Wolves of the West: The Hunt Book 3

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Abigail Lynne

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Autor:in

Abigail Lynne

Gelesen

58,1K

Kapitel

Vampire 🙅 Unwilling Mate Umgekehrter Harem Drama Grumpy X Sunshine Bad Boys Gegensätze ziehen sich an Verbotene Romantik Werwölfe & Gestaltwandler Wahrer Gefährte Love Triangle Sexy Schicksalsgefährten Beschützer Übernatürlich & Fantasy Alpha-Männchen Romantik Starke Frauen

In a world where supernatural beings vie for power, Morda Morano confronts the High Matron Mayme, accusing her of murder and setting her throne on fire. With the support of the Vampire King Felix and Queen Dellare of the Succubi, Morda secures a duel for the title of High Matron. As she rescues her allies and prepares for the ultimate showdown, Morda must navigate treacherous alliances, uncover hidden truths, and harness her magical abilities to claim her destiny.

Chapter One

Book Three: The Huntress

I hadn’t intended to light her throne on fire—it just happened.

“You snake,” the High Matron hissed at me, spit flying from her lips as she jumped up and hurried away from her flaming seat.

Mayme paced the stairs to the throne platform, her severe eyes trained on mine for the first time.

I had challenged her for her title only moments before, barging into the massive room covered in blood and burning with loss and rage.

Creatures of every kind had moved out of my way, none daring enough to stop a nineteen-year-old with flames at her fingertips.

“You killed my mother,” I seethed, my voice full of rasp and grit.

Mayme threw her nose into the air, eyes chilling another few degrees. “I did no such thing.”

“Your antidote was bullshit,” I screamed. The people nearest to me flinched, a few jumping backward in surprise. I took a step forward, and Mayme’s throne crackled as the flames grew larger.

The crowd was uneasy. My accusation and Mayme’s anger were enough to make more than a few pairs of feet start to shuffle.

I could hear the murmured conversations, the rumors that were already starting to spread, the speculation.

Let them talk. Let them gossip. Let them tell their friends about the flaming girl and the unchecked rage she kept in her empty chest. Let them stare and whisper and judge.

Let them wonder and fear and sneer.

Mayme smiled, and I felt the fire sizzle under my skin.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t deliver the antidote to Lila in time,” she said, using my mother’s name. It was wrong on her lips, a prayer from an atheist. “You should have been quicker.”

The fire roared. “There was nothing in that vial at all, was there?”

Mayme’s smile vanished, replaced by a hateful glare.

“You cannot challenge me for the position of High Matron, Morda. You gave up your right to the title with the Blood Oath you took in front of everyone here.”

I reached for the collar of my sweater, yanking it down so she could see the angry, red arrow that had been carved into my skin on the day of my Power Ceremony.

That mark affirmed my right as a challenger, my potential as a leader. It was still there.

“I have every right,” I threatened in a low voice, “and I will win.”

“You took a Blood Oath,” Mayme seethed, her severe auburn hair slipping out from behind her ears.

“You traced your promise to me with your blood,” she went on, her eye twitching slightly, “that is a grievous promise to break.”

“It’s also a promise she never made.” I watched, stunned, as Felix stood from his dark throne.

The Vampire King met my eye with a firm look. He was coming through for me, supporting me as he always said he would.

“You dare,” Mayme raged. “Sit back down—”

Felix held up a slender hand. “I am a king, Mayme, and I will not be ruled.”

Mayme’s lip curled back, exposing cruel, white teeth. “I am the High Matron.”

“Not for long,” Felix shot back, his lips twisting into a smile that exposed his gleaming fangs. “Morda did not take that Blood Oath, Mayme.”

The High Matron snarled. “You had better choose your next words carefully, Felix. I have the power to destroy you and your goddess-forsaken clan of filthy—”

“It was my blood,” the king hissed with a terrible grin.

The creatures gathered gasped before breaking out into shocked chatter.

The vampires were unsettled most of all, their fangs bared and their backs to the wall as they realized the danger their leader had subjected them to. The wrath of the High Matron was no small thing.

“Traitor!” Mayme screamed. “This is betrayal to the throne—”

“Which throne?” The crowd fell into a stunned silence as the beautiful Queen Dellare stood, her slender frame draped in a dark-red dress forged of glittering crystals.

Her skin was milky white, her cleavage spilling from the deep V-line dress.

The Queen of the Succubi picked up the bottom of her dress, exposing black stilettos.

She tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder and pursed her full lips, clad in a red lipstick so dark it was nearly black.

Mayme was nearly shaking with rage. “Sit down,” she ordered.

The succubi present snarled under their breaths, not taking kindly to Mayme giving orders to their queen. Dellare herself was unfazed.

She simply paused and smiled, her beauty tinged with something dark, something unforgiving.

“I serve only one throne,” Queen Dellare said, her voice soft and patient, “my own.”

“The Council—”

“Is powerful,” Queen Dellare interjected, “but it is no longer fair.”

Mayme stood in simmering silence as she watched the queen stand beside Felix, forming an unmistakable message. There were now two sides.

Mayme turned to the rest of the Council with a snarl, her eyes made crueler as the flames from her throne reflected on her face.

“Who else dares to betray me? Who else dares to betray this ancient Council?”

My eyes cut directly to the King of the Incubi, Boaz. The handsome man only smiled at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief and challenge.

King Boaz remained silent, though, only inclining his head toward the High Matron when she stared him down. I heard Queen Dellare hiss under her breath.

“I won’t stand against this Council,” King Auberon boasted, his ruddy face made splotchier by the excitement of the evening.

“Perhaps with the others gone, the trials of my people will be adequately recognized.” The fae in the crowd jeered and yelled, throwing their multicolored fists into the air.

Auberon seemed satisfied with his speech as he nestled back into his hefty throne, crossing calloused hands over his bulging stomach.

The last Royal was Queen Youtan, the least involved in the group. She was a tiny woman, mostly silent save for the few words she spoke when prompted.

She was Queen of the Earth Sprites, ruling one of the oldest clans with silent power. She nodded her head when Mayme looked to her.

“Fools,” Felix rumbled, his eyes dark. “She will take your power—hold your people’s struggles over your foolish heads. You will get nothing for your clans so long as this witch is in power.”

“I’ll take my chances,” King Auberon rumbled, earning a round of laughter. “I highly doubt she could do much better.”

I stiffened as he jerked his chin in my direction, humor and condescension in his small eyes. I would make him regret this choice, make him regret underestimating me.

“Youtan?” Queen Dellare called, her voice sharp and accusatory.

“I cannot destabilize my clan for the sake of my opinion,” the ruler said quietly.

“Aren’t you going to ask me to join?” King Boaz asked Queen Dellare, a lazy grin on his face as he stared down his archenemy. The succubi hissed in response.

I stepped forward. “You said once that I would rebuild this world from its ashes,” I said, my voice ringing off the walls. I watched King Boaz shift in his seat, his eyes cutting to the High Matron.

“You have your band of traitors, Usurper,” Mayme hissed, “leave it alone.”

I couldn’t.

I stared the incubus down. “You said you wished to see a new queen crowned.”

King Boaz’s handsome face turned deadly, and for the first time, he resembled the demon I knew he was. “I say many things, witch,” he growled.

“Cowards burn the quickest,” I threatened. “They scream and cry and wet themselves.”

He swallowed thickly. “Little girls shouldn’t use such words.”

“I am not a little girl anymore,” I told him, my eyes once again finding Mayme’s. I drew in a ragged breath, feeling once again the hollowness of my chest.

“I have no mother, no one to protect me from this strange, cruel world. I have only my fire, and if I must, I will burn everyone and everything that threatens to harm me.”

Mayme’s lips bubbled until a laugh erupted from her throat.

She raised her hands in a slow clap, pacing the length of the stage before she threw out her hand and extinguished the flames that were roaring on her throne. Her seat was left perfectly intact.

“You think fire is the most dangerous element?” she asked, her tongue flicking out from behind her teeth.

“You think that the Goddess only smiles down on your shoulders? You are wrong, Usurper. I have been the High Matron for centuries, and I will not lose my title to an entitled demi-witch who plays with matches.”

Before I could say anything, the High Matron had thrown out her hand, cutting off the air to my lungs.

I choked and spluttered, my eyes bulging as they stung and watered. I clawed at my throat, taking sick, gasping breaths.

She came close, her face split in a wide smile. “I am so sorry about your mother, Morda. I am so sorry that you had the misfortune of being raised by such a weak woman.

“You think because you have outbursts of power, because you can light a fire with your hands and make the flames roar that you are powerful?”

Her fingers flexed, and I was able to suck in a long breath before the air simply vanished, and I was cut off once more. “No, no,” she whispered, “power is in control.”

I threw my hands out, and a line of fire followed, raging through the air with heat and ferocity. With a wave of her hand, Mayme conjured a gust of air that swallowed the flames whole. Her lips curled.

“I will let you challenge me,” the High Matron declared, releasing me as she turned to the audience.

“I will let you fight me for my title, if only to prove how very wrong you are about your own abilities, about strength. I will let you fight, Morda Morano, and I will let you die by my hand.”

My resolve crumpled for one fleeting moment, one second where I couldn’t help but feel the appeal of her offer.

To die, to escape this savage world, this twisted life. To die, to find my mother, to feel her touch once more.

But then I remembered I was a woman with no heart in my chest, nothing to push the blood through my veins.

I was filled with fire, with flames that gave strength to this hollow body, that kept revenge warm in my stomach. I would not yearn for my mother; I would fight for her.

“When we fight, I will kill you,” I promised. “I will make you understand what it is to suffer.” I stepped closer, as close as I dared.

“I will make you feel every second of it, Mayme. I will teach you what it feels like to feel your skin melt from your bones.”

Her eyes held contempt, and behind that, they held fear.

“One month,” she declared, “one month from today, just past the full moon. I will meet you here, and we will fight for the title of High Matron.”

“And you will lose,” I snarled. I felt a hand on my arm and turned to see Felix, his dark eyes prodding mine. I turned back to the witch and spat at her feet.

“You and everything you care for will burn.”

She laughed. “Listen to your friend, child—”

“I am no one’s child,” I screamed, a headache spiking at the bottom of the skull. “You made sure of that, you fucking bitch!”

“Morda,” Felix urged, “we need to go.”

I pulled against him, but his grasp was sure and strong.

“You let me go back there thinking I had a chance. You built me up with hope and then took everything away from me. You fucked me over, Mayme, and it ended up costing my mother her life.”

I choked on a sob, rage mingling with grief, forming a toxic taste in my mouth.

The High Matron grinned. “Pin your failure on me if it helps, Usurper.”

An unhinged laugh spilled from my lips. “You have no idea,” I spat. “You don’t know what I did to the last person I thought hurt my mother.”

My mind spun with images of Kale, memories of him screaming and thrashing as I burned him, lit his house on fire, melted the teeth from his mouth.

Mayme’s eyes were sharp and cold. “And you have no idea what I have done over the last century to keep my place here as High Matron.

“You are young and foolish with much to learn about the cruelty of life and bad deeds that stain one’s hands.”

I held out my hands, lifted them up so everyone could see the streak of blood that stained them.

“What do I not know of the bad deeds?” I asked her. “What do I not know about mistakes that stain your hands red?”

“Enough,” Felix rumbled again, tugging me hard enough to send my feet moving. Queen Dellare picked up her dress and turned sharply, leading us quickly out of the ballroom.

I turned to see Mayme fume, to see her curl her hands into fists. “I will not forgive this!” she shouted.

“If she fails, then the two of you fail too. If she fails to kill me, then I will hang your corpses above your thrones!”

There was a rumble through the crowd as the vampires and succubi shifted, unsure whether to stay under the protection of the broader Council or follow their rogue leaders.

Mayme made that choice for them, slamming the heavy double doors closed as soon as we were through them.

I collapsed a few steps later, falling against the stone floor as all the breath flew from my lungs. Felix growled, his hand still gripping my arm as I curled in on myself, pain blooming behind my eyes.

“—insanity,” Queen Dellare was saying, “we must be fucking crazy, Felix, to think that this teenager is going to be able to—”

“We need to keep going, Morda,” Felix urged. “We need to get to a safe place before Mayme calms down and comes after us.

“She might have promised a challenge, but you know now what her word is worth; she will end you before the fight if she is given the chance.”

“And she’ll end us,” Dellare hissed.

“You made the decision yourself, Dellare,” Felix snapped.

I heaved in a long breath through my nose, letting it go out of my mouth. It did little to help me calm down, did little to ease the fire raging in my chest.

I felt it start to heat up my skin, start to bring a chill to my muscles.

I was going to burn myself alive.

“What’s wrong with her?” Dellare pressed.

Felix glared at her. “What makes you think I’m an expert in witchcraft?”

“I’m fine,” I murmured, cringing as heat pulsed under my skin. I struggled to my feet, Felix’s cold hands doing most of the work to get me there.

We hurried down the halls, Dellare dazzling as she led us. The torchlight shimmered off her dress, giving me a focal point as my vision became increasingly hazy.

“Time to get the hell out of here,” Dellare declared, her beautiful face pinched.

I stopped walking, bringing the group to an abrupt halt. Dellare rolled her eyes and cursed, folding her arms across her chest when Felix glared.

“What?” Felix barked, tugging gently.

“I’m not leaving without them,” I said tightly.

Felix didn’t bother arguing with me. He knew it was pointless. “Dellare, go get the yappy tree witch. We’ll meet you by the stairs in ten minutes.”

The queen said nothing in return, just turned and folded herself into the darkness.

“Which one first?” Felix asked, a deeper question in his eye.

“Grant,” I answered, meeting his gaze.

The vampire nodded and placed his hand on my elbow, steering me down the hall as he set the pace.

I struggled to keep up with him, my body and mind both exhausted. It was hard to coordinate your body when it felt as though you were no longer in it.

I felt the decline as we walked, gradual at first, and then steep. The Vampire King held on to me tightly, the blood on my skin rubbing off onto his white hands.

He said nothing as we walked, only instructed me to bend as the ceiling sloped.

Bile rose in my throat as the air changed, becoming damp and full of decay. It smelled like death, like decomposition and mold.

I gagged, noting how stiff Felix had grown since we got here, his sense of smell far more powerful than my own.

We came to a hall that was completely dark, completely silent. Besides our breath, I could only hear a quiet drip of water, a low moan.

The hairs on my arms and neck rose as Felix walked forward, pulling me with him into the complete darkness.

I could see nothing, not even my own hands in front of me as I stumbled forward blindly.

Felix led with confidence, I suspected that his eyes were built for the night, unlike mine, which were stinging and blind.

“Morda.” Grant’s voice rang out in the darkness, bouncing off the stone walls and floor, ringing between the slick metal bars that lined each cell. I hurried forward, almost tripping before Felix yanked me upward.

“Grant!” I shouted, voice raw. “Where—”

“Hush,” Felix snapped, jerking my arm to silence me. “We aren’t the only ones down here.”

My stomach clenched tightly as my eyes strained to see something, any prick of light.

This darkness was impossible—terrifying. It seemed wrong that it existed, seemed to swallow you whole if you forgot the ground beneath your feet.

Felix touched my shoulders lightly, steering me in a new direction before he stepped back. “He’s in that cell,” he whispered to me, melting backward into the dark.

I took a deep breath and held out my hand before funneling a few flames to my palm.

My vision blurred immediately, the light an intrusion on my sensitive eyes. I blinked a few times, letting my vision adjust as I took in small things about the space around me.

The floor was wet, the stones slightly damp underfoot. It was also dirty, covered in mud and debris, and from what I could deduce—blood. I took a step forward, the bars coming into view.

They were coated in a thick layer of grime, appearing as though they hadn’t been cleaned since they were erected in this terrible place.

“You came back.”

I threw myself against the bars, sticking my hand through and illuminating the tiny cell.

Grant growled lightly, turning his head to place his face in the crook of his arm as he hunched over. He was curled up on the ground, tucked into the back corner of his cell.

His white hair was marked with grime and dirt, as were his clothes and his pale skin.

The cell had no cot to sit on, no place to go to the bathroom, no blanket to curl up under. It was just stone and iron situated in the damp, cold dark.

I crouched, one hand on the bar as I decreased the flames in my other hand, letting Grant’s eyes adjust to the light.

I had to remember that he had been down here for the better part of a week. I shivered at the thought.

“Grant?” I saw his body shake at the sound of his name.

Painstakingly slow, Grant’s body unfurled—his shoulders drawing up into the proud line I recognized, his hips squaring as he turned, his defined jaw tensing as he lifted his face.

He blinked rapidly, rubbing his eyes as they took in the light from my hand.

When he had adjusted, when he had raised his head and lifted his eyes to mine, I could’ve sworn for just one moment I felt my heart beat.

“Witch,” he exhaled, voice shaking as those pale eyes filled with tears.

My throat was tight, my eyes stinging as I began to cry. “Wolf,” I called, thrusting my other hand through the bar.

Grant moved to me immediately, throwing his own body against the bars as he folded himself into my arms, slipping his own hands out of the cell to wrap around me.

I held on to him tightly, not caring about my screaming muscles protesting at the awkward angle.

I didn’t care about the chill of the metal against my face or the dampness underneath me that was beginning to permeate my skin.

I had him.

And that was what mattered.

When Grant pulled away, he had my face cradled in his hands. “I’m so fucking pissed at you,” he told me, cheeks wet. His exhale was shaky. “But I’m so fucking happy you’re here.”

I let out a tiny burst of rattling laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“Your mom?” he asked, voice lifting with hope, with anticipation.

My eyes dropped, and he understood. He understood without any words, without anything at all. His fingers held on a little tighter to my face as I leaned against the bars.

I felt him kiss my forehead, felt his fingers twine in my hair, felt the anger he felt behind it all. The rage that matched my own.

“She’ll pay,” he murmured to me, a promise.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Felix drawled, “but we have another boy to save and not much time.”

Grant let me go, pushing himself to his feet and wobbling slightly. He tried to hide it, tried to hide how unsteady he was, but I saw him grip the bars, saw the uncertainty in his face.

I also saw the bruises along the column of his throat, the dark veins.

Ditra would also burn.

“How do we get him out of there?” I asked, searching the bars for a lock or a handle. There was nothing. It was almost as if the prison had been built around Grant himself.

I turned to Felix, whose eyes were hidden in the shadows of their sockets as I lifted the flame in my palm. “We ask the guard,” he stated. I didn’t miss the dread in his tone.

“And who guards the prison cells?” I asked.

Felix shivered, and I knew we were in trouble. “Janus.”

“Janice?” Grant repeated, a laugh rising weakly to his lips. “Who guards the cells? Some sixty-year-old woman?”

“Janus,” Felix repeatedly tightly, his eyes darting around the dark hall, “is a creature that belongs to no clan.”

Grant hung against the bars, his body weak. He played it off, though, working the weakness into his bravado.

“Don’t tell me there are more supernaturals to keep track of. Now you’re saying that there are things outside of the clans?”

This was news to me.

Felix nodded grimly. “These beings either work for or against us. I’m not sure what side Janus is on.”

“So what is he?” Grant pressed, a hitch in his voice. I grabbed his hand through the bars.

The Vampire King did not smile. “You will have to decide for yourself.”

Felix slipped into the dark, his footsteps too light to track as he moved farther away. I heard a rattling noise, a soft moan, and then the vampire was back with a tin can clutched in his hand.

Grant and I watched as Felix grasped the cup in his hand, tight enough that his knuckles strained against his skin.

The cup rattled and skipped as Felix ran it over the bars three times over, his face grim as he did so.

The sound was terrible, filling the dark empty space with a high-pitched clang that pierced the inner ear. I cringed, grasping firmly to Grant’s hand until it was over.

The sound roused the other prisoners, and shouts of protest came from all different languages.

My breath hitched when the prison fell back into silence.

“Maybe it didn’t work,” I whispered. The flames cupped in my hand started to waver and flicker, casting long shadows against the walls.

I stared at our distorted forms, at mine in particular as I began to recognize myself in that shadow, recognize something dark and disturbed.

“You summoned me.”

The flame in my hand went completely out.

Grant squeezed my hand tightly, pulling me close to the bars. I felt Felix move closer, felt his hand at my elbow and his breath on my face.

My skin was pebbled, my hairs raised. I tried to shut out the fear, tried to rekindle the flame.

A different, deeper voice called out, “What is it you need?”

Felix’s voice didn’t waver. “This prisoner,” he murmured, “I need him released.”

“On whose authority?” the first voice asked, closer than before, close enough for me to feel breath on my neck. Grant growled, his throat grumble bouncing off the stone walls.

From somewhere down the hall I heard a whimper.

“Mine,” Felix ordered.

The deeper voice laughed.

The fire sparked in my hand, and once more we had a small bit of light to eat up some of the darkness. I swept my hand around, trying to get a look at the creature that lurked in the deep dark beneath.

“I can’t do that,” the first voice whispered.

“I really can’t,” the second agreed.

Grant growled again. “Let me the fuck out,” he demanded, his voice edged with panic.

Both voices laughed, one throaty and the other high and nasally.

Felix tensed. “I am the king of the—”

“I know who you are.” I yelped as a face came into view, close enough for us to make out its features but not see its body.

The man had a long, drawn face. Large, sloppy ears, downcast eyes, a heavy, bulbous nose.

The man’s eyes were tinged with yellow, slightly fogged from years spent in the dark. It smiled, revealing brown teeth, riddled with dark spots of decay. “King of the Vampires,” it proclaimed.

The man withdrew into the shadows, and a second later, another face appeared. This one was similar, though its eyes were larger and droopy, its nose a thin, unstable bridge.

It had cruel, curved lips and a smile that made me shiver.

“And I know who you are,” it rumbled. This was the owner of the low voice. “Usurper,” it announced, “enchantress of fire.”

“Let him go,” I commanded, fighting to hold on to my composure.

Felix hissed as the man stepped forward, illuminating more of his features in the light from my hand. The man had nearly no hair, just tufts in different colors and expanses of dry, raw skin.

The man’s neck was thick, almost grotesquely so. The man’s body was slight and hunched, muscles weak, skin nearly translucent.

When the man turned his head, I almost vomited, almost fainted, almost screamed. It was the same man, both faces fused to one body.

The man swiveled his massive head, giving us a view of the first face, the one with the high-pitched voice.

“I know who he is too,” he teased.

The creature turned its head rapidly, almost as if the two sides were fighting to be seen, to be heard. “I know who he is. The White Wolf. The werewolf with many siblings but no family.”

I felt Grant’s hand go slack in mine, turned to see the horror on his face.

The man grunted as the other face took over. “I see everything, Grant Ryder. I see what is before me and behind me, what is in the past and what is in the future.”

“H-how—” Grant balked.

The deep-voiced face jerked back to face us. His laugh filled my entire body with dread.

“I watched your parents leave you. I watched you cling to your selfish mother and watched you cry for your strict father.”

“Enough,” Felix thundered, “release—”

Janus twitched, his other face taking control. “I’ve seen the future, White Wolf. I saw your sister’s blood on your hands. I saw the hatred in your brother’s eyes.”

“Fuck you,” Grant seethed. He sounded wild, feral.

Both faces laughed in unison.

I sucked in a breath as the second face appeared before me, so close that I could see the veins in his eyes, could feel the clamminess of his skin. “And you,” he drawled, “in you I see a happy past.”

“And a sad future,” the first voice whispered.

I doubled the size of the fire in my hand. “Release him,” I demanded, “or else I see fire in your future.”

The faces withdrew, melting back into the darkness.

I spun, holding my hand out as I searched for them in the darkness. Felix did the same, slinking into a half crouch as he braced himself for their reappearance.

“What will you give us?” the deep voice asked.

“What can you exchange?” the other added.

“What do you want?” I called out, still searching for the creature.

Janus hissed in response, appearing on the very edge of my vision.

I spun, lifting my hand to illuminate the man, but he only stepped back, allowing me to only see the very edges of his body and faces, the very extremes.

“I lost a prisoner,” the high voice admitted, almost ashamed.

“I was looking in the prisoner’s past too much,” the second rumbled.

“We did not see what would happen,” the first said.

“We had him for so very long,” the deep-voiced face said, his cruel lips tugging into a frown. “He had so many memories to look back on, so many years he had lived.”

“I would like it very much if he was returned to me,” the high-pitched voice said, “especially since I know he has a guilty future.”

“A guilty past,” the deep voice agreed.

“Who?” Grant pressed. They laughed. Grant snarled. “Who are you talking about?”

I closed my eyes. “My father.”

“The only werewolf for years and years,” the deep voice lamented. “So many memories he had, both as a man and as a wolf.”

I felt Grant’s hand on mine, felt his questioning stare, and I felt his anger again. I was to blame for that, I was to blame for his rage.

I was the reason he didn’t already know that my father had found me, had found my mother at the end of her life.

“Fine,” Felix agreed, holding out his hand. “We’ll return the prisoner back to you.”

“Absolutely not,” I snapped, spinning on the Vampire King.

Felix curled his lip at me. “Deadbeat dad or Grant?”

I felt my mouth fall open.

“That’s not fair,” Grant grumbled. “The old man doesn’t stand a chance.”

I glared at my supposed ally. “You’re asking me to condemn my father to a lifetime in the dark, a lifetime of being subjected to torture.”

Felix’s black eyes glittered in the firelight. “It was a choice your mother made.”

I said nothing.

“Very well,” the deep voice boomed. I heard a clink and then turned to watch as the bars of Grant’s cell started to slide away, sinking into the stone and disappearing.

Grant stepped through as soon as he could, turning on his side to free himself quicker.

As soon as the bars were gone, he wrapped me in his arms, his grip so tight he lifted me up slightly, my toes barely touching the ground as I pressed my face into his neck.

I breathed in his scent—almost completely hidden by the grime that coated his skin and the terrible smell that had permeated his clothing.

“Don’t ever leave me behind again, witch,” he rumbled against my skin, leaving me with goosebumps.

“We will see you very soon,” the high voice said.

Felix touched the small of my back, catching a growl from Grant on reflex. The Vampire King ignored him; instead, he laid a hand on each of us and started to lead us out of the prison.

I gasped as a hand darted out across the ground, grabbing my ankle and yanking hard enough to knock me down to my knees.

Grant snarled, spinning to attack before I swept the hand that was ablaze toward the person who grabbed me.

There was a startled hiss as the creature scuttled backward, its tiny, pointed teeth bared as he braced a green arm over his eyes. “Help me,” it rasped, “get me out.”

We kept walking.

I was grateful for the feeling of an incline, almost breaking into a full sprint when I saw the lights up ahead. I didn’t extinguish the one in my hand until we were bathed in light.

Grant stopped, tugging my hand to a halt as he pulled me toward him.

Felix hesitated for a moment, his face tensed before he unlocked his jaw and continued on, taking the next turn to give us a moment of privacy.

Grant’s hands were on my face and my waist, bracing me gently against him. “I want to know everything that happened, and I want to know why you left me at the bottom of those stairs,” he murmured.

He posed the question lightly, but I could see the betrayal in his eyes, could hear the deep hurt I had inflicted.

“When we’re safe, we will talk,” I promised.

He stared into my eyes for a long, drawn-out moment before he grabbed my face with both hands, the ends of his fingertips sliding into my hair as he brought his lips hard onto mine.

My body was jolted awake, my hands flying to his neck as I pressed myself closer, kissing him back with whatever strength I had left in me.

When we pulled away, we were both breathless, both charged with anger and hurt and love. He took my hand with one of his, still cupping my cheek with the other. “About your mother—”

“Don’t,” I warned, flinching away.

He held fast, forcing me to look into his pale eyes. “Your mother,” he repeated, his voice dredging up the bottom of my stomach, making me rock with guilt and grief, “did not deserve to die,” he said.

“And I will help you grieve this loss, Morda. I will give you space if that is what you need.

“I will punish whoever you point to, cry with you when you cry, hold you together if you aren’t ready to fall apart.”

“Grant…”

He wasn’t finished. “But when you do fall apart, when it all goes to shit…” He squeezed me tightly, his eyes burning.

“When you are shattered because of this and you feel like you are alone, remember to look behind you, Morda, because I will always be there, picking up the pieces you leave behind.”

I looked down, my damp hair falling into my face. Grant tucked my bangs behind my ear, kissing my forehead despite the blood and dirt and sweat that had collected there.

He drew me into his side, one arm hooked firmly around my waist.

I felt the conviction behind his promise, felt in that moment as though he was holding me together.

I thought of his promise to pick up the pieces when I shattered, thought of the damage I knew was coming.

It wouldn’t be pieces he’d be picking up.

It would be ashes.

And repair wouldn’t be possible.