Page 113 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

My stomach lifted into my throat. I forced my legs to move. I didn’t have proof that something was wrong. And yet, I could feel it in my bones. Perhaps some additional sense that came with being mates.

I popped my head in the living room. There was an emptied whisky bottle sitting out on the liquor cabinet, but no sign of Bastian. I ran up the stairs to his bedroom. It was empty, the bed made. My stomach dropped. I went back downstairs and checked in my room. The bed was rumpled, even though I’d left it made. He’d slept there.

My chest fluttered. “Freaking fuck,” I muttered. Warmth spread through me at the thought of him lying there, missing me, trying to be closer to me. I trudged into the kitchen and shrieked.

“Oh my, God! Bastian!” My heart dropped to the floor as I ran forward. He sat at the island, slumped over a plate of food. All my worst fears exploded in my mind. Did he ingest the entire bottle of alcohol? Take some pain killers? How could he be dead, when we were only starting our lives together as mates?!

“Oh my, God!” I breathed, trying to see through the tears springing to my eyes. “Oh my fucking God!” My hands trembled. I couldn’t breathe. The world tilted on its axis and I reached out to grip his chair, to steady myself. Each inhale was a sharp knife. I wrapped my arms around him and hauled him upright, leaning him against me. His head flopped against my shoulder. Tears began dripping down my cheeks. I looked for evidence to explain his death.

“No. No, no, no, no. Bas!”

How could this have happened? Was it my fault? Did he think I was done with him? Did he not⁠—

A light breath tickled my skin near the base of my neck. Bastian’s exhale. I sucked in a breath, looking for a pulse, then groaned. Alive—he was alive. His heartbeat was steady, eyes chaotically darting beneath his closed lids.

“Wake up, Bastian.” I gently smacked his cheeks. “Wake up, baby. Come on. Wake up.” The roaring pulse in my ears grew louder. I slid the plate with a half-eaten sandwich and chips aside, brushed his face clean, and leaned down, kissed his lips. He didn’t kiss me back. His lips were warm, but they were unresponsive. I kissed him harder, willing him to wake up. His breath hitched, like somewhere deep inside, he recognized me. But that was it.

“Wake up, baby, please,” I whined.

Nothing.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck.” How was it possible? Had he turned into a sleeper? But… Luke was dead. Christian had confirmed it earlier. If Luke was dead…

My heart jumped in my chest, putting the pieces together. Luke didn’t have the harp when we’d found him. It was never him. We were wrong. Claws scraped against my insides. I caressed Bastian, petting him, trying to think as my fingers brushed the velvety hair on the shaved side of his head.

My eyes fell to his phone on the breakfast bar. Next to it, a slip of paper with something scrawled in Bastian’s handwriting. It had been torn from a notepad with Memorial Hospital’s logo on the bottom corner. I reached for it. An address in the city.

I frowned.

The address was on Sepula Industrial Boulevard, which housed distribution centers and manufacturing plants. Why would he have this?

I pulled out my phone and punched the address into my maps app. It popped up as a big warehouse, but didn’t have any kind of company name associated. The street photo made it look like an abandoned building.

My skin crawled. I thought back to what Christian had said. Bastian had gone to talk with Luke at the hospital yesterday. At some point last night, someone had killed Luke. Why? To silence him? Tie up loose ends?

If so, what did Luke know? Did it have something to do with the address on the paper? I rolled my lips between my teeth—thinking.

If I were Bastian, I’d have gone looking for the harp. Luke would have been my best lead. That’s the first question I would have asked. It was doubtful that Luke would simply tell Bastian the harp’s location. But maybe he’d convinced Luke to talk.

I touched him again, kissing his forehead.

“Did you leave this for me to find?” I wasn’t sure if Bastian could even hear me in his current state. But I hoped so. “I’ll figure it out, baby. I’ll fix whatever happened to you. I promise.”

If the harp had done this to him, if someone was still out there using it, this wouldn’t stop. More sleepers would succumb. I needed to act.

I glanced at my phone. Christian had asked me to call as soon as I heard from Bastian. I almost dialed his number, then hesitated. He wasn't a supernatural. If Bastian had gotten this address and didn't tell him, brought it home, sat here with it, was there a reason? Maybe supernatural politics I didn't understand. And if this was connected to magical artifacts, what could Christian actually do?

My cheeks puffed up, blowing out a breath. Maybe I’d just pop over and give it a look. Maybe it was some kind of storage facility and Luke had hidden the harp there, along with the other artifacts he’d stolen. The idea of reclaiming all those items for the university made my pulse speed up. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d gone on an artifact hunting mission. I’d been on several.

I could pop over, have a look around the premises, then give Christian a call if anything looked suspicious. Or even if it didn’t. He should at least know that Bastian—in physical form—was home, alive and breathing.

I glanced around the kitchen. I wanted to make Bastian comfortable, but he was the size of a brute and there was no way I could move him. I gently eased him back onto the island, ran to the living room and grabbed a pillow, then came back and wedged it beneath his face.

Poor thing. I ran my hand down his back as a final goodbye. Thundering down the stairs into the basement, I went to the wall he’d shown me and found the hidden switch, revealing his massive weapons collection.

I looked it over. I couldn’t cover myself in weapons. Actually, I couldn’t even use most of what was here. I’d probably just end up injuring myself. I spotted a couple of black backpacks. I grabbed one, unzipped it, and threw in several daggers, one of the cool smoke bombs he’d shown me, and a 9mm handgun. I’d gone to the shooting range with my father but hadn’t shot anything in at least five years. Still, I would be stupid not to take one, even if I only planned to scope this place out.

Zipping the bag closed, I returned to the main floor. Bastian was exactly where I’d left him, not that I was surprised. It just felt so…surreal. He was always full of life. Seeing him like this, lifeless, made my stomach churn.