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No matter what.
That assurance has a gust of a sigh wheezing from my lips, my anxiety cooling for a second.
Rhys has already drawn his Ruger, his eyes scanning the room for threats. He has positioned his body so he’s between me and the glass French doors leading to the bottom deck. A slight hint of ambient light filters through the glass, but it’s quickly fading as the storm gathers strength.
“We need weapons,” Evan whispers. “Lots and lots of weapons. I’m going downstairs. Papa, I want you with me.”
John appears reluctant. Moreover, he seems kind of off. For the first time, I notice the dark circles under his eyes, disheveled hair, and his haggard expression lined with fatigue. Come to think of it, no one has mentioned his wife, Olivia.
We’ve been here two days, and I haven’t seen her once. Bonded wraiths aren’t frequently without their other half—the tie to their spouse soul-deep. Suddenly, I realize that I haven’t seen Olivia in months. I’ve talked to Evan about her in passing, but I haven’t clapped eyes on her. Even when I sparred with John at their house, I didn’t see her.
Have I been such a selfish asshole that I didn’t notice?
Yes. Yes, I have.
The pit in my stomach turns into a boulder, and it’s hard to keep the shame off my face. I’m an awful friend.
West is hovering at Evan’s left and appears as if he’s two seconds away from dragging her to the sub-basement bunker and chaining her there. Finally, he breaks and interrupts the father-daughter stare down that’s been going on for some time. Grabbing Evan by the waist, he hauls her to the open basement stairwell.
John, Cam, and Asher follow. Cam and Asher are bringing up the rear, both with their guns drawn. I can’t see the make or model in the dim, but I do recognize the suppressors attached to the barrels of their handguns. This makes me feel better. Using firearms in this enclosed space will fuck with our hearing. The suppressors will at least lessen that blow. Even so, I’m pretty sure I’m sticking with silent killers.
Evan pops back into the room. In a rush, she shoves a pile of weapons and holsters at me. I inspect the haul and have to hold in my squeal of delight.
So not appropriate.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I yank her into a quick hug.
I start arranging my weapons as she pops back out—first by putting my braided hair in a bun with the handful of throwing spikes as hair sticks. Then I swing a back holster over my shoulders, a lovely pair of hatchets fitting in the leather perfectly. Strapping a bandolier filled with throwing knives on my right thigh, I make sure to seat each one. All that’s left is to chamber a round in the small Glock 19 before stuffing the extra mags in my pockets.
Evan knows me so well. If we survive this, I’ll need to send her a fruit basket or something.
My spritely friend pops back in the room with West begrudgingly in tow. He helps outfit Aidan, Ian, and Rhys with bladed weapons. Carver and Javier have drifted closer to the mouth of the staircase leading to the upper levels, quietly arguing in Portuguese.
But I don’t have time to worry about their little spat. Knowledge filters into my brain, and now I’m certain the vision I had in the kitchen is absolutely correct. Twenty or so men are outside, moving through the trees toward the house. They haven’t even set off an alarm yet, but I have no doubt in my mind they’re out there.
I really, really hate being right.
“I don’t give a fuck what Nicola says,” I hiss, meeting Evan’s gaze. “My visions have always been spot on. Not a single one hasn’t come true, but I’ve never had this much warning before. So, we need a game plan. Now that they’ve moved in closer, I can sense approximately twenty soldiers out there, but there could be more in another wave.”
“That’s what you saw?” Carver breathes, pushing back into the room. “No, you’re leaving something out. Tell us the rest.” He shakes off his husband’s hold, barking at him in Portuguese when he tries to pull him back.
“Fine. A brief rundown? They trigger the sprinkler system somehow. I can’t find any of you, but I do find Asher with his head almost cut off, and Cam disemboweled.” Now I get to the rough part that’s going to make Rhys lose his shit. I don’t look at him, instead pinning my gaze on the man I’m about to tattle on. “Carver catches me unaware and stabs me in the chest. But he lets me know he’s going to keep an eye out for Rhys, and that you guys are going to save me. To date, it is the most changeable, in-advance vision I’ve ever had.”
Just as I expected, a snarl erupts from Rhys’ throat, his big body herding me back and away from the group, Carver especially. He chambers a round in threat, his skin flushing with the heat of his Fireskin. If he’s not careful, he’ll phase right here in the game room.
Carver advances, holding up his hands in surrender, a pleading expression pulling at his brow. “I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
We both know he would if it meant keeping everyone else safe, and I hate to agree with him. If it meant that everyone else in this room would live, I’d do the same to him. I wouldn’t like it, but I would do it.
Especially if it kept Rhys safe.
“We can change it,” I whisper to Rhys’ taught shoulders. “This one doesn’t have to come true.”
“Then let’s change the motherfucker,” Rhys growls, slicing a look at me over his shoulder. “No one goes anywhere alone. We stay in pairs. They are coming to find us—to kill us. Let’s remind them what real warriors can do.”
“Where are they coming in?” West asks, adjusting his weapons.
My eyes lose focus for a second as I allow the knowledge to filter into my brain. “Second- and third-floor picture windows,” I answer, jerking my head upward. “They’re repelling from the roof.”
