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“I’ll take the deal,” he says, spitting blood out again. “I’ll make her fall in love with me all over again, no matter what you do.”
I wipe blood off my hand, feigning boredom as he drones on.
“You think you’re the only one who has suffered, but I’ve been a prisoner for centuries. I’ve barely lived at all outside of some prison, including a blood oath that confined me to servitude to do things most wouldn’t survive witnessing. And I’d do it all over again,” he bites out, yanking at the chains. “Because unlike your arrogant, pathetic, selfish self, I’d do anything for Morgana. And she’s not even some cosmic-bound mate to me. Go plan your funeral, monster. I’ll be plotting my future. Who really wins?”
My fists clench, but Gage dematerializes us from the room.
“Go back and get the new portal location,” I say before I yank away from him and dematerialize myself to the bus station.
Ripping open his locker and scaring the shit out of two women, I pull out a thick file. Just like he said, he has names, proof of involvement, details on their involvement.
Under it, I pull out what looks like a really old journal, one just like mine. This one is dating back centuries, and when I pick it up, I see it’s really a ledger. That’s why it looks like mine.
One of the other prisoners swiped it for me when the guards walked through with fresh ones, and I managed to kill the guard who raped her when he came in to torture me. I would have killed him regardless, but letting him know why he was dying was my payment to her.
Fifteen more ledgers appear like they’ve been spelled to be hidden unless activated. Then more appear. And more…
Cursing, I grab the trashcan beside me, drawing curious gazes as I dump all the trash out, including the bag, and start catching the ledgers when they begin spitting out, too many of them to have been physically placed in such a small space.
I lift some of the ones with the oldest dates—dates nearest to my capture, and open it as the others continue to rain into the large trashcan.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to stop doing whatever you’re doing,” someone says as I read the first few names on the pages, seeing the ones marked alive.
The ones who funded them. The ones who helped them hide their tracks. So many more names than I was expecting. It’ll take forever to get through these lists, and this is just one of the ledgers.
Damn it.
First there weren’t enough to kill, and now there are too bloody many of them.
But one name draws my attention above all others, and I tilt my head as I study it. He was my father’s friend. Or so we thought.
Johnathan L. Trout. Lawyer in the human world. Informant on powerful beings and their whereabouts.
I flip the page, finding his wife’s name as another informant.
The books have stopped spilling, so I grab the trashcan and the strays, then dematerialize back to the cabin. I put my hand over the trashcan, and the books vibrate until the next in order pops out and flies to my hand. Each book seems to only cover half a century, but some of the names and families are likely to be in all the books.
John’s daughter and son were also informants and transporters.
Another book flies, out, and I open it.
Seems like his entire family tree has joined the family business.
Befriending people, learning their secrets, learning their powers…then selling them to rings, paid by the funders who wanted power, and given to the sadists for testing and experimentation to the Anointed—our shared enemy. The cycle continues, even after the original offenders were put down by the hostile new men—immortal men—in charge.
John’s family helped to transport my own to the rings. Why can’t I remember them?
It’s like it didn’t even put a hiccup in business when the ownership of the rings changed hands. The only thing that changed was the agenda, and it looks like the funders had more to do with the agendas than the actual runners of the rings, until Hannah.
It’s daybreak before I’m done speed-reading my way through centuries of accumulated names, many of whom are still alive, and I blow out a breath as I stare at the wall across from me.
I’ll never kill them all in time and be ready for Hannah, yet I’m doing nothing but sitting here, staring at the wall, avoiding the thing I know I want to do most.
Finally, I lower my eyelids, finding Ella back at a house I haven’t seen before. Must be the safe house.
She’s kissing the top of her mother’s head before rubbing her belly. Alyssa looks surprisingly well, considering she has a relentless leech draining her from the inside.
Kane is sitting across from them, and he shoots Ella a sad look.
