Through it all, I sit there in silence, my mind racing.
A test.
That’s what Prophet said outside.Heaven is testing me to see if a monster can choose something greater than his own hunger.If love can be stronger than nature.
But what if I fail?
What if I touch her and can’t stop?What if the bond Prophet’s talking about is just a prettier way of saying I’m going to drain her dry and kill her the same way I killed Catherine?
What if—
A sound from upstairs cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
Footsteps.
Not Tessa’s room.The hallway.Moving toward the stairs.
My head snaps up, every sense locking onto that sound.The others are still arguing, too caught up in debate to notice, but I’m already on my feet.
“She’s awake,” the words come out clipped.“I need to—”
“Go,” Blade says.“We’re done here anyway.Everyone clear on the plan?”
A chorus of reluctant agreement.
“Good.Rooster, Fury, you’re on perimeter patrol.Ranger, Hollywood if you’re up for it, backup positions.Prophet, I want those wards reinforced by dawn.Everyone else, get some rest.We’ve got a long night ahead of us tomorrow.”
The brothers file out, some shooting me looks that range from concerned to outright hostile.I don’t care.All I care about is getting to Tessa before she does something stupid.
Like leave.
Because I can smell it on her now, a spike of determination, of fear, of guilt.She heard us.She heard the argument about whether she’s worth protecting, heard them call her a liability, heard me admit I can’t step back.
And now she’s going to run.
Over my dead fucking body.
I take the stairs three at a time, moving faster than any human could track.The hallway is empty, my broken door still hanging askew, but Tessa’s not in my room.Her scent trail leads toward the back stairs, the ones that go down to the garage.
Of course.
She’s going to steal a bike or a truck and disappear, convinced she’s doing everyone a favor by removing herself from the equation.
Noble.Stupid.And absolutely not happening.
The garage is lit by a single overhead bulb that casts harsh shadows across rows of bikes and the two vans we use for supply runs.The air smells like oil and gasoline and her an addictive combination of honey and defiance that makes my fangs ache.
She’s at the far end, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, keys in her hand.
“Going somewhere?”My voice cuts through the silence.
She spins, eyes wide, then narrows them when she sees me.“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?Don’t stop you from making the stupidest decision of your life?”I move closer, each step deliberate.“Too late.”
“You heard them,” she says, backing up until she hits one of the vans.“I’m a liability.I’m putting everyone at risk just by being here.”
“You’re under our protection.”
