Chapter 7

Two nights had passed since they sent Kova back to his mistress, but there was no sign of his cursed soulmate. No red hair in the night, no familiar scent. Still, Julian was preparing to spend his second night keeping watch, like a forlorn lover watching in a lighthouse.

He wrestled between hope and despair. Everything was different, but was it enough to matter? Could they really change the course of fate?

Hehad spent the last thirty-six hours hunkered in the rundown site of Underground Atlanta, which had been owned by Shea's court. The smell of Untethered vampires and human blood still hung in the air, mixed with the must and mildew of aged buildings.

Paris had insisted on keeping watch, which meant that Misha Volkov was along for the ride. On short notice, he'd put up some simple magic wards, while lamenting that Shoshanna was much better at this. The human witch was still resting and watching over Alistair as he healed from Kova's attack.

More of the Nightwatch—his brothers and sisters who had served under his leadership of the Shroud for years—had wanted to come, but he'd given stern orders to keep patrolling the night. The wave of disappearances caused by Shea's outlaw court had ebbed, but stragglers still remained in the city.

Just last night, Safira and Nikko had found a vampire couple fancying themselves the new contenders for the rulers of Atlanta. The would-be social climbers were now so much ash in the Goodwin and Sons crematorium, loaned to them by a grateful Kayla Goodwin in appreciation for saving her and her children from Carrigan Shea's grasp.

Until Julian had seen months, if not years of peace, he would not tolerate Untethered vampires on his territory. While he had supported his Elder back then, he'd always thought Eduardo was making a serious mistake when he allowed the Morettis to operate in Atlanta for so long before taking decisive action.

He did not intend to make the same mistake. Atlanta belonged to the Durendal court, which was not so cursed and pitiful as it had been a month ago.

For the first night of waiting, Sasha had coaxed his way onto Paris's team by reminding Julian that he had met Scarlett too, as had his partner, Kristina. He could pick out her scent from a mile away.

But when Dominic asked to come along, Julian had put his foot down. "If you want me to be your Elder, then you cannot pick and choose when to take my orders," he had growled. "Brothers or not, I will banish you from this bloody city if you cannot follow orders."

Properly chastised, the Nightwatch had taken their assignments for the evening. After last night's uneventful passage, Julian had reassigned Sasha and Kristina to patrol the downtown college campuses tonight. That left him in the care of Paris and Misha, feeling quite like a third wheel.

Underground Atlanta was a strange place; once a bustling underground marketplace with shops and restaurants, it had died out over a few years before turning into a veritable ghost town. Its long corridors of wood flooring and brick walls seemed to reflect every sound a hundred times over.Posted signs read Private Property—No Trespassing.

Several storefronts and one large restaurant had been spruced up, their floors cleaned and power restored with a generator. Carrigan Shea and his court had been staying here after the first failed attempt to kill him in the nearby Constitution building. Surrounded by a magical barrier, Shea and his court had hidden here until some of the repairs on his high-rise castle were complete.

Now that modern king's castle lay in ruins, and the partially updated underground facility lay unused. Julian and his companions had claimed the restaurant, which seemed to have been an Italian establishment. The smell of blood still lingered, as did a hint of decay. Humans had been killed here, their bodies stored for a short time before being destroyed. He shuddered to think of Shea and his court devouring their prey here, with the human population aboveground and none the wiser.

At Paris's demand, Julian wore an armored vest and collar under his snug sweater, and was armed with a Taser and several syringes full of a sedative to knock down a dhampir hunter.

His companions both smelled human, thanks to the grassy-smelling tincture Misha had given them. Seated at a lopsided dining table, Paris was carefully loading darts into a rifle.

"No bullets," Julian reminded them. "I don't want her hurt."

"It's just a little sleepy juice. You think she'll show tonight?"Paris asked.

Pacing across the dingy carpet of the lobby, Julian said, "I don't know. I think there's a good chance that Armina got enough out of Kova to figure out we were laying a trap. She might bide her time until Bri— until Scarlett's birthday."

Misha frowned, looking up from polishing his glowing, rune-carved blade. "You think the spell is actually tied to her birthday, or does the witch do it that way just to screw with you?"

"I don't know," Julian said. "I don't know much about magic. But I'm inclined to say the latter."

He knew only that he'd come out of the Midnight War with blood on his hands, as determined as ever to protect the ones he loved. Several of his brothers had been cursed, but he had dodged the witch's malice. Even when Paris and Dominic crossed her path, he was spared. Secretly—and perhaps to his downfall—he had thanked his lucky stars that she had not cursed him, too.

Instead, after several blissful years, he'dmarried the love of his life, the woman who had become the sunshine in his darkness. Despite his long life as a vampire before, the few years he had with Brigitte felt like lifetimes and the blink of an eye at the same time. And then, shortly after she turned twenty-nine, she had been killed in what seemed like a random act of senseless violence.His grief was unspeakable, and he survived only because Paris and Alistair would not let him die.

No one expected to lose their soulmate twice, and so when he met the redhaired woman some twenty-seven years later, he thought he had come across a doppelganger, beautiful Rebekkah. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, he thought, telling him that his grief-addled mind had reshaped this woman into a mirror image of his Brigitte.

But it was her. From the boisterous laugh to the resonant singing voice to the birthmark to the unmistakable scent that he had not forgotten for a nanosecond, it was her. And he dared to love her again, thinking that he had been spared.

And then she died again.

And again.

He had been a fool, and he had wished a thousand times to trade curses with one of his brothers. He would rather suffer unending physical pain, never sleep again, see a hideous beast in the mirror than to live in constant grief and dread.

There was no closure, knowing it was all to happen again. And he could never cut it off; he couldn't convince himself he didn't really know her anymore, that his Brigitte was long gone. Because it was always her deep down.

There was no pattern, except that it happened soon after her twenty-ninth birthday. And that was barely a week from now, so there was a decent chance Armina would just hold her back, waiting instead to turn her loose after that fateful day. Perhaps his efforts now were all in vain.

They waited well into the night. It was rare that Paris was silent, but even he held the conversation off to keep watch. Scarlett's dhampir hearing would be sharp enough to hear them even at a whisper.

Hours passed. He took several silent messages from Olivia and Safira, who updated him on the evening's activities. Alistair was back on his feet, though moving stiffly after Kova broke his neck.

Soon, the alarm came to warn him that sunrise was in an hour, then thirty minutes. Paris emerged with Misha in tow, both moving silently. "She's not coming tonight," Paris said.

"I'll stay through the day," Julian said.

"Not unsecured like this," Paris said. Before he could argue, the other vampire put up his hand. "If she's the clever little hunter Sasha says she is, she'll realize she has to hunt her prey when he's active. She'll have an advantage over all of us in daylight, and while she may not want to kill you yet, I'm not sure that sentiment extends to the rest of us. Let's go."

Following his right-hand man, Julian trudged up the stairs. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disappointed that she hadn't come to kill him. The blue-purple twinge of twilight already hung on the horizon as the city began to wake.

Paris and Misha talked quietly as they moved up the stairs. Their conversation was drowned out by a strange sound in the distance. In tandem, Paris and Misha both staggered back, clutching at their heads. A glass dart protruded from Paris's temple, and his eyes went brilliant red as he clawed at his throat.

Misha tossed a dart with a snarl, then grabbed Julian's hand. "Stay down," he snapped, shaking his head violently. Shimmering red burst from his hand, but Julian shrugged him off. "Julian!"

Paris grabbed at his hand, but then another shot followed. A wooden bullet exploded into splinters against the brick. The other man pointed back down the stairs. "Get down," he growled. His eyes were fully red, with no white left; blood burst from the vessels in the whites, making him look terrifying.

"You two get back. I'll find her," Julian insisted. Barbed wire coiled around his heart, yanking him up the stairs, out toward his mate. He felt her out there, calling to him, drawing him closer.

He started for the stairs, but Paris grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. "Stop. I don't trust this magic as much as you do. And I am not letting you walk out there to get a bullet to the face."

"I am your Elder and your Maker," Julian said, already tugging at the thrumming blood bond between them. Except those early days when his young Vessel couldn't manage his hunger, Julian never violated his will, never forced him into a decision. And now, he began to tug ever so slightly. "Let me go."

Hurt flickered in Paris's eyes, but he gritted his teeth and gripped Julian's arm tight enough to bruise. "And I am sworn to protect you. From yourself if necessary," Paris said.

Anger bloomed hot in Julian's chest. Who was he to stand in his way? Paris, who had been as cynical as anyone until a month ago when fate saw fit to bring him a mate? Now he was a ray of fucking sunshine and optimism, and Julian had taken quite enough.

"Let go," he said, unleashing his anger through the bond.

Paris reeled, his knees buckling as if he was going to drop to the floor. "You fucker," he swore, his fingers going stiff as he released Julian.

Well, the Elder role didn't necessarily demand respectful language. Julian started to move past him, but something clattered to his feet. He had a split second to make out the shape—round and metallic, the size of his fist—before it exploded with a whoomph.

Shielding his face, he fell back with flames licking across him.The acrid bite of wood smoke hit him a split second later. A second flash followed, and the other vampires groaned in pain. Another whoomph followed and blinding light exploded across the space, disorienting him.

And then, amidst the smoke and searing light, he smelled her. Sweet and complex, like spiced apples drenched in rum. His body thrilled with it, and his conscious thought was obliterated.

It's her! It's her, by God it's her!

Then an ear-splitting horn knocked the pleasant thoughts out of his head, and he heard pained groans rising from it. Two quick muzzle flashes in the smoke, which parted around the tall, slender woman stalking toward them. In her left hand was an airhorn, which she squeezed again to let out a deafening noise.

Julian reeled as the sound flooded his senses. In front of him, Misha Volkov rose, eyes gleaming fiery red as he extended his bloody hands. Shimmering light erupted, like a tangling net, and for a split second, it landed on her, licking at her skin. Then he let out a choked sound, and his eyes went black. He fell back, and Julian could swear he saw a shadow slithering up Scarlett's fingers before absorbing into her skin.

Was she a witch now, too?

"Stop," he roared. "It's me you want."

Her brilliant green eyes found him through the smoke, and she sprang at him. Gods, she was fast, and he was so entranced by the smell of her that he missed the blade in her right hand until it swiped across his cheek. Blood dripped over his lip, and he caught the next blow before she could slice into his throat. Twisting her wrist, he forced her to drop the blade, then tossed it far across the floor. Glowing bluish runes faded and went dark as it fell.

For one moment, fear sparked in her eyes like lightning. He shoved her in the chest, sending her reeling."I don't want to hurt you," he said.

Her lip curled. "I know that's not true." Quick as a snake, she raised her gun and fired, the smell of burnt wood exploding through the air. He dodged, then took a shot to the thigh that made his leg buckle. She was on him again, and he staggered back, tumbling back into what had once been a candy store. Old wooden barrels tumbled as they fought through the empty storefront.

It's really her. She's here.

Another bone-cracking blow to his face felt like it took off his jaw, and he dodged the next, grabbing her arm, twisting it around to slam her against the nearest wall.It took all his willpower to wrestle down his survival instincts, the ones that shouted threat! If she were someone else, he'd have broken her like kindling.

Instead, he stuck to the plan and pinned her with his body, trying not to let that sweet smell short-circuit his brain. Palming the little black device in his pocket, he shoved his hand into her jacket like he was trying to disarm her. He pulled out a magazine of wooden bullets and tossed it, then shoved the tracker in her pocket.

"Get your damn hands off me," she spat, slamming her head backward and clipping his chin. Then sharp pain bloomed in his side, andhe stared down at a bloody wooden stake in her right hand. She twisted out of his grasp, then kicked his leg out from under him. He scrambled away, and she ducked behind one of the massive wooden barrels, swearing under her breath.

She was a damned good hunter, with lightning-fast reflexes and killer instincts. Perhaps she really did mean to kill him.

And perhaps that would be all right.

His instincts bellowed at him. Tear out her bloody throat. Survive, you bastard!

But he got up, just in time to see her aiming at him. Another shot ripped into his shoulder and sent him reeling. Blood spurted from the wound as he tried to dig the bullet out, but she was already coming for him again.She sprang at him, swept his leg, and bore him to the ground.

He put up no fight as she straddled him and glared at him. Her brilliant red hair—fiery like the sunset—was braided tight against her head, though a few stray waves had escaped to frame her beautiful face.

And if he was about to die, then he was going to enjoy this one last memory of her astride him, feeling the heartbeat pulsing in those thighs that squeezed him tight. His blood boiled with wood poison, and he was all too aware of spilling warm red onto the dusty concrete. Insane as it was, it was worth the pain to see her like this, hearing her heart pounding and smelling her in the air.

Alive. Real.

In her hands was a gun, its barrel still searing hot against his forehead. Her eyes narrowed. "Do you know who I am?"

"I know who you are, Brigitte Haas. My little bunny." He'd teased her endlessly about her name, always earning an indignant stop it! followed by her raucous laughter that filled the air with music.

Her lip curled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I loved you once, and?—"

Pain bloomed in his jaw as she struck him with the butt of the gun. "You took my parents. Left me to grow up alone. Now your witch is haunting my dreams. Why won't you just leave me alone?"

"Everything Armina Voss told you was a lie. Do you remember anything?" he asked, catching a loose tooth with his tongue. Before, she'd always remembered when she saw him, just before the terrible, bloody end. Maybe it wasn't time. Maybe he'd fucked it all up by trying to get her here.

Then came another gunshot, this one from far behind Brigitte. She ducked, covering her head, and Julian sat up abruptly to see Paris in the doorway. His eyes were brilliant red, sweat pouring from his face. "Julian," he croaked. "Get off him."

Scarlett whirled and raised her gun. Julian caught her arm from behind and forced the gun up as she pulled the trigger. Paris dodged past the door, and Scarlett scrambled after him to give chase. With another burst of wood smoke, she was gone.

"No!" Julian protested, sprinting after her. His leg buckled beneath him, but he forced himself onward, through the smoke-filled thoroughfare and up the stairs, into the searing light of day.

Her scent was still thick in the air, but the light was so bright that he could barely see. The world was suddenly too loud, too big, too much. He staggered back, and a firm hand fisted into his collar to yank him downstairs.

Paris tossed him bodily down the stairs, then slumped onto the floor next to him. "The hell is wrong with you?" he said.

Misha sat on the floor, awake, but looking dazed. Thin lines like cracks in glass covered his arms, streaked with blood and soot. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I don't know what she did. I feel—" He shuddered and scrubbed at his arms as if something clung to him.

"It's all right," Paris said, sparing him an indulgent smile as he offered a hand. "We're going home."

Forty-five painful minutesand a sunrise drive later, Julian sat in an exam room with Rhys Collins swearing as he picked bullet fragments out of Julian's thigh. "This is absurd," Rhys complained. "Why in the world were you out in the field, sir? Isn't that what your brainless lackeys are for?"

"I'm right here," Paris said drily. "And he insisted."

"All this bloodshed and nothing to show for it," Rhys muttered.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Watch it, Rhys. And not that it's any of your business, but I got a tracker on her."

Rhys looked unimpressed with his victory. "All the better to find her and let her shoot you again?"

"How's the new clinic space? Have you visited Infinity since the renovations finished?" Julian asked.

"I'll give that subject change a three out of ten," Paris said drily.

Rhys smirked at the Frenchman, then said, "Looks lovely. I'll be visiting tomorrow after sunset. Olivia's asked me to inspect it and make a list of equipment I'd like."

While they'd been able to recover much of the structure of Infinity—partially driven by a stubborn refusal to cede ground to the Shieldsmen—the Night Rose clinic was a loss. Rather than purchasing another expensive building in Midtown, they'd gutted part of the barracks in the basement and turned it into a small clinic for Rhys. Given that the Nightwatch would be headquartered at Infinity, it made sense to have him on-site.

"Anything you need," Julian said. Soon, he hoped that Rhys Collins would be bored out of his mind because the court wasn't getting ripped to shreds on a nightly basis, but until then, they would be prepared.

The other man gave him a wry smile. "While your attempts to distract me from your recklessness are quite transparent, I appreciate the generosity."

Thirty minutes later, Rhys sent Julian back to his quarters with orders to eat and rest, as well as orders to Paris to make sure that he did. Julian lingered in the foyer of Building Two, their makeshift hospital. "I want to check my office," he said.

"The tracker," Paris said. "I'll go with you."

"You don't have to babysit me," Julian said.

"Clearly, I do. If you want me to fuck off, use your power. Otherwise I'm staying with you," Paris said. Despite the self-assured bluster, Julian could sense his unease, even lingering anger at what he'd done earlier.

They didn't bother with the large umbrellas stowed in every building, simply broke into a run and crossed the lawn to the central building that contained their offices. It was quiet inside, with the rest of their vampire family already gone to bed and none of their few human allies awake yet.

Or rather, it should have been. Instead, he heard a quick human heartbeat and a familiar scent. His brow furrowed as he hurried down the hall and into the big corner office where Olivia worked. She wore exercise clothes, her hair hanging loose around her face with no makeup on. Her head snapped up and she lurched to her feet. "You both look terrible," she said.

Paris smirked. "Good morning to you too, Miss Pierce. We checked in a while ago. Why are you still up?"

Ever since Carrigan Shea had begun his brutal attacks on the court, they'd implemented a roll call system at Olivia's behest. One of their veravin had helped create a simple app which the entire court used to verify they were safely home by sunrise, whether that was here on the compound or in their own homes. Paris had been the one to check at sunrise until a month ago, when he'd finally shaken off the curse and earned a well-deserved night's rest.

Now, an alarm sounded shortly before sunrise if anyone was unaccounted for, with Olivia and several court members alternating duty for tracking them down.

"Who's missing?" Julian asked.

"As of a few minutes ago, no one. Avery Martin forgot to check in, but I called him," she said. Her lips curved in a smile. "He, uh…he met a very nice gentleman at a bar, and they were having so much fun that he forgot to check in."

The young man was one of the newest vampires in the court, rescued from Untethered vampires who'd been using him as a blood bag for days. After Rhys discovered he had terminal cancer, Avery had been turned and aided them in the fight against Carrigan Shea.

"And you're still up nearly two hours later because…" Paris said mildly.

"After getting Avery's message, I checked my email and then I started working on ordering furnishings for the club and…you know how it goes. I promise I'm going back to bed," she said sheepishly.

Julian cleared his throat. "While you're awake, can you check on the location of the GPS trackers we used tonight? We could?—"

Paris interrupted. "If you get a location, call Jonas Wynnand have him check on it."

"I could go," Olivia said eagerly.

Julian scoffed. "Absolutely not. Let Jonas do it. And you go get some rest." Her lips pursed as if she was preparing to argue, but she nodded.

"Okay," she said. Her dark eyes scraped over them from head to toe. "Are you guys okay?"

Paris nodded. "We had a lovely evening together."

She let out a sharp laugh. "I doubt that. Update me tomorrow evening, please."

They left her to call Jonas Wynn, the dhampir hunter who had once been a high-ranking hunter in the Shieldsmen. When Carrigan Shea forcibly turned his daughter, Kristina, into a vampire, Jonas had shocked them all by allying himself with the Durendal vampires. He'd said they were the closest to the good guys that he could find, and he slept fine at night with his choice.

Over a century of fighting vampires, rising in the ranks of the Shieldsmen, and Jonas had said fuck it to follow his integrity and ally with his daughter.

What would that even be like? Julian couldn't imagine abandoning his court, but if he could just do what he needed to protect Scarlett without considering anyone else…

But he couldn't. His roots were deep and tangled, and Armina Voss knew far too well how to hurt him. That was a fleeting fantasy.

Paris followed Julian to his room in the main building, where the lights were already low for their nocturnal residents. Daylight hung heavy on him, and he felt sluggish thanks to the wood poison in his veins.

He slumped into the comfy chair in the corner of his bedroom. Paris lingered at the door, arms folded across his chest. His blue eyes were ringed in shadow, and he still stank of wood poison. "Do I have to stay up and make sure you don't go hunt her down during the day?"

"I don't appreciate being treated like a child," Julian said.

"And I don't appreciate you acting like one," Paris said. "You asked me to be your right hand in this court. That means I protect you and I help you protect the court as a whole. What you did tonight?—"

"It was her," Julian interrupted. "I don't know what else I'm supposed to say to you. What if it was Misha?"

Paris scrubbed at his face. "She's dangerous. I want her safe, too, but you can't just go chasing her into the sun. She could have blown your head off from a hundred yards, and I'd be washing you off my face right now."

"You can't possibly understand," Julian spat.

His Vessel's eyes went wide as he straightened up taller. "You're right. I don't understand it, any more than you understand what my life was like for the last two centuries. Or Nikko's or Dominic's or Sasha's. And I don't have to understand to know that I'm not letting my court get hurt so you can be reckless," he said. "I just?—"

"Leave," Julian said, shoving all his frustration and anger through the pulsing bonds that bound them together.

Paris's jaw dropped, and he took a step back as pain creased his features. "Julian, don't do this to me. You know that I'm only trying to help."

"Go to bed, Paris," Julian said firmly, rising to his feet. Shame washed over him, but he turned away so he didn't have to see the expression of hurt in the other man's eyes as he closed the door.

There was a stream of muttered French from beyond the door that was certainly unflattering, but Julian ignored it and lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Was tonight a victory or a loss? He'd hoped for some flicker of recognition, but the mere fact that she'd come looking for him well before her birthday…no. There was no value in entertaining that foolish hope.