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But since I already know how that will go, I simply wave him through. He gives me a smug smirk before proceeding. His large frame fills the entire doorway, making it impossible to see whether a threat stands on the other side. But when he doesn’t yell or launch himself into an attack, I exhale, assuming the way is clear.
He stalks slowly through the house, but I linger in the foyer, inhaling the scent of home and staring around at a house full of things that bring back so many memories. Tears burn my eyes. Juniper may not have lived here, but I see reminders of her everywhere I look.
A photo of her and Kendall grinning at the camera from last Christmas. A throw blanket she brought over when I had a cold the year after my mother died. Her artwork hanging above the couch. A lump forms in my throat, and I blink back the tears that threaten to overtake the senses I know should remain on alert for threats.
I end up in my bedroom, my gaze sweeping the space for anything important I might need. A tiny vial sits on my dresser, and I swipe it, tucking it into my pocket just as Legion returns from his sweep of the house.
“All clear,” he says.
I’m glad again for the mask that hides my emotions, but somehow he knows because he closes the distance, his hand coming up to cup my cheek in a surprisingly affectionate gesture.
“It’s all right to be sad,” he says quietly.
“How do you know I’m sad?”
“Because I feel it. Through the bond.”
“I miss Juniper.”
“She fought bravely.”
“She was a warrior,” I agree. “In her way. Like my mother. They were against violence and death, but they were fierce.”
“That must be where you get it from.”
My chin comes up in defiance, which is stupid considering everything. “Don’t forget that I actually have killed though.”
“You may have taken life, but you are not a killer. There’s a difference.”
Unlike before, this time when he says it, there’s no judgment. In fact, it’s admiration I see reflected in his dark gaze.
A noise comes from the backyard, and I tense.
Legion whirls toward the back door, already moving. I follow, chasing him through the kitchen and out the door into the yard. I catch a flurry of movement near the trees—a figure disappearing at the edge of the charred yard—and Legion races after them.
I start to follow but stop when the scent of blood hits me. It comes from the direction of my workshop, and I look over to find the door hanging open. Even from here, I can see it’s empty of plants. The plants Legion carried from here all the way to his home in Tartarus—for me.
But the scent of blood is strong, so I follow it, stepping into the shadowed interior. In the back of the space, on the floor, is a body lying prone in a pool of blood that’s slowly saturating the wooden plank flooring.
Whatever happened is still fresh. My heart squeezes as I approach.
I crouch, peering below the worktable, and gasp at the sight of Chase Lanson, the elf Kendall had a crush on. Rounding the table quickly, I lean down beside him, hoping to find a pulse. But his throat is nearly gone, ripped messily open by narrow slashes that look a hell of a lot like teeth marks.
Fangs, actually.
Vampires did this.
My eyes catch on something on the floor nearby. I pull off the fabric covering on my face and stare at it, my stomach tightening into knots.
A crimson rose.
Legion appears in the doorway, his eyes burning with intensity.
“Did you catch them?” I ask, pushing to my feet.
“I let one go to deliver our message,” he says in a deadly promise. “What is it?”
“Chase Lanson.” I swallow hard. “Kendall’s friend. He must have come looking for her when she didn’t show up to school. Gods, he’s only a teenager. And now he’s dead.” I hold up the flower. “With a crimson rose left behind.”
