No…
I pictured him curled up on the floor in a shivering mess, feeling lost and alone and broken as his body rebelled against the loss of the Devil’s Dream. In that moment, I didn’t care that he’d done it to himself. Didn’t care that he’d hurt people—killed them. Didn’t care that he’d hurt us too.
Whatever he’d done, whatever had set him on this path of self-destruction, it wasn’t all Elian’s fault. People succumbed to addiction for all sorts of reasons—some I understood, others I didn’t—but that kind of sickness didn’t come from a place of peace and contentment. No way.
You don’t climb into bed with the devil unless the darkness is already chasing you.
I didn’t know what darkness had chased Elian into that bed. I just knew I didn’t want him to suffer anymore.
Silent tears spilled down my cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath my head, soaking Hudson’s arm. I tried my best not to move, not to wake him, but of course my protector was already awake. Already listening, just like I was.
“He’ll be all right, babygirl,” he whispered into my hair. “And so will you.”
I turned around in his arms, facing him. “I hate that he’s so alone. I hate that he’s completely falling apart right now, and we’re here talking about him, and I’ve never felt so helpless and—”
“Hey. Hey, listen to me. Shh.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, sweet and soft. Calming. “There are some parts of this we can help him through, and it’s gonna take all of us standing by his side to get him through it. But the rest?” Hudson sighed, reaching up to cup my face and wipe my tears with his thumb. “Hell, it breaks my heart to say it, but it’s the truth. Some of this stuff Saint’s just gonna have to ride out on his own. All we can do is pick him up off the floor when it’s over and help him put the pieces back together.”
“Will you, though?” I whispered. “Given everything he’s done, given the risks he’s taking, the risks he’s putting us through? Will you still help him put the pieces back together? Even if he breaks again?”
“Again and again and again.” He took my hand and pressed it against his heart, right over the tattoo of the skull weeping blood, its mouth full of roses. It was the same tattoo Elian and Jax had, the mark of their oath. “Blood before roses, babygirl,” he said adamantly. “You’re damn straight I will.”
7
KERADOC
An overdose. A fucking overdose onmyproduct—the weapon I’d hoped would sufficiently weaken our enemies. The drugs he’d sucked down represented weeks of work, weeks of careful harvesting and preparation, all of it gone in a flash.
According to Gem, he’d also managed to slaughter our test subjects and scare off several other employees who now wanted nothing more to do with the facility if we couldn’t keep our hand-picked fugitives in line.
Fuck.
I should’ve seen that particular writing on the wall, but I hadn’t. I’d assumed Haley was too important to the man for him to risk disappointing me in such a grave manner. But that was not the case, and now—not only was I down the vampire-fae whose services I still required—but my witch was undoubtedly distracted as well. The demon and gargoyle too, all of them caught up in the swirling vortex of their associate’s demise like fragile soap bubbles sucked down the drain.
The only good news to come out of it was proof of the new formula’s potency. It’d been enough to drive the vampire-fae to the brink of insanity. Enough to make him turn on the innocent.
I could only hope that even in smaller doses, it would still have a similar effect on the enemy soldiers. And if not? Well. We’d simply have to make more. To utterly flood the market with it until not a single Darkwinter or rebel soldier remained untainted by its deadly allure.
After I’d learned about the accident at the facility and the ensuing recovery efforts, I’d given Haley and her band of infuriating fugitives two nights without interference from me—two nights before I confessed the worst of the news from the war front—and that was merely because I needed time to prepare for my upcoming departure, and I didn’t want the witch worrying about what Melantha’s rumored arrival might mean for her sisters in Blackmoon Bay.
But as much as I wished I could spare her any further distress, I simply couldn’t wait any longer. Melantha and her army wouldn’t rest, nor would the Darkwinter fae. I needed to make my move, and I needed the witch’s aid.
Without her magick as leverage, it would all be for naught.
Strapping one last dagger to my chest, I headed out of my chambers and down to the suite housing my fugitives. I didn’t bother knocking; the demon was working overtime at the facility and the gargoyle was on security detail out in the corpsevine fields. Haley was alone with the vampire-fae, and according to my guards, he’d barely left his sleeping quarters these past two nights.
I found Haley on the balcony, kneeling in a pile of dirt that looked as if it’d been intentionally spilled there. Unlike the night of passion she’d shared with her gargoyle, tonight was dedicated to her craft. On closer inspection, I noticed that the dirt was poured into the shape of a pentagram. Several spellbooks lay open before her, and thirteen flickering black candles encircled her.
The scents of dirt and melted wax drifted to my senses, and I took a moment to watch her from the shadows as she worked her magick, making the candle flames jump and dance at her command. She muttered an incantation, lifted her hands, and every candle extinguished at once. A heartbeat later, the lost flames flickered to life in her outstretched palms, then turned a bright, blazing red.
“It worked!” she exclaimed, her smile as bright as the magick itself. Then, hopping up to her feet, she began dancing in the dirt, laughing and spinning, the magick arcing over her head in a dazzling display.
“Who’s the witch?” she sang. “Who’s the motherfucking witch?”
A strange warmth buzzed through my chest at the sight, a smile tugging the corners of my mouth. I couldn’t help myself; I needed to speak with her. To see the light in her eyes.
I stepped from the shadows, straight into her path.
8
