Page 108 of Hellbound

Tori’s eyes widened. “Stellan? Who’s Stellan?”

But the question bounced off Marian as her head swiveled around. They were a ways from the entrance hall, but if Stellan’s aura was this intense, he couldn’t be far off.

Why was Stellan here? Vale insisted Verinne would come alone. She’d barely prepared herself to face one Argent, let alone two. Especially not one she hated on a visceral level. But she didn’t sense Verinne. Only Stellan Blacke.

Tori pulled her behind a large white pillar and out of view. “I’m assuming Stellan is Argent. What about Verinne?”

Marian shook her head as she reached a trembling hand into her pocket and fished out her phone. She dialed Paul as she murmured to Tori. “Only Stellan. You ever heard of the Butcher of Bel Aire?”

Tori nodded.

“Same person.”

The traveler’s eyes flared. “But—”

Paul’s voice crackled in Marian’s ear. “Yeah, I know. I just saw him check in. I was about to call you.”

“Why is Stellan here?”

“I don’t know,” Paul replied. “I checked with registration. He came in on Verinne’s RSVP and there’s no plus one.”

Marian pinched the bridge of her nose as she clutched the phone to her cheek. “So then where is Verinne?”

“Home, apparently,” Paul muttered. Voices carried on in the background.

“Marian, fill me in here.” Tori folded her bare arms across her chest. Gooseflesh pebbled her skin.

Marian covered the receiver with her hand. “Verinne isn’t coming.”

“What?”

Marian uncovered the phone, catching Paul mid-sentence. “—might have been spooked by Roman going MIA, but she can’t possibly know what we planned.”

Marian’s eyes locked on the traveler, who tapped her foot anxiously. “If he’s working with Verinne, he’s bound to know who Tori is and what she did. We can’t let him see that she’s alive. We need to get her out of here.”

“You both need to bail. Stellan can’t know you’re here, and I don’t have eyes on him. Get to the south exit, and fast.”

Marian hung up the phone and shoved it back in her pocket. “We’re leaving.”

“Right.” Tori didn’t ask questions; she followed Marian as they worked their way across the crowd. Only to be intercepted by an older white couple that eyed Marian like some specimen of pinned insect on display.

“It is you,” the man said in a lofty voice, his salt and pepper hair coiffed in a short wave. A woman built like a skeletal bird draped in green silk clutched his arm. A string of delicate pearls encircled her unnaturally tan neck.

“Who?” The older woman trilled.

“Daniel’s stepdaughter.”

“Oh,” she replied with a soft gasp that was hardly joyous. Her brows—tattooed in place—drew together in scorn as she gave Marian a once-over. “I didn’t recognize you. You’ve lost so much weight.”

“At least you’ve got that going for you,” the man added with a taut smile.

Then it was as if Marian had fallen through the floor, and time had no meaning.

She sits in courtroom beside a lawyer she couldn’t afford even before the judge’s gavel came down on her sentence—a life of debt. Her mother’s been dead for months. Friends and family of Daniel Eaves occupy every seat. Barry Pacheco is one of the first to rise. He catches Daniel by the shoulder, then shakes his hand vigorously.

“This is better than prison, Dan,” Barry says; his voice carries over the excited murmurs from the dispersing crowd. “Your tax dollars won’t fund her watching TV in a cell all day.”

Marian couldn’t move. But Tori was there, grounding her with her presence. She slipped an arm around Marian’s waist, imbuing her with a warmth that instantly melted the ice in her limbs.