide as she took him in, and Misha instantly backed away. "I'm not trying to hurt you," she protested. Cold swirled in her chest, raising prickling goosebumps down her arms.

His eyes were fiery red, and he put up his hands. "Good God," he muttered. "What has she done to you?"

He heard the rapid thrum of her pulse as she met Misha's gaze. "I don't know," she said quietly.

"What is it?" Paris asked.

"You remember how I told you that your curse smelled like a rotting corpse?" Misha said.

"I don't believe you used such specific terms. I'm retroactively offended," Paris said.

The blood witch smiled. "I was trying to spare your feelings."

Scarlett surreptitiously sniffed at her shirt. "I can't smell anything."

"It's magic. Not your body," Misha said.

"You smell like a normal dhampir who could use a shower, but hasn't reached the point of being offensive yet," Paris said helpfully.

Despite the light insult, she smiled. "What can you see?"

"Curses are outside my expertise. But it's very powerful and very complex," Misha said. His lashes fluttered, and then those brilliant red eyes seemed to cloud over. His jaw dropped, and he squeezed his eyes shut like he'd been flash-banged. "It's like a black hole."He took a reluctant step closer. "May I?"

Paris caught his arm. "Don't touch her. We don't need to go into mad scientist mode just yet. I just wanted you here for backup."

"And food delivery," Misha said wryly, passing him a large black cooler.

And because you don't want to sleep alone, Julian thought. The flickering light of pleasure in Misha's eyes was enough to tell him he'd had the same thought.

Paris reached into the cooler and passed Julian one of the blood bags before giving one to Safira. Julian's belly rumbled with hunger, but he met Scarlett's eyes. "Do you mind?"

"You have to eat, too," she said with a shrug. But she averted her eyes as he drank. Without being warmed, bagged blood was about as appealing as tea steeped with cigarette ashes. Still, it was enough to warm his body and dull the ache of his tussle with Shea and his witch.

Finally, Scarlettset down the tattered remains of her sandwich, drained half a bottle of water, and sat back. "Thanks for dinner. I was starving," she said.

His heart clenched tight. "Of course."

It was the tiniest thing, but he savored that sincerity on her face.

Scarlett tilted her head toward the sheath on the counter. "I have a magic blade, too," she said. "Just in case that's messing with you."

Misha raised an eyebrow. "Can I?" She nodded, and he picked it up. "Nothing magical about this."

She gaped at him. "But she…" Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. "Figures."

Paris settled into the seat across from her. "All right. You're fed, and we're safe. What the hell is Carrigan Shea doing back in Atlanta? I killed him. To be precise, I broke his Covenant, poisoned him, and watched a building drop on top of him."

She shook her head. "It didn't take off his head, I guess. Lux dragged the pieces out of the building. It took Armina and both her apprentices two days to put him back together and bind him with their magic," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I don't like him."

"That makes all of us," Paris said. "What does she want with him?"

"An attack dog. I told her I didn't trust him, but she ignored me. He's barely under her control. He almost…" Scarlett closed her eyes, absently rubbing at her throat. "Her spells are supposed to keep him under control, but I think it slips."

"So why is he here?" Julian asked.

"Hunting me down, I guess," she said. "He isn't supposed to hurt me, but that doesn't mean he won't."

"Fuck," Paris muttered. "Do we still have any of our special sauce just for him?"

"Not much," Misha said. "And without blood from him or one of his followers, I can't make more."

"I'd be more than happy to kill him," Scarlett said. "If her control holds, then he'd be at a disadvantage. He's still just a vampire. He wouldn't be the first one I killed."

Tense silence filled the room, and she slowly looked around. Her chest lifted as she took a deep breath.

"It's okay," Julian said. "We're all adults here. We know what we are."

It was strange to hear her talk so frankly about killing Carrigan Shea. The last time fate had brought them crashing together, she fancied herself a vampire hunter, newly minted with a gun she barely knew how to use. But this time, Armina had trained her from the day she was old enough to walk, it seemed.

She was harder than she'd been before, sharpened into a weapon. Even though he glimpsed who she had always been—good-natured, with a wry wit and a taste for adventure—it saddened him to think of Armina tearing away her softness, leaving jagged edges.

Even her face was harder; she was leaner than the first time they'd been together, when she had full cheeks and rounded hips that fit quite nicely into his hands. Her face was slimmer, giving a sharpness to her cheekbones and her jaw. She was still as beautiful as ever, but this was the difference between a beautifully crafted sword and a bouquet of wildflowers.

And if he was honest, he might have the same name, but he was no longer the same man who'd kissed Brigitte Haas under the moonlight. The years had carved the hope and optimism out of him. He had done hard things, bloody and terrible things, to protect his court. Could Scarlett love the man he was now?

"We'll keep it in mind," Paris said. "I'd rather like to help and be the man who killed him twice."

"Should have killed him the first time," she said mildly.

"I was working on it when his little witch sidekick blew up the building around me," Paris replied. "Physics and gravity disagreed with my plans."

She drew a deep breath. "So what exactly are we doing here? Julian told me his version of the story. And let's say I believe you, and that my aunt intends to kill me sometime next week. What do we do?"

"Your aunt?" Misha asked.

She flinched. "My mother and father died when I was just a baby. They were…" She glanced at Julian, frowned, then shrugged. "I'm not sure I know the truth anymore. But Armina raised me and told me that she'd been close to my mother. I know she's not related by blood, but she was the closest to family that I had."

"Psycho bitch…" Paris muttered. He looked to Julian, as if to say you handle this.

"I'm sorry that you didn't have them," he said, his voice sounding hollow. "I don't know much about magic, but there is a curse on you, and Shoshanna says it is more powerful than anything she's ever seen."

Though she remained stoic, Scarlett's eyes widened. Her fingers curled tight around her napkin, betraying a hint of turmoil. "And can she break it?"

"Yes," Misha said. Julian glared at him, but the blood witch ignored him. "She's incredibly clever."

"I don't want to make a promise I can't keep," Julian said. There it was again, and now it wasn't just him daring to hope. It was one thing to let himself hope, but he wasn't the one with the blade at his neck. If he promised to save Scarlett and failed, it would haunt him forever.

Her brow furrowed. "Let me ask a clearer question. Has she ever done anything exactly like this? You say it's the most powerful curse she's ever seen."

"No, she hasn't," Julian said. "But she managed to figure out half a dozen of Armina's curses in a matter of days. It won't be for lack of trying."

"So there's a chance I still die," Scarlett said evenly.

"Yes, but if we don't do anything, you definitely die," Paris said."It's kind of a no-brainer."

Julian huffed. "Paris!"

Scarlett took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the plastic water bottle until it crunched. "The world is not your friend, and you should always be prepared for it to betray you. It does no good to ignore the knife in its hand, even when the other holds flowers."

He frowned. "Where did you hear that?"

"Kova," Scarlett said. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if she was shutting out the world. Her breaths came slow and even, and he marveled at the soft, slow sound of her heartbeat. After a full minute, she finally opened her eyes and said, "I would rather you were honest than filling my head with false hope. What do we need in order to break it? Someone's blood, certain ingredients?"

"Shoshanna has to work on you, but the power has been too much for her so far," Julian said.

Scarlett's brow arched. "What if I could get you some of Armina's spellbooks?"

Misha nodded eagerly and blurted, "That would help."

"Are you saying that because you want to see her notes?" Paris asked.

"Both," Misha said. "Isn't it easier to open a lock when you know the combination?"

"In return, I want you to do me a favor. I suppose it's strange for me to bargain given that I'm the one who has a deadline," Scarlett said. Then she smirked. "Deadline."

Paris chuckled and said, "Some things never change."

"I want you to help Kova. We go to Armina's house and break him out. I'll get her spellbooks and bring them back for Shoshanna," Scarlett said. She swallowed hard. "But I can't kill her. And you can't either. Not until I have a chance to talk to her."

"Scarlett, that's not—" Paris started.

"I know that you hate her. And I also know that she's the closest thing to a mother I've ever had," Scarlett said. "I'm willing to hear you out and entertain this insane story, but I can't just shut off twenty-nine years and all my emotions overnight. And I'm not going to let you waltz in there and murder her in cold blood. Those are my conditions."

Frustration rolled off Paris, but Julian held up his hand to silence him before he made a mess. "I understand. Why is Kova so important to you?"

And he told himself it was not because he was jealous. If she loved him, then that was her right. But he'd be lying if the thought didn't make him angry, defeated even.

"I don't have any real family that I know of. Armina raised me, and Kova was as close to a brother as I've had," she said. "He was always good to me. Not always nice, but he pushed me to be stronger and faster. He used to tell me it was better to be prepared for cruelty and be surprised by kindness."

Relief swept over him. That, too, made sense. His brothers had often teased him that Brigitte would have loved one of them if she hadn't met Julian first, but they'd never have tried to take her. As soon as it became clear that she loved Julian, the rest of them had taken on the role of protecting her as best they could. For Kova, nothing would have changed, even if she didn't remember the way he'd cared for her before.

"And it didn't bother you that he was a vampire?" Misha asked.

She shook her head. "I saw from a young age what vampires could do. Armina told me that Kova's bindings held back the evil part of him and left only the good parts, so he could be our ally. I know now that's not what happened, but I always saw him as a good man who had an unfortunate problem. Like an addict trying to stay sober," she said. "But if you're telling me the truth, then she's been hurting him for a long time."

Paris nodded. "And Kova had nothing to do with Armina's husband. He wasn't even there. Weeks after Tobias died, Kova killed one of Armina's apprentices in self-defense. She and her hunter accomplice nearly took off his head. That's how he got that scar on his eye. Kova has never been soft, but he's a decent man. He didn't deserve what happened."

"And Armina hurt the woman he loved?" she said quietly.

"Yes," Paris said.

"Is she…is she dead?"

Paris met Julian's eyes and raised his eyebrows, as if to say you tell her.

Julian cleared his throat. "No. She's alive and well."

At that, Scarlett looked up and said, "That's what he meant." Her eyes welled over, and she scrubbed at them before continuing, "When Kova came back, he didn't tell me the specifics, but he told me that Shoshanna had given him hope things could get better. Is that what he meant? That she was alive?"

Paris nodded. "That's it."

"And what was he to you?" she asked, meeting Julian's eyes.

"He was our brother. Part of our family," Julian said. "Until he came to town with you a few months ago, we thought he was dead."

"Do you want him back?"

That's complicated, he thought. The loss still stung, especially the way Kova had left them to think he had taken his own life. But knowing that Kova had sacrificed himself for Lucia changed everything. Julian had tried to do the same, so he could hardly fault the man.And from the sound of it, Kova had protected Scarlett, maybe even planted the seed of doubt that had brought her here. If anyone could forgive Kova, it was Julian.

"Yes, we do," Julian said.

She nodded eagerly. "Okay. Then we go to her house in Charlotte and break him out."

"It won't bother you to act against Armina?" Misha asked.

"I never said that. But it'll bother me more to leave Kova there to die." Then she glanced around. "Do you have some paper and a pen?"

And just like that, she was in. He watched in wonder as she drew them a respectable sketch of Armina Voss's house, a sprawling mansion somewhere near Charlotte. It was odd to think that the witch had just been a few hours from them, that Scarlett had grown up mere hours away.

She noted entrances and windows, marking the locations she thought would be thebest points of entry if they had to break in.

"What kind of magic protection is on the house?" Misha asked.

"I don't know how it works, but I know she has all kinds of spells around the perimeter of the house. I think her workshop has extra protections. None of the vampires go in there," Scarlett said. "The apprentices and I have jewelry that marks us as safe to enter."

"Just like Lux with Shea's barrier," Misha commented.

"Yeah. She learned from Armina, so that makes sense," she said. Then her face fell. "Except that mine is in my bag, which is still at the hotel. I hope they didn't get to it."

"We'll deal with that later," Julian said.

"We have the ones that we took from Georgina and the assholes working for Shea," Paris said. "Three of them. Would those work?"

Scarlett shrugged. Misha frowned and said, "If they're linked to a specific spell or a specific witch, it might not. Those would be bound to…Lux, I believe?"

Scarlett wrinkled her nose. "She's the one who worked with Shea, I guess."

Misha shook his head. "They might work, but if it's possible, we should get Scarlett's. We know that one works."

"We could go back to my hotel during daylight," Scarlett said. "Then Shea will be weaker, at least."

"So will we," Paris said.

Her brow arched. "You're aware that I'm not a damsel in distress, right?"

Julian put up a hand. "No one thinks you're weak. But we'd rather not risk you," he said. I'd rather not.

"I have an advantage. My aunt—Armina—wants me home, not dead. At least not yet," she said, her expression faltering. "Let's go back during the day."

"We could have Jonas accompany her," Paris said. "If you don't mind a mission with a former coworker."

She shrugged. "Maybe a few weeks ago I would have felt differently, but the world is upside down. Call him, and let's move around one."

Paris nodded and said, "I'm on it."

The dhampir woman stifled a yawn, blinking rapidly as if she'd just been struck with fatigue. They weren't far from sunrise, and that was another potential hurdle. As Paris and Misha debated the merits of firebombing the house versus magic, Julian bent to speak to Scarlett. "If you're tired, you can sleep," he said.

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded. "I should. But…"

"You can stay here. We won't bother you," he said. Then he smirked at her. "If it makes you feel better, I sleep like the dead. You could kill me in my sleep."

"That's morbid," she said.

"You did try to kill me," he reminded her.

A ghost of a smile flitted across her pretty face. "I really could use some sleep."

He rose and said, "We'll continue discussing this later. She needs to rest. I want someone to go back to the hotel and check for?—"

Paris held up his phone. "I did it while we were driving here. Nikko and Sasha are on it."

"Of course you did," he said quietly.

He offered his hand, then brought it back, a bit embarrassed as Scarlett rose. She cleared her throat. "This is very strange. But thank you for dinner and for not killing me."

Paris chuckled. "Good night, Scarlett."

She hesitated. "You guys should know that some of the Shieldsmen arrived recently to help Armina. I don't know if she'd send them after me, but…" She let out a nervous laugh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you guys should be careful out there. One of them has good reason to want you guys dead."

Julian's blood went cold. "Who?"

"Jordan Cole," Scarlett said. "You kept him prisoner. Tortured him, as I hear it."

The dhampir hunter's fate was one of those decisions where Julian had been forced to bite his tongue and shut the hell up. They'd been trying to deal with the Shieldsmen and Carrigan Shea simultaneously, and when they managed to capture Jordan Cole, their former Scythe thought they'd hit the jackpot.

Unfortunately, he was dhampir, and couldn't be compelled with blood. And no matter how much medieval torture Hugo pulled out of his gruesome repertoire, Jordan hadn't given them anything useful. Julian had finally gone to Eduardo and told them to put Jordan on ice at the Mausoleum, but they should have just killed him. Now they had a pissed-off hunter who knew where to find them.

"Fucking Hugo," Paris muttered. "And you swear you haven't talked to any of them since you got here?"

She shook her head. "I don't want them to know where I am."

Paris cast Julian a skeptical look, but he nodded and said, "It's all right."

They headed upstairs. The air was cool and stale, but the house was still as clean as it had been when Rachel vacated. One bedroom with a narrow bed was painted bright blue; Rachel's daughter's old room. The big bedroom at the end of the hall was still furnished with a bed and a dresser, which would be enough for the evening.

When Rachel had moved in with Dominic, the court had purchased her house from her and kept it vacant for use as a safehouse. When Eduardo was still here, they had half a dozen places all over the city where they could move him in an emergency. Some had been compromised, and this place was arguably at risk to the Shieldsmen, but it was the best they could do without risking Scarlett twisting up all of Shoshanna's protective magic.

Scarlett perched on the edge of the bed, which was neatly made and adorned with a mountain of decorative pillows. Relief eased her features as she toed off her shoes and let out a heavy sigh.The smell of Rachel and Dominic lingered even after months away from the house, but the air was now perfumed with Scarlett's scent. "I think there's linens in that closet. So…I'll leave you alone," he said.

"Wait. Close the door, please," she said. Then she shook her head and laughed. "That's silly. I know they can hear through the walls."

"We'll go outside and entertain ourselves in the car," Paris called from downstairs.

She laughed and covered her face. Sure enough, the front door slammed, and then he heard the quick open and close of two car doors, followed by the engine rumbling. If he knew Paris, then they were going to find a nice private place to make out like teenagers, if not maneuver themselves into a quickie.

Slowly, she regarded him, then took the gun from her holster and set it on the nightstand. With a sigh of relief, she stripped off her jacket, then the snug straps of the holster. He had no illusions; with dhampir reflexes she could have the gun in her hand in a split second.

Then again, he could be on top of her in a split second if he had to defend himself. At the very least, it was a small sign of trust. Finally, she slumped onto the bed and said, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I can't help thinking that this is all some elaborate game."

"I can understand why you'd think that," he said. "It isn't, but I know that my words aren't going to convince you."

She looked up, then lightly patted the bed next to her. His heart crawled up his throat as he joined her, forcing himself to hold back so he didn't fling himself at her. She lightly lifted his wrist, turning it over to trace the lines of his palm. Her touch sent shivers down his spine.

"You say we were together before, but that doesn't make sense," she said.

"I know, it's so strange, and?—"

"Not in the sense of it being magic that we don't understand. That woman…Brigitte. She was born in a different time. She had a different life. And she's gone. You understand that, don't you?" Her eyes lifted to him, that curious emerald green that made him think of sunshine on spring leaves.

"I do," he finally said, even as his heart ached.

"I'm not her. I believe that I'm connected to her somehow, and when you see me, you see something you had a long time ago. But I don't want you to be disappointed that I'm not her," she said. "I don't remember any of the things you all remember, because I wasn't there."

He smiled, though her words were a thousand tiny cuts against his soul. He knew that, didn't he? He knew Brigitte was long gone. Doing his best to speak calmly, he said,"I told you that I don't expect anything from you. Your life is what it is. I only want to make sure you have a chance to see thirty."

And God, what a lie that was. He wanted to see her live, and then he wanted her. It didn't matter if she was different; he would be glad to get to know her and learn how she had been molded and shaped by this new life.He wanted to love her, wanted to feel the warmth of her love, to have a second chance to be with her, to be a husband to a wife, to make a home and a sanctuary and fill it with love and security until it was overflowing. And yes, he wanted to make love to her, to hear the way she sang out his name and laughed and sighed as she laid across his chest with her heart pounding and her body so relaxed she molded right to him.He would gladly be king if she was his queen.

She shifted suddenly, taking his hand and folding it between hers. "Look at me," she said, and he obeyed, turning to sit facing her. "I'm not always good with emotions. And I don't know what to say to you, or how I feel about all of this. But…I don't hate you."

"It's that easy to turn it off?"

She shook her head. "Some part of me hates the man that killed my family. I haven't quite wrapped my head around it yet, but I know that person isn't you.And if all this is real, then I'm grateful that you care enough to take the risk to help me."

And before he could respond, she lifted her hand to caress his cheek. The light touch awakened the searing sting of the witch's magic, but it was worth it. "I should have asked before. Are you all right after dealing with Shea?" she asked. "He's very powerful."

He nodded, careful not to move away from her touch, those fingers like water in a drought. "I'm fine," he said.

"You're pretty strong," she said appreciatively.

"I'm pretty old," he countered, prompting a sweet smile.

She nodded. "What was she like? Brigitte?"

His head cocked, and a thousand things came to mind. "She was kind. Mischievous, but never cruel. She was compassionate, but not soft, if that makes sense. Very funny. Absolutely terrible cook," he teased. She grinned. "But I didn't have to eat, so I didn't mind. I used to tell her we were truly destined for one another because she would never have to make a meal for me, and I would never have to lie about how good it was. And she…"

Then he gently plucked her hand away, instead clasping it in his. There was the tiniest tension as she instinctively pulled back, but then she allowed him to hold her hand. "You were correct before. Brigitte was a different person. I see glimpses of her in you, but…I'd like to get to know Scarlett. If you would let me know you."

Her eyes widened. He could practically see the sparks fly as she battled with herself over how to respond. Finally, she nodded. "I wouldn't mind that."

Well, that would have to do. It wasn't now I remember, I've always loved you, but she wasn't running away screaming and trying to kill him. Her eyes were still locked on his and he was thrown back to that first night they met, when she'd playfully asked: Are you going to gaze into my eyes all night, or are you going to kiss me?

But this was not Brigitte. She was right about that. And so he gently squeezed her hand and said, "I'll let you rest. Good night."

"Good night," she murmured, lightly grasping his hand as he went. He closed the door behind him, but listened for a few moments. There was water running, a happy sigh, and then the steady white noise of the shower. He left her alone and headed downstairs to find Safira still waiting quietly.

Her eyes met his, and when she spoke, she spoke in their native German. "So…are you okay? I was outside and tried not to listen, but…"

He slumped into the chair across from her. "I don't know what I am," he said. But his eyes spilled over, and a terrible claw of grief clamped onto him. Safira threw her arms around him, holding him close as he let out a single clipped sob, then reined himself in.

"She's here. Everything is different," she said quietly, stroking his hair.

"But it isn't her. She's a different person," he said.

"Of course. So are you," Safira said.

"I'm not saying I'm disappointed. I just…." he laughed. "I'm a fool."

"Ah, but you're our fool," she said. She tapped her phone. "I'm telling Paris to get his horny ass back."

"Let him have a few minutes. He hasn't been in this good a mood in years," he said.

While they waited, Julian checked in with Nikko and Sasha, who'd gone downtown to track Shea. Frowning, he listened as Nikko's phone rang through to his brusque voicemail. According to their security app, neither of the men had checked in for the night. Julian took a moment to check himself in, along with Safira, then called Sasha.

No answer.

There were plenty of good reasons they hadn't checked in yet, but after tangling with Shea, he wasn't entertaining them until he'd ruled out the worst.

Kristina was next on his list, and she answered after one ring. "Arensberg," she said curtly.

"Kristina, are you with Sasha?"

"No sir. I'm patrolling with Danielle. Haven't heard from him since he went out with Nikko," she said. There was a silence. "Do you think something happened?"

"I don't know. If you hear from him, call me immediately," Julian said.

"Yes, sir," she said.

Safira stared evenly at him. "Should I go back downtown?"

He shook his head. "No. Stay here. Give it a few minutes."

Tension hung thick in the air. What would Eduardo have done?

Much as he hated to admit it, Eduardo did not care so much about any one individual. The members of his court mattered to him in the abstract, and he had his favorites, of course. But he trusted his Shroud to do their jobs, and would likely have told Julian to deal with the situation and update him if he needed to know anything.

How had he done it for so long? How did not he not worry every moment of the night that danger had befallen his subjects? How could he not count the cost every damned day?

An engine rumbled in the driveway, and he hurried to the front window to see Paris and Misha ambling up the driveway.

"Feeling better?" Safira asked as they walked in.

But Paris looked somber. "I just heard from Sasha. He and Nikko were following Shea's scent and someone shot at them downtown."

"Are they all right?" Julian asked.

Paris shook his head. "No, but they're alive. Sasha said he was injured, but nothing serious. Knowing Sasha, that could mean he either lost an eye or he scraped his knee. Nikko took a bullet to the head. Blew his face open, but he's been in and out of consciousness, which is promising. Sasha used the term borscht, which was more than graphic enough. He's afraid they're being followed, so I told him to go to FLOW. I couldn't get Rhys on the line, so I asked Dom to get Rachel and patch him up."

"I'll call Olivia," Julian murmured. His heart sank at the thought of his assistant in a panic, weeping over Nikko.

"I already did. Danielle's with her, and she's making sure she stays put. It's all under control," Paris said.

He gaped at Paris. "Why didn't they call me? I've been?—"

"Because that's not your job. My job is to handle the details and tell you what you need to know," Paris said. "Just like you did for Eduardo."

"And you think I don't need to know that one of my brothers could have died tonight?" Julian spat.

The other man recoiled, blue eyes going wide. "I don't—that's not…" He shook his head. "The Nightwatch has orders to report directly to me or Safira depending on assignments. They're not to bother you."

"It's not a bother. They are under my protection," Julian said. "Am I the Elder of this court or not?"

"Julian," Misha said, firm but polite. He spared a stern look for his lover before nodding to Julian. "Perhaps when things are more settled, the two of you can discuss what you think leadership is. For now, can we focus on our pressing concerns? We spoke to Jonas Wynn earlier."

With his lover's gentle nudge, Paris shook himself and said, "Jonas is ready to help tomorrow. He'll meet Scarlett at the MARTA station at noon, so they can have a Shieldsmen reunion if they like. Are we going with them?"

"We?" Julian said.

"Well, I know you're going to insist on going because you have your own ideas about what Elders do. I'll argue, you'll compel me, and I'll get angry and concede because that's better than letting you go off half-cocked. Sound about right?" Paris said.

It felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped thirty degrees. Paris was still smiling, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that made Julian feel guilty. He may have been happy that they'd intercepted Scarlett, but he hadn't forgotten the tension between them.

Julian set his jaw and nodded. "Yes, that sums it up. Is there a problem?"

"We have a plethora of problems, not least of which is Nikko's unintended haircut," Paris said.

"Paris!" Misha said.

The Frenchman didn't flinch as he continued, "But noon is six hours away, and I need a fucking nap. Tomorrow, Misha will join us to see what he can sense of the witch's power."

Safira made a mock pout. "What about me?"

"You're going back to the compound to keep an eye on the kids," Paris said. "And you can get your beauty sleep, then worry about how we kill Armina Voss now that we know where she lives."

Julian shook his head. "She doesn't want us to kill her before she has a chance to talk to her."

"Ah, yes. Let's spare the woman who has seen to it that our entire family suffered for centuries," Paris said. "The same one who intends to kill your soulmate for…is this the sixth or the seventh time?"

Misha squeezed his arm and said, "Enough. Don't be a dick."

"I agree with Paris, but I'm willing to negotiate," Safira said. She pasted on a smile. "She no longer poses a grave threat to the rest of you, and if we can get Kova from her grasp, then letting her live long enough for Scarlett to make her peace would be fine."

Misha cleared his throat. "I hate to be the one to say it, but is there a possibility that she's playing you? I know you want this to be real, but we have to be realistic."

Cold dread oozed in his belly. "You're right to consider it. There's certainly a possibility, and I don't know how we prove it," Julian said. "I want to trust her."

"I know what you're going to say, but I'm going to say it anyway," Paris said.

"Shocking," Julian muttered.

"We should drug her to the gills and lock her up somewhere until we've dealt with the witch. That's how we're certain," Paris said.

"Is that your solution for dealing with people who won't fall in line?" Misha said wryly.

Without missing a beat, Paris replied, "It works, doesn't it? You're here."

"And if the day comes and she has a massive heart attack or a brain aneurysm while chained in a basement?" Julian said.

Misha's brow furrowed. "How does it happen? The…how she dies, I mean."

Paris shook his head. "It's different every time. We don't need to talk about it."

"It's unpredictable," Julian said. "And if you predicted that I would say absolutely fucking not, then yes, you knew what I would say."

Paris shrugged. "Then let's storm a witch's castle."