“I don’t know, I only saw part of it.Spirals, maybe?Geometric?”Hannah looks between us, clearly fighting tears.“She looked terrified.And there were bandages on her other shoulder.Like something clawed her.”
The room erupts.Brothers talking over each other, some dismissive, some concerned.But I’m not listening to any of them.I’m already calculating how fast I can get to Tessa’s house, what weapons I’ll need, how many seconds it will take to break down her door if she won’t let me in.
Because I know what Hannah’s describing.I’ve spent the last two days trying to convince myself I was wrong, that the wrongness clinging to Tessa was only my paranoia.
But I wasn’t wrong.
“Enough,” Blade’s voice cuts through the chaos.He looks at me.“You know what this is.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah,” I say.“I know.”
“Then you’re with me.Prophet, you too.”Blade stands, church forgotten.“Hannah, you’re coming to show us exactly what you saw, and I want to keep you safe.”
“I want to help,” Hannah says immediately.
“You are helping,” Blade tells her.“By showing us what we’re dealing with.”His words sound harsh, but as he moves to wrap Hannah in his arms, I can see them both relax.
Blade and Hannah even each other out, a perfect match, the opposite sides of the same coin.She loves him and he loves her so much, he’d burn down the world to keep her safe.
Ten minutes later, we’re on our bikes, Hannah riding behind Blade, heading toward Tessa’s house.The sun is setting, casting long shadows across the snow, and I can feel the temperature dropping.Not just the normal November cold, it’s something else.Something ancient stirring.
I’ve felt this before.Centuries ago, in the old country, when things that should have stayed buried clawed their way to the surface.
Don’t let her be hurt.Don’t let it have hurt her.
The thought loops through my head, a prayer to gods I stopped believing in long before I became this.Tessa is stubborn, brave, and beautiful.If she has been marked by something that could kill her in a dozen different ways, and she didn’t come to us.
Didn’t come to me.
It stings more than it should.But I understand it.She wants to stay out of our world, wants to keep her distance from the monsters.I can’t blame her for that.
Even if it might get her killed.
We pull up to her little blue rental house, and I’m off my bike before the engine dies.The others aren’t behind me, but I’m faster, already on her porch, already smelling it.
The wrongness is stronger here.It’s soaked into the wood, into the air itself.And underneath it, I catch her scent, and it’s filled with fear, pain and determination.
There is a symbol on her porch, half-covered by a doormat.I crouch and pull the mat aside, studying the pattern.It’s the same one from the photos Prophet showed us.The same one from stories I hoped I’d never see made real.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
Blade and Prophet join me on the porch.Prophet kneels beside the symbol, his hand hovering over it without touching.His face goes pale.
“This is a claiming mark,” he says quietly.“Old magic.Older than vampires.Older than shifters.”He looks up at me.“Older than angels.”
“How old?”Blade asks.
“Before the flood,” Prophet says.“Before most of what humanity remembers.This isancient.”
I stand, my hands clenched into fists.“We need to see the mark on her.”
Blade nods and pounds on the door.“Tessa!Open up.It’s Blade.”
Silence.
He pounds again, harder.“Tessa, we know something’s wrong.Hannah told us.Open the damn door.”
