Wet hair sticks to his forehead, making him appear far younger. I see a soot-covered little boy choking on smoke—hair clinging to his face from a violent affliction of heat.
Warm fingers curl around my shoulder. "What's wrong?"
Axe’s freshly shaven face is a portrait of concern, fully healed from the vampire’s slashes. I search his eyes desperately for a solution to dull the throbbing in my chest. My heart longs to say his name. Hisrealname.
"I know what happened to your parents. Demi told me everything."
He shudders. "Everything?"
I imagine what it would be like to comfort him, wrapping my arms around his torso, thick as the trunk of a mighty cedar. Inhaling deeply, I realize that, from this distance, he smells like one, too. But I make no attempt to embrace him, only keep my eyes fixed on his.
"Axe, I am so, so sorry for your loss.”
His expression is enigmatic as more water droplets collect around his bare feet. I blink, noting the scars that pepper his flesh. What those flames left behind. My throat constricts. I can’t bear it, the image of him frantically scaling that chimney, biting down on his lip to keep from screaming. The thought of thatfire taking hold of his body, of his soul, inflicting such savage, excruciating pain.
What he says next sends a chill rippling down my spine. “You'll understand then why I won't rest until I've put down the vampire responsible. Until I've annihilated every last one of his demons."
Part Two
Hell isn’t a fiery dimension. It’s a void of ice and decay. A dismal paradise, depleted of life. The prince yearns for the cold, the empty. Fountains of blood for his children to gorge themselves on. More than this—he longs for the day she will truly test his power.
—FROM THE JOURNAL OF MAURLEEN JAMES
Chapter 15
VESSA
Upon our return to Tukkon, Axe breaks off to summon his advisors in the lower chambers. I don't see him for the rest of the day. Or the day after. In my window of solitude, I take advantage of the time to strategize. Until Maurleen and I can reconvene after the next full moon, my secret must remain undisclosed. That leaves me with a little over three weeks to avoid breaking Axe’s trust and keep his inner circle off my trail. If I think about it in stages, it’s not so bad—I can handle a few more weeks, and once I do, I only need to survive two more. And that’s if he doesn’t bite me before our deal expires.
As I step out onto the stone courtyard, no one scolds me or whispers of my vanishing four nights ago. Rather, I’m met with nodding heads, hesitant smiles, and several raised tails of wolves in passing. All are cordial, except for a teenager who stares at me like a deer in headlights when I flag him in the quad asking where I might find Tesni.
"If she's not in the sparring fields, you could try for the barracks," the freckled male suggests.
"What's your name?" I ask.
"Tripp," he answers. "I'm a grunt.”
A giggle rolls off my tongue. Apparently, this means he’s a recruit for the warrior band.
"As one of her cadets, I should probably warn you—sometimes she doesn't want to be found."
I thank the young cadet and follow him to the barracks where warriors are made. Baring down against brisk winds, we approach the large training facility with a black metal roof. Unlike the other structures on Bleeding Sun's land, this building is crafted from steel and painted brick, a seemingly indestructible fortress. Several windows with black tessellating frames allow me to peer inside to view three large racks of weights and other exercise machines.
My gaze pans further, studying three other areas designated for personal fitness training as well as a sparring ring, which is currently occupied by Shay's sister, Gemma, and another girl her age. One of the veteran warriors covered in intricate tattoos supervises them on the sideline with narrowed eyes. For a moment, I watch as their wrapped fists slam into each other's toned bodies, flinching each time a powerful hook contacts unguarded flesh.
Tripp and I pad over to the stairwell, where I take in the full scope of the facility. Surrounded by all this heavy machinery and muscled bodies, I feel like a fish out of water. A pitifully out-of-shape fish, to be exact.
Downstairs, it’s almost as if I've been transported to a top-secret military base. Like the bowels of Lupine Manor, this floor feels like a fortified apocalyptic shelter. Off the last step, the lowest level of the building splits into a hallway of opposing doors. At least three are labeled as storage rooms, which are clearly purposed for ammunition. Silver. At the end of the hall, the door on my left is propped open. Tripp enters first.
I almost gasp as I take my first step inside. The room is lined with cabinets full of guns—vintage muskets, handguns, long-range assault rifles, and other weapons I didn't even know existed. Wyatt would be giddy if he saw all of this. Heartlands enforcement, on the other hand, would probably shit themselves. What kind of clearance the Skornokovys must have to own this many firearms is beyond me. But then again, this is Aurora’s Belt. Many people inhabit these lands because they know how easy it is to slip between the cracks.
A thick glass container in the left corner of the room catches my eye. The case is locked tight and secured with a keypad, but I can make out most of its contents. An arsenal of silver daggers, arrowheads, and other lethal gadgets.
“This looks awfully high above a mechanic’s paygrade,” I mumble.
Tripp nods. “Axe is also one of the region’s most exclusive gunsmiths. He builds and supplies weapons to ex-enforcers and private clients. In addition to the barracks, the basement of Lupine Manor is stocked with cases of silver bullets, forged and distributed by Qinnu’s unit.”
According to the cadet, Axe, and Qinnu underwent training and certification during their time with the Agathoran military. Now, they operate in Tukkon, out of the motorcycle shop, which is a front for his side business. From there, the pair distributes the most lethal silver money can buy.
