Page 46 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

With the road gliding beneath me, I stared at the letters scrolling across her display, then turned toward the passenger seat, faintly illuminated by the electronics.

Like a ghost, she was everywhere in my life. The water that caressed my skin. The air filling my lungs. Now she settled into that seat as though she were holding my bag in her lap.

Tears burned behind my eyes as I finally forced down the lump in my throat, my mind spiraling back to the first time I’d ridden beside her in this car.

“Even immortals need toys now and then.”

She’d flashed me a coy smile and tossed an electric-blue racing helmet across the cab, giggling as I practically drooled over the machine. Moments later, she’d tipped her face toward the Florida sun and cackled maniacally while I white-knuckled the armrest. She’d flown through lanes of traffic as though the human drivers were parked on the freeway.

I blinked away the memory, swallowing the bile and cursing the sting in my eyes as I gunned the engine.

“Fuck.”

I shook my head. She was alive. Unless all of us had been wrong, she had to be—as long as I remained cursed to draw breath.

I would get her back.

I had to get her back.

“Alvara.” My voice cracked as I forced my gaze back to the road. My mind pressed outward, stretching, searching, prodding as it had for the last four months. “Come back to me, baby.”

The oxygen ripped from my lungs so violently that I doubled over, an invisible vacuum crushing my rib cage against my spine.

I wrapped an arm around my middle, eyes stinging and mouth gaping as I searched my surroundings for any sign of an attacker. My shield sparked once, twice, three times before finally slamming into place between me and the pain.

Gasping, I dragged in mouthfuls of air, veered onto the shoulder, and threw the car into park. A blanket of storm clouds blacked out the night sky, rolling and crackling as my body grew hot with rage.

The entire street was deserted, the mortals unwilling to risk breaking curfew and facing Moros’ men. The humans had knelt to the new regime—knelt before a tyrant and begged for mercy—complying with Moros’ laws.

I couldn’t blame them. Not really. Not when I would tear this place apart, one den at a time, until I found my mate.

Because in their position, wouldn’t I do the same? Get her somewhere safe and lie low until it was over?

As for me?

I was begging for a fight.

I could string up every last one of them, and it wouldn’t be enough. Wouldn’t erase her agony—the pain so severe it had broken through my shields.

So severe, I’d forgotten how to breathe.

Thunder rolled as lightning shredded the sky, staining it livid purple. I glanced sidelong at the duffel on the passenger seat.

Her seat.

I peeled back the zipper and pulled out my forty-five, weighing it in my hand. My gaze roved over the weapon as my heartbeat quickened and my chest rose faster with each labored breath.

I reached for her again.

Desperate to feel her—even if we burned in hell together. At least then, we would be united.

The cold metal ridges slid beneath my fingers with fluid muscle memory as I cocked the weapon, my eyes trained on the barrel.

Quick.

So quick I wouldn’t register the pain before the reaper’s-venom hollow point tore my heart apart.

I could end her agony.