Dorian whirls around. “Monta, call your men. Ask them what that was.” His voice hits such a strident note that it fractures the air.
“It was the chopper,” Alexander says, thumbing his phone screen. “The Hunters must’ve shot it down.”
“No…” Dorian releases a wail that crumples his features and reverberates inside my spleen. “No, no, no, no, no, no.”
“What’s with the panic attack?” Gael asks.
The whites of Malachi’s eyes flush pink as he croaks, “Ines was piloting it.”
Gael takes a bottle of chilled Chardonnay out of the wine fridge and studies the label, before rooting around the drawers for an opener. “My darlin’ wife’s a phoenix, perpetually risin’ from her ashes. She’ll be just fine.”
I’m about to tell him that she won’t bejust finewhen Dorian shrills, “Mal, call Tarian!”
“Why?” Gael sets about uncorking the wine. “The big boss can’t exactly rewind time.”
Malachi carries the phone to his ear and paces, knuckles white. “Tarian, pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
Tarian mustn’t pick up because Malachi leaves him a detailed message.
I steal another glance at the fading conflagration, my palms going to my forearms, rubbing as though some friction could rid my bones of their abrupt chill.
I might not have adored Ines… I might even have wished her dead more times than I can count, but not after her apology.
“Why did you call Tarian?” Gael takes a sip of his wine as though his wife didn’t just fall from the sky.
Malachi inhales such a sharp breath that my gaze snaps to him. “Your men are out there, aren’t they, Monta? Call them. Tell them to find her body and bring it here.”
“If we’re facin’ an imminent Hunter attack, don’t you think it’s best they stay put? As I said, my wife’s a phoenix…”
“Your wife isnota phoenix!” Malachi yells. “She’s not even your wife!”
“All right. All right.” Monta sets down his wine glass and retrieves his cell phone. “I’ll make the call.”
The ringtone echoes and echoes in the silent kitchen. Gael hangs up, dials another number.
Another full minute of unanswered ringing reverberates hollowly through the kitchen.
When the call drops, Gael slants his brows. “No one’s answerin’.”
While a new wave of dread coalesces with the lingering threads of my old one, Dorian blasts open the back door with magic and sprints out into the night.
“Dorian, no!” I scramble after him when a wall of magic bounces me back. I turn around, snarling. “Which one of you is blocking?—”
“Youstay right the fuck here until Tarian and Callie arrive.I’llgo after him.” Malachi lunges past me but draws to a stop. I scowl, hating to be treated like a weak link, until he adds, “Guard the basement. And lock this door.”
My lips straighten, and I give a sharp nod. “Don’t get captured.”
“If I do, break me out?”
I shake my head at his stupid question. Of course I’ll break him out…after I break every single one of his captors’ necks.
“I hope her body’s still in one piece,” I murmur.
Malachi’s throat jostles as he finally races away.
After bolting the door, I return to the kitchen to find Gael filling his wine glass anew.
“Why’s everyone so bent out of shape?” he asks. “It ain’t the first time Ines finds herself in a pickle.”
