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Patricia’s face was a professional mask. “An SUV rammed into them on Sam Houston Tollway at ninety miles per hour. The vehicle rolled. The first responders had to use the jaws of life to get them out. Katrina is fine, except for the concussion. Mohan has a broken leg, but Lex is in the ICU in critical condition.”
Lex, tall, funny guy with an easy smile and a sprinkling of freckles on his broad face. He had gotten married six months ago. His wife was pregnant.
Nausea came, sudden and overwhelming. I felt so ill.
My sister had to kill nine people today. My mother had a hole in her leg. Cornelius had needed eighteen stitches and I was bandaged like a mummy. I had no idea how injured Leon was. Lex was in the ICU clinging to life. Both the Office of Records and the Harris County DA were involved in this mess, not to mention the FBI, which “was not happy.” I knew exactly whom to blame for all of it. Anger wrapped around my head like a vise and squeezed.
“Where is he?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“In the armory.”
I turned and marched back the way we’d come, heading to the wall, and left, to the squat building that served as our armory. Patricia tried to keep up with me. Her legs were longer, but I was younger and a lot madder.
“Prime Sagredo was extremely specific that no harm can come to the Prince.”
“I won’t kill him. He’ll just wish he was dead.”
“Catalina . . .”
I pushed the armory door open and barreled inside. The armory was a bunker, a rectangular concrete box of a building bathed in harsh electric light. Metal cages lined the walls in neat rows. Most held weapons. One held Konstantin. There were no guards. Patricia had locked him in and watched him remotely.
He looked the way he’d looked when I first met him in Linus’ house: blond, blue-eyed, breathtaking. A picture of urbane elegance with sunlit charm.
I stormed toward the cage. My magic whipped inside me, bucking and straining to break free.
Konstantin gazed at me from inside the cage, a small smile on his lips. “I tried to warn you.”
My anger was threatening what little restraints I had left. He was a threat. People I loved were hurt because of him. I had to kill him now, so nobody else would get hurt.
“I never wanted any of this to happen.”
“Bullshit. This is exactly what you wanted to happen. You set us up. You made Arkan think that his best friend betrayed him and asked us for asylum. You knew Arkan would retaliate. You ensured that he and the Office of the Warden would collide.”
My voice was rising. Magic vibrated in it. I hadn’t aimed it at Konstantin, not yet, but I was so angry. Somewhere deep inside a voice warned me that this wasn’t me, but the flood of magic inside me drowned it.
“You started a war, which my House will have to fight. You made us bleed.”
“You left me no choice.”
“Oh, that’s good. I’ll remember that phrase for when your family comes looking for you.”
Patricia stepped forward. “Catalina . . .”
Black wings tore out of my back, the tips of my feathers bright red. I hissed at her. Patricia stumbled back and jerked the phone to her ear. “We need you in the armory! Right now!”
I turned toward Konstantin. He stared at me, open-mouthed. Alarm flickered in his eyes.
“Now, your Royal Highness . . .” My voice wasn’t the beguiling song of a siren. This was the voice of a monster, harsh and suffused with power and menace. “Tell me again how it was all my fault.”
Alessandro sprinted into the armory, picked me up, and carried me toward the door.
“Put me down!” I snarled into his face.
“No. Not until you’re yourself again.”
How dare he? I hissed at him.
“My point exactly.” He carried me outside and called over his shoulder. “That door stays shut. Nobody goes in unless I’m with them.”
“Put me down!” Struggling against him was like trying to stop a train.
He kept carrying me up the driveway past the Bus. We caught up with Arabella.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
I hissed at her.
“Your sister is a bit upset,” Alessandro told her.
I beat my wings, but my feathers had no substance.
He kept going, through the main house, past the kitchen, the living room, out the back door. The pool glinted in front of us, reflecting the moonlight. He took another step and jumped. Water washed over us and closed over my head.
I sank like a stone into the cool depths.
He let go and I clawed blindly, kicking and flailing, until my brain finally realized my feet touched the bottom of the pool. I straightened and realized I was standing in four feet of water.
The water drained from my hair, hot, almost boiling. The rage drained down with it.
