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“We lost him in the Rift.” And yet the pain that streaked across Icarus’s face looked as fresh as any Adam had ever seen on the face of a victim’s loved ones left behind. As fresh as the pain reflected in the mirror each morning.
“That was thirty years ago,” Adam said. “What happened nine months ago to make you leave Portola?”
“I never said that was the first time I’d left. Or the last.”
“What—”
CAW. CAW.
KRAA!
Adam locked eyes with Icarus—just half a second—before they were both in motion, Adam shoving off the desk and lunging for the window, Icarus spinning the desk chair to do the same. Both of them looked out to survey the chaos erupting below, only to have purple orbs of magic sail in their direction, slicing through the murder of crows that had taken flight, shattering the study’s glass window and singeing the hair on the back of Adam’s neck as a fanged, hissing Icarus dragged him to the floor. Magic pummeled the study’s walls, sending books and files flying, creating divots in the centuries-old wood and stone, replacing the soft light of the shattered desk lamp with an eerie purple glow.
More glass broke a room over, followed by the howls and thundering rumble of the pack in motion. Adam needed to join them; his place was with his family. He reached toward the desk, only to have his arm slammed to the ground, Icarus pinning him in place.
“Stay the fuck down.”
“Weapons!” Adam shouted. “Bottom desk drawer!”
“Well, why the fuck didn’t you say so?”
Adam would’ve rolled his eyes if he wasn’t busy scoping their surroundings and monitoring the windows and door. Icarus twisted for the weapons, grabbing the drawer handle and yanking, dislodging the entire drawer. Stakes and throwing stars, guns and ammo scattered across the wood floor, a lined box popping open from the force; silver caught Adam’s eye, making his heart race as two gleaming bullets rolled toward where Icarus’s bent knee was planted. Summoning his own strength, loosening the leash a careful measure, he shoved a blast of heat at Icarus, causing the vampire to teeter off-balance, giving Adam time to snatch the bullets up before they harmed Icarus.
Icarus whipped around, eyes wide. “What the fuck was that?”
Adam opened his fist, a puddle of silver evaporating in the glass-scratched palm of his hand. “Me saving a fighter we can’t afford to lose right now.”
Me saving the person I can’t bear to lose right now.
“How?”
Robin’s appearance saved Adam from answering. Still in human form, Robin, arms over his head, ducked into the room and stayed low, scurrying over to join them.
“Sitrep,” Adam demanded as he wiped his hands on his jeans, then began loading the lead ammo into pistols. It was dark out; lead would be safer, would slow instead of potentially killing one of their own.
“Two warlocks, two vamps, and half a dozen shifters.”
Icarus swept up the stakes and handed those to Adam too. “Atlas?” he asked Robin.
The assassin shook his head. “No sign of him. No sign of Vincent either.”
“They’re not letting up,” Adam said. “They took a loss, but they don’t want us to know it.”
“They’re not going to let up until you’re dead.”
A howl reverberated down the hall. Jenn was calling for backup.
“We need you out there,” Robin said.
Adam shoved the last of the stakes in his waistband and moved to stand, only to be held down again, this time by Robin. “Not you. Him,” he said with a nod to Icarus. “He’s a weapon we didn’t have before.”
“I’m not staying here,” Adam protested. He needed to be out there too, not hiding inside while everyone else fought to protect him. That was how he’d lost the loves of his life last time.
“He’s right,” Icarus said.
Adam turned to say thank you, but one look and he knew Icarus was agreeing with Robin, not him. “Fuck you.”
“I can’t let you die.”
