Page 153 of Fallen Court

“I don’t understand,” she admitted.

Neither did I. Not quite. “Only the witches know about the icons?”

“In theory.”

Roark was nearly there. My fingers itched. “What does that mean?”

“How many secrets do you keep from Cate?” Willow asked.

“I try not to anymore.” I shot her a sharp look. “She’d kill me.”

“Exactly. Everyone trusts someone, no matter what they swear to keep secret. You always tell someone.”

She was right. Roark knew everything about my parents, about Cate, about the mating bond.

“You’re saying that it stands to reason that other creatures might know about the icons.” Something about that possibility chilled me to the bone. “Could you make an icon? Combine bloodlines?”

“It would be an abomination,” she whispered.

“Abominations are what happen when men try to play God.” I stared at my phone, watching Roark’s location on the map. I needed him to drive faster, needed to reach her before it was too late. We had been stupid to think we could outsmart fate. All we had done was lead ourselves to the slaughter.

“Congratulations, by the way,” Willow said softly.

I shot her an incredulous look. “On what?”

She gestured to the golden tattoo I no longer hid on my wrist. “Most people would kill to have a mate. It’s written about in the old book. It means you’re touched by destiny, descended from the gods.”

But I didn’t want destiny or divinity. I only wanted Cate, and nothing was going to stop me from getting to her. Roark’s avatar stopped at The Fontaine, and I offered Willow a final smile, knowing it might be my last. “Then let’s hope those gods are listening.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Cate

The kitchen at The Fontaine was deserted, the stoves off, the pots empty. It didn’t look like anyone had cooked here today. Baptiste hustled us toward a walk-in freezer, the gun wedged hard against Ciara’s back. “Try to nip, and I shoot,” she warned her. “And then I kill your brother’s toy. Or should I say his mate?”

“Do you really want to piss off Lach?” I asked her. He would come after her with everything he had.

Baptiste had been listening. She knew the truth. If she was smart, she would blackmail the family. But she could do that without holding us captive.

Dread pitted my stomach. She could also use the information as currency, trading it—or worse, us—to the highest bidder.

“Keep going,” she said, pushing the muzzle into Ciara’s spine and glaring at me. “I have absolutely no reservations about shooting her. In fact, I’d rather enjoy it.”

“And to think I tell everyone about your Doberge cake,” Ciara muttered, but her lower lip trembled, betraying the false edge of her bravado.

Baptiste leaned closer, smiling widely. “I have you at gunpoint. We can stop pretending that we like each other.”

“That is a relief, because I can finally tell you that you’re a bitch,” Ciara hissed.

“And you’re a stuck-up fae brat.” She shoved her toward the door of a walk-in cooler. “I’d planned to snatch any old fae that walked through my doors tonight. You have no idea how thrilled I was when it was you. If I ever had any doubts about what I’ve been doing, the universe really sent me a sign.”

“Doing?” I eyed her as a terrible realization began to sink in, and my mouth fell open.

“Don’t look so surprised.” She whacked Ciara in the back with the muzzle. “Bitches get shit done.”

“It was you.” It was all so clear now. Baptiste had killed Étienne and the others. “You’re the one who’s been murdering creatures in the city.” I shook my head—one thing still didn’t make sense. “Why did that vampire confess?”

She nodded, not looking the least bit guilty. “A good vampire respects their elders.”