Whatever it takes to bring her back.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Kayden
It all feels wrong. The slow jazz crooning from the speakers, the glitter of evening gowns and tuxes, the goddamn champagne flutes floating around like we're at a gala, not setting a trap for the love-of-our-life-turned-executioner.
She's out there somewhere, reborn in shadow and venom. And we're here pretending this is normal.
We linger near the stage like some twisted honor guard: Asher in his pristine military uniform, Darius in a tux like he's about to make a billion-dollar acquisition, Maeve wrapped in satin and nerves. Astrid and Tomas are patrolling the perimeter, sharp-eyed and silent. Donna's somewhere with her parents, the mayor undoubtedly schmoozing some donors.
Even Jace showed up—shocking, honestly. He's been shooting me dirty looks all evening. I wink at him every time. He needs a villain for his story, someone to blame for Winston's death. Let him write me in as the monster. I've played worse roles.
"I still don't think she'll come," I mutter under my breath. "We've got eyes on every entrance. Why the hell would she walk into a trap like this?"
"Because we're giving her an opening," Asher says calmly, scanning the room like he's mapping a battlefield. "Several openings throughout the night."
"Ruaidhrí's watching the feeds," Darius adds with a smug note. "Wherever she tries to sneak in from, we'll make sure she succeeds. But we'll track every move. It's a layered approach."
My eyes shift, just past his shoulder to the front entrance. I swear the world tilts.
"Or maybe…" I say, voice gone dry, "she'll step through the main door."
They follow my gaze.
Sage walks in like her name's on the goddamn building. Dressed in a black dress, her lips blood-red, stilettos clicking with lethal precision, sharp enough to cut throats. Every sway of her hips is a challenge and a dare.
She plucks a flute of champagne off a tray without breaking stride, her chin high, gaze locked ahead with calculation.
It's Sage. But it's not. It's her body, her fire, her impossible gravity, but the soul behind her eyes is gone. Maybe not forever. That's the damn hope.
She steps beside us, nodding toward Maeve, who looks pale.
"You all look shocked," she says with a sugary tilt to her voice. "Like you weren't expecting me. And here I thought I was at the top of your guest list."
"You are," Darius says, deadpan. "Though not officially."
Her smile is pure performance, eyes glittering with false innocence. "Oh dear. Did I ruin the trap? Clumsy me."
"Oh yeah, you wrecked it beautifully," I drawl, arms crossed. "The legendary trap masterminded by the ancient and oh-so-wise Darius himself. Real shame it wasn't needed, since you walked right in."
She chuckles, self-deprecating and insincere. "I did, didn't I? So silly of me."
But we're all reading her. Something's off. She's not here to talk.
Asher cuts in, cold and clipped. "What did you do, Sage?"
"Straight to business. I do love that about you, Colonel," she says, lifting her glass. "A vampire with integrity. Such a delightful contradiction."
She sips champagne like she's got all night. I'm seconds away from losing it when she continues.
"You have two options," she says, voice soft. "One with a little blood. One with a lot."
She glances around. "Option one: we all behave like civilized monsters. Head out to the garden with the druid. Bleed a little. Break our lovely bond. Everyone walks away alive. Option two…" She tilts her head, eyes dancing. "Lots of dead bodies. Your call."
Darius raises his glass like this is just another fucking evening in the Hamptons. "You're alone. We can overpower you in seconds."
She grins, then waves across the room at Jace, who frowns and starts toward us.
