I hear the male rage in the other room. He’s not giving up. “I know you’re here!” He shouts and bangs and shouts some more, “When I findyou, I’m going to burn your eyes out of your skull! You have no idea what you’ve seen, and if you share those photos with a single soul, we will never stop hunting for you!” A few more loud sounds and then, in a quieter tone, the male voice says, “You’ve been warned.”
His stomping feet get quieter and quieter. I hear the sound of ringing metal that I can only hope—pray—is him kicking a garbage can as he leaves.Please leave.
I’m suddenly finding it hard to move. My breaths are too shallow. There ... there might be something wrong with me. Or maybe it’s just the dark. Maybe it’s my crashing adrenaline. All I know is that there’s a sudden disconnect between my thoughts and my actions, and all I can do now is squeeze the hand of the man lying beside me. I squeeze it with everything I got.
My eyes close, rendering the darkness complete. I wish I could call Darius.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Darius
There’s banging on my window. My sliding glass balcony door, in fact. I had expected it, given that my phone and home alarm went off in a brilliantly loud blaze—I increased the volume after last time, expecting a repeat attack. What I don’t expect, however, is that itisn’tthe Marduk.
I get up from my office chair, where I’d been researching colorful rugs, and head to my living room, where I stop dead. The Wyvern stands with his fist on my glass. His fist is streaking blood.
I rush forward, my feet carrying me without thought. I use my powers to slide the door open before him. He staggers into the room, and I experience another bout of shock as he falls forward, letting me catch him and bring him to my couch. I have to carry way more of his weight than I expect to have to, and as I stare down at his pink skin, I notice scrapes and deeper cuts all over his back.
“What the fuck happened?” He looks like he’s been chewed up by a much larger beast and spit out. But his eyes are clear. They’re blazing.
“Have you heard from Monika?” His teeth are clenched. He releases a pained moan when he tries to lean back. I pull him forward to see that his whole left side is covered in short wooden darts. I start to pull them out, uncaring for how he grumbles, when his words finally catch up to me.
My fingers freeze around a dart. It’s wet and bloody beneath my fingers. “What did you just say?”
“Have you seen or heard from Monika? I was with her and COE forces. I dropped off the injured and tried to call her,” he pants, unable to catch his breath, “but she’s not picking up. Her phone just rings and rings.”
I stand up, my hands dropping away from his bloody body as all the blood inmybody rushes to my feet. I’m cold. Numb. Colliding thoughts vie to take precedence, and I can’t focus on any of them. “She was with you and Vanessa at a photo shoot for your wedding.”
“No. What? She’s part of a secret mission. She was sent with us to document it,” he coughs. Blood comes out in his hand. “Fucker. That fucking acid fuck.”
“Acid?” I hiss, dazed.
He doesn’t answer, but says, “She made it out of the ports, but nobody’s heard from her since. The COE officer with her was found dead. The SDD forces finally arrived, but by then the Marduk and the Inconnus were already gone, their base completely destroyed. I think they might have had Sobek involved, because the entire old port was sunk.” He looks up at me, the kindling in his eyes ever ablaze. “I thought she might have called you. Or come to you first.” He tries to stand. I shove him down.
My mind is on fire. I reach into my back pocket, withdraw my phone, and call the woman who ditched our date and lied to me. The phone rings and rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. “Hi, you’ve reached Monika Neumann ...” she says in the blandest tone I’ve ever heard.
Every word jacks up my pulse. I haven’t ever felt like this. This clenching in my chest. This cracking in my ribs.
I head to the window. “You need to go see the medic. And she better fix you up good, so that way I can kill you next time I fucking see you.”
My mind has yet to accept the possibility that something bad has happened to Monika, despite the way the Wyvern looks. It veers in thatdirection and then retreats. I keep my jaw locked and my mind focused on the next steps. The Wyvern said the old docks. That’s where I head.
The sky is bright and that pisses me off. It has no right to be this nice a day as we creep toward November. Not today. Not when my mood is bleak enough that every light in every building, every streetlamp, every car headlight flickers as I float overhead. I’m not moving at my maximum speed, and that pisses me off too. I can’t afford to miss her.
My hands are clenched into fists that feel weighted like stones. I struggle to lift them from my sides. I don’t know what to do with them. Her phone rang and rang and rang, but the last three times I tried to call her, it went straight to voicemail. She’s hanging up on me on purpose. Why? What’s she doing now? Where is she? Did the Marduk take her?
The thought shorts in my mind, and my hands flinch. I reach into my back left pocket for a burner phone I rarely use. I hesitate, debating calling him, as I round a low block of crumbling brick buildings and begin my descent. I’m forty, twenty feet up from the sidewalk when, right in front of me—no more than half a block away—a woman steps out of a narrow alley.
“Monika!” I roar, my voice louder and harsher than I mean for it to be.
Her neck snaps up, our eyes connect, and I fall. I’ve never fallen before while flying. Never lost control. But I do now. All the concentration in my being sharpens on the cuts and abrasions all over her body. Her hair is matted in blood to the left side of her face.
I hit the sidewalk on both knees surrounded by a cloud of electricity. Pain radiates up my thighs, but it’s fleeting. I could have broken both kneecaps and it wouldn’t have stopped me from staggering upright toward Monika, whose expression is utterly indecipherable. Her eyes are big and wide, like she’s surprised to see me, her lips gently parted. Blood glistens on their insides.
She’s wearing all black, a bulletproof vest covering her chest with the half-burned word PRE decorating the front of it in large, blocky white letters. She’s got a camera in her hand and is walking down thestreet like everything is normal. Like she’s just out and about taking photos on a casual autumn stroll, never mind the fact that the knees of both of her pant legs are torn open, revealing bloodied legs.
“Hey,” she says to me.
Hey.The fact that she remains alive after such a glib response is a testament to my control. Perhaps my lack thereof. If I could have controlled the schism between my heart and my powers, she’d certainly be dead by now, electrocuted in one swift surge to the heart. Because the alternative is too much to bear. Just take her out ofmymisery. I can’t ... be ... on this planet ... if she’s ... also on this planetandcapable of being injured ... like this. And as my entire universe comes crashing down, everything I’ve ever known boiled down to a single bloody beating heart—herbloody beating heart—she has theaudacityto saythatto me now?
