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And the rest? Good fucking riddance.
Scanning the crowd of confused soldiers, I spot a blood-spattered Evan hugging an equally bloody West. Both seem a little banged up, but no permanent damage. They’re all over each other, so I think the relationship cat is out of the bag. Not that it was a surprise to anyone. It was the worst-kept secret in the Black compound.
Neither Ian nor Aidan are within my line of sight, but Ian’s booming laugh echoes from the third floor.
A loud clank of a chain sounds from behind me, and the best voice in the whole world starts cussing a blue streak.
“Hello? Ding, dong the bitch is dead, but I’ve gotta pee! Can a girl get a fucking rescue here?”
That’s my girl.
I try to reach across my body to pull the key from my pocket, but it’s not really working out.
“A little help?” I ask Evan.
Evan glances at my pocket, then at the territorial West. Shaking her head, she grabs Aurelia’s chain, snapping it from the steel subframe with a tiny flick of her fingers.
Well, that’s one way to do it.
“Thank the Fates.” Aurelia sighs as she hightails it to the bathroom, dragging the chain behind her, brushing a quick peck on my cheek on her way out.
She returns a few minutes later looking relieved, even though she’s wounded—her left arm a matching bloody mess to mine. We both need stitches, but I can’t bring myself to care.
I should ask what happened—it’s plain to see that two battles were fought. But I don’t care about anything other than kissing my woman.
Reaching out with my good hand, I sift my fingers under her thick mane, hauling her lips to mine, tasting the mint of freshly brushed teeth.
I pull my head back, raising my brows in question.
“What? I multitasked,” she protests. “I didn’t want to kiss you with three days’ worth of funk on my breath. I’m considerate, dammit.”
“Did you hide your spitting, too?” I joke, needling her just because I can.
“Shaddup,” she says as she sweeps her lips against mine, effectively shutting my mouth.
This is what Heaven feels like—my wife in my arms and a wide-open future that no one can steal from us.
But first we need to make sure the bitch is true dead. For real this time.
AURELIA
The raid on the Legion house in Oregon happened as soon as we could make it on a plane without causing a stir. Something about the woman I’d left behind called to me, and I couldn’t leave her there to rot one more second than I had to.
Rhys and I got our wounds treated, everyone got a shower, and off we went. I forgot just how much I hate stitches.
There was no resistance at the gate—even with two exiles and four wraiths in tow. The soldiers practically waved us in.
The house buzzed with whispers—more because of the reappearance of Nicola than from our appearance at the gate. Apparently, Nicola had been cast out over a month ago when the gentry were recalled from their posts. But in the few short hours it took us to get there, and with no one able to find Iva, Nicola had taken up the position of Primary.
No one questioned it—the air of relief palpable with each passing minute Iva remained gone.
In a cell or not, these people had been prisoners, too.
It takes hours searching all the rooms in the prisoner hallway, but we still can’t find Iva’s remains or the woman my conscience is screaming at me to save.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something about her is clawing at my mind. Since my mind has been clawed enough, I need to know she’s all right.
From what we gathered from the residents, Iva killed most of the prisoners before soldiers were sent to kill us. Their ashes were sent back to their families in a macabre show of power, but their souls were gone.
