“Yeah,” Darien said, “you really fucking do.”
He strode past the wolf before he had a chance to say anything else and carried Loren up the stairs. He focused on Loren’s beautiful face as he walked, being careful not to jostle her as he maneuvered the steps.
He didn’t care how many enemies he made in his efforts to keep her safe. He would always protect her—no matter the cost.
37
Darien was trying desperately to calm the roaring in his head as he knelt behind Loren in the bathroom in his suite, holding her hair back as she threw up into the toilet, again and again and again. He knew this had to happen to purge the drug from her system, but he didn’t like it, didn’t like seeing her in discomfort. She’d tried to shoo him away when she’d first sprinted to the toilet, but he hadn’t listened. She was still in no position to take care of herself, and until she got some rest and woke up with every trace of that drug gone, he refused to leave her side.
“Not bad for your first night at the Advocate,” Darien joked. She tried to answer him, but she only retched again. Darien held her hair with one hand, his other rubbing comforting patterns over her back. She was shaking, and her skin was cold and covered in a sheen of sweat. All this discomfort he’d caused her—all of it was fornothing.
Well…hopefully not completely nothing. Although they hadn’t caught who was buying the Blood Potions, the warlock who’d helped abduct Sabrine was currently unconscious in the basement. As soon as he woke up, Darien planned on getting some answers out of him, no matter how much blood it took, no matter how wicked it made him feel. No matter how many burning-hot showers he would have to take afterward in order to feel clean. He sometimes hated this part of himself—the part that was a true Devil—but it was ingrained in his soul. Without it, he wouldn’t know who he was.
One day… One day, things might finally be different.
Eventually, Loren stopped being sick, stopped shivering so hard her teeth were chattering. She was slumped against Darien’s chest, fighting to keep her eyes open, her hands gripping his shirt in tight little fists.
“Darien,” she croaked. He loved the way she said his name, as if it was a light she walked toward through darkness.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“Will you stay with me tonight?” Her eyes were fully closed now, her body limp. She had asked him that question nearly ten times since he’d brought her home from the club; it was why they were currently in his suite instead of hers.
“I’ll stay with you, Lola,” he said, his voice as sincere as the handful of other times he’d answered this same question in the past hour. He didn’t care how many times she asked him; he would never grow tired of hearing those words float off her lips. “I promise.”
He managed to get Loren from the floor and into his bed, where he covered her up with the puffy black duvet, tucking it up under her chin. When he’d brought her upstairs, Ivy and Dallas had stripped her outfit off and helped her into her pajamas. Darien had never been so grateful to have so many helpful women in his house.
He was just about to lie down on the bed beside her when a knock came at his door. Loren mumbled and stirred slightly, already half-asleep. Darien crossed the room quietly, walking heel to toe, and swung the door open.
Max was standing in the hallway. His attention went briefly to the girl in Darien’s bed before he spoke. “He’s awake,” Max said of the warlock. “Dallas said she can watch Loren for a while.”
Time to get this show on the road.
Max moved aside to allow Darien room to step into the hallway. He closed the door behind him and followed Max into the basement. Neither of them said a word as they walked, honing their focus, shoving every bit of emotion from their minds. It was their pre-kill ritual.
Darien paused at the table where he’d dressed Loren’s glass wounds and grabbed a few of the weapons strewn across it, Max doing the same. The air down here was nearly as cold as the mist in the Devil’s Advocate.
The warlock was tied to a chair in the farthest room from the stairs, where the Devils brought most of the people they had to question—the people they anticipated being difficult.
Where he was slumped in that chair countless people had been tied to in years past, the man looked up at the sound of Darien’s entry. It looked like his head weighed a thousand pounds, for it was constantly dipping toward his chest. His silver-brown eyes found the Death’s Head Knuckles that were attached to Darien’s right hand, but there was—strangely—no fear in them.
“You’re not going to need those,” the warlock slurred.
“And why’s that?” Darien said. Max stood, arms crossed, at his side, a crowbar in hand.
“Because I’m willing to talk,” the warlock replied. His words tumbled into each other, nearly indistinguishable from the lingering effects of the drug the others had used to sedate him. “I’m willing to tell the truth.”
Darien blinked the Sight into place. “I’m listening,” he prompted.
There was a long beat of silence, and then the warlock finally spoke. “To be honest with you, I’m not sure where to start. Your boys sure did a number on me, and my brain is kind of jumbled. Why don’t you ask me a question and I promise I’ll answer it in full truth?” Promises meant nothing when they came from strangers, but that was why Darien had the Sight—the most reliable method of lie detection in all of Terra. It hadn’t failed him, not once in his life.
Darien crossed his arms, the spikes on the Death’s Head Knuckles glinting in the bright light. “You helped a Darkslayer abduct Sabrine Van Arsdell several weeks ago. Why?”
A slow, heavy blink. “Sabrine wasn’t the one we wanted,” he began. “It was that little human you had in your lap tonight. We were sent for her bounty shortly after we were recruited into a group that calls themselves the Phoenix Head Society. I was promised that if I helped find the human girl they were after, I would not only receive a reward in mynet, but I would be able to reap the benefits of an artefact called the Arcanum Well. An artefact the society could use only if they found the human girl they were looking for, for they believe she is the key.”
There was a pause. Darien said, “Keep talking.”
“I was told that the Arcanum Well was a miracle machine. It could give mortals immortal life, could heal any disease, and could grant immortals more power and unlimited access to their magic without the threat of contracting the Tricking.” As the warlock spoke, Darien listened very closely, every muscle in his body tense as the answers he’d sought for so many weeks floated through the room. It seemed everything Calanthe had told them in Logan’s house was correct. She was right—about everything.
