Page 121 of Vervain

“Find the church and make sure the only one there is the white coat.”

“Why would this white coat be there?”

“They want to act like gods in the eyes of mere humans. He will have a keycard on him.” Serun steps towards me, closing the gap. “Take it. Steal it from him. I don’t know, but I also don’t know how else to do this. We cannot penetrate Mother’s light. Landing a bomb on it will be like a fly caught in the wind. Her exterior is impenetrable, but her core is weak.”

“I know. But what else can we do? Wait?”

He runs his tongue along his upper teeth. “What if your not-lover sees you?”

“I will be careful.” I step closer to him. “Now focus. What do I do once I have the keycard?”

“There is an elevator that will lead up to the lighthouse.”

“How do you know so much?”

“Humans from the Undercity tell me through the lure when I ask.” He reaches up, cupping my face. His sharp claws skim under my eye before he crushes his mouth against mine, devouring air. My heart. My very fucking soul. Silk slips into my mouth, dancing with my tongue in a desperate bid to cling to this moment.

“Serun,” I say, pressed against his mouth as he attacks me with kisses.

“Give me this moment, consort.” Serun leans down, grabs my thighs, and lifts me into his arms. “I want my scent to cling to you. Make you mine for eternity.”

Our tongues twirl, my body jolting with lust at the pinched ache between my legs. But before my mind tells me to fuck him now, I grab his shoulders and pull away after one final swipe of our tongues. “Serun, if anything happens⁠—”

“Naylen will fall,” he says, and whatever shimmer of adoration dies, and he stares at me with that deathly blank expression. “Use the orb, Saya.”

He releases his grip on me, and my hand rests in my pocket, near the dagger strapped to my thigh. I’m not wearing what I normally wear, but something familiar. It seems I can’t part with clothes that remind me of Darkovish Feeding Ground, for I am back in a white gown and barefoot.

Serun believes they will think I am a Feeder. Most won’t find it unusual.

“I will use it if I need to,” I whisper.

Serun crushes his lips against mine. A flutter slaughters mine, leaving me no room to salivate before he breaks away and steps back. “Once the light vanishes, I will be with you in a heartbeat.”

“My heartbeat or yours?”

Shadows peel away from Serun as he grabs me by the hip, drawing me into him. My hands go to the sides of his face, and when we are a breath away, he pecks me on the lips and says, “Punishment for making jokes before you leave me, consort.”

Laughing, I say, “Very well, nightwalker. Don’t miss me too much.”

“You consume my every thought. I doubt my ability not to miss you.”

This time, I’m the one to step away from him. Shadows slip back over his face, covering his body. The only part of him visible is those orb-like neon eyes that cut through the darkness.

Taking a deep breath, I make my way up the hill. I pinch my pocket, touch the orb, and keep it near in case I need to use it. The closer I get to the prayer sanctuary, the more my body turns to ice. My muscles tense, gripping my bones and webbing around my marrow. Warning signals flash through my body, telling me to turn around.

An aura of light shimmers on the stone, and with one more step I’m inside. Intense light blinds me for a moment, and I wince, shying away even as I keep moving forward.

With every step, shapes form. Through the light, a cathedral appears. Towers with pointed roofs and hundreds of windows. This cold white light radiates from it—an aura that throbs around every arched stained window and yellow limestone wall.

Two slayers stand at the entrance on either side. I’d like to believe they are human, but the unfriendly look in both their eyes when they notice me tells me they are slayers. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I relax my grip on the orb to keep myself composed. The orb and dagger will still be there if I need them. No need to keep reaching for it.

“What are you doing here?” the man on the right says. He has dark blue eyes, a scar running down his brow, and trimmed, waxed dark hair. He wears slacks, thick boots, and a buttoned-up shirt tight across his muscular arms.

Definitely a slayer.

Tension grips my throat at the gun strapped to his waist, and heat flushes my chest where Jax’s brother shot me.

“I came from the feeding ground and was looking for sanctuary…”