The next hour passed in a blur of activity. The Marshall family was taken into Trivium custody, the house secured, and evidence collected. David's body was removed, the blood cleaned from the floor and walls with clinical efficiency. Through it all, I sat at the dining room table, watching as if from a great distance.
Eventually, the six of us reconvened around that same table: myself, Logan, Ryder, Sebastian, Bruce, and Killingham. The house was eerily quiet now, the family gone, only Trivium personnel moving silently through the rooms, erasing all evidence of what had transpired.
"What do we know about this Damien kid?" Sebastian asked, breaking the silence. Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"He was Cade's friend, initially. Helped her with her studies. There was some romantic interest on his part, but Cade wasn't interested. After she became our Consort, he became aggressive and tried to convince her to leave us. We... warned him off."
"We beat the shit out of him," Ryder clarified bluntly.
"He had an alibi for the night Cade was taken," I added, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. "We checked.Multiple witnesses placed him at a campus party until well after the abduction."
"Could have hired someone," Bruce suggested. "Or had an accomplice."
"Like David," Logan nodded. "But why? What's his motive?"
"Obsession?" Ryder suggested. "Jealousy? The guy was clearly into Cade, and she chose us over him."
Sebastian cleared his throat, an unusual hint of discomfort in his usually impassive demeanour.
"What was his name again? Damien what?"
"McIntyre," Logan repeated. "Damien McIntyre. Why?" I caught the slight widening of Sebastian’s eyes before his mask fell back into place. Sebastian and Killingham exchanged a look that sent a chill down my spine. There was recognition there, and something else, something that looked alarmingly like fear.
"What is it?" Bruce demanded, catching the exchange. "What do you know?"
Sebastian's face was grim as he turned to us. "I think I know where she is."
The snow fell silently around us, coating the world in a deceptive blanket of purity. I stood motionless, dressed in black tactical gear that blended with the night, my breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. Ivory Crest Manor loomed before us, a once-grand estate now fallen to decay, its windows dark and empty like the sockets of a skull. But it wasn't themanor that held my attention. My eyes were fixed on what appeared to be nothing more than a small stone building at the edge of the property, an innocuous structure that Sebastian Lynch insisted held the answers we'd been desperately seeking for weeks.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a war drum of anticipation and dread. Almost six weeks. Six fucking weeks since she'd been taken. Six weeks of nightmares, of imagining what might be happening to her, of blaming myself for leaving her alone that night. Six weeks of watching Ryder spiral into obsession and Cole retreat into a cold, emotionless shell. Six weeks of feeling like I was drowning, unable to breathe, unable to think of anything but finding her. And now we were here, on the night before New Year's Eve, ready to storm the former estate of the disgraced former High Lord, William McIntyre, father of Damien McIntyre, the man who we were now certain had orchestrated Cade's abduction.
"Everyone's in position," Sebastian murmured into his comm unit, his voice betraying none of the tension I knew he must be feeling.
"Awaiting your order." The night was alive with hidden movement. Trivium enforcers surrounded the property, black-clad shadows slipping through the trees with practiced stealth. I knew Bruce Turner and James Killingham were waiting in a command vehicle down the road, coordinating the operation. This wasn't just a rescue mission. This was a full-scale Trivium assault, sanctioned at the highest levels. I glanced at Ryder and Cole, who stood nearby, checking their weapons with grim determination. Ryder's eyes burned with a feverish intensity, his movements jerky and impatient. Cole was his opposite, eerily calm, methodical, his face a mask of cold purpose after executing David Marshall last night.
"You're sure she's here?" I asked Sebastian for what must have been the tenth time. I couldn't help it. We'd had false leads before, each one cutting deeper than the last. Sebastian's jaw tightened.
"If she's anywhere, she's here."
He'd explained it all before, how William McIntyre had been a High Lord of the Trivium before James Killingham, how Sebastian and Killingham had worked together to expose McIntyre's trafficking ring, which rivalled even Dominic Blake's in its depravity. How McIntyre had been sentenced to the Hole, his assets seized, his family disgraced. How his eldest son, Alec, had kidnapped Sebastian's wife, Lily, in a game of manipulation, holding her captive in this very bunker.
"Damien wasn't even on the scene when I was going after McIntyre," Sebastian had told us. "He was a product of some fucked up breeding scheme in the Trivium." The news of this so-called scheme had shocked me to the core. I knew the Trivium was corrupt, but what I heard from Sebastian took it to a whole new level.
"But why Cade?" Cole had asked. "Why not go after Killingham directly?" Sebastian had been vague, muttering something about Killingham being the Regents' High Lord, how a missing Consort made him look weak. But I sensed there was more to it, something Sebastian wasn't telling us.
But none of that mattered now. All that mattered was getting her back.
"On my mark," Sebastian said into his comm, his voice cutting through my thoughts. He looked at us, his eyes hard. "Ready?" I nodded, tightening my grip on my weapon. Ryder's face twisted into something that might have been a smile in another life. Cole simply inclined his head, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the darkness. Sebastian pressed his comm.
"Go." The word unleashed hell.
We moved like a flood of shadow, pouring toward the stone building that concealed the entrance to the bunker. Enforcers breached the door with practiced efficiency, and then we were inside, descending a narrow staircase that plunged deep into the earth. The air grew colder, staler, as we moved downward, the walls closing in around us.
My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of boots on concrete and the harsh rhythm of my own breathing. This was it. This had to be it. If she wasn't here...
I couldn't complete the thought.
The staircase opened into a large underground room that might have been elegant once, with plush couches, a well-stocked bar, and soft lighting, but now had the feel of a den of iniquity. Five men were scattered around the space, drinks in hand, their faces transforming from relaxed enjoyment to shock as we burst in.
