She appeared before us, not physically present but projected… a hologram with substance, her form wavering at the edges like heat distortion. Perfect as always, her hair swept back in that severe style that made her look like she'd never known a moment's doubt.
"Well done, Parker," she purred, her voice smooth as honey laced with poison. "Very well done indeed."
Trux growled low in his throat. Zandia didn't even glance at him.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "A demon infiltrator, exposed and captured. Valuable intelligence obtained. And a perfect demonstration of your... developing talents."
Cold dread settled in my stomach. "You knew." Not a question. A realization. "You knew there was a demon in ST5."
Her smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Let's call it a hypothesis. One that needed testing."
Fury burned through my exhaustion. "You used us as bait. You sent us in there, knowing what might happen."
"I sent you to do your job," she corrected, examining her perfect nails. "Which you did, quite spectacularly. Your heritage is beginning to assert itself. A bit unpredictably, perhaps, but that's to be expected. After all..." Her gaze flicked briefly to Trux, then back to me. "Your mother was exactly the same way. Untrained. Chaotic. Brilliant."
My mother. Eloise. "What do you know about her? About what happened to her?"
Zandia's projection flickered, her expression shuttering closed. "All in good time. For now, rest. Recover. Your power will return… perhaps sooner than you think." She glanced at the containment chamber down the hall. "And keep a close eye on your new pet. Demons rarely stay caged for long."
"Zandia!" I stepped forward, desperate and frustrated. "Tell me what you know. No more games. No more tests."
But her projection was already fading, her smile the last thing to disappear. "But Parker," her voice lingered after her image was gone, "the games have only just begun."
The emptiness she left behind ached with questions. Questions about my mother. About my powers. About what exactly Zandia was preparing me for.
I swayed on my feet, the last of my strength giving out. This time, I couldn't fight it when my knees buckled. But I didn't hit the floor.
Strong arms caught me… Kearan's, I realized with surprise. He was always so hesitant and shy until I needed him. Then he never disappointed me.
"I've got you," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "I've got you."
As darkness claimed the edges of my vision, I clung to those words. To the solid warmth of his body against mine. To the knowledge that whatever came next, I wasn't facing it alone.
Kearan lifted me easily, cradling me against his chest like I weighed nothing. "She needs rest," he said, the command in his voice brooking no argument. "No more investigations. No more demons. No more Division bullshit. Not today."
Through half-closed eyes, I saw Trux, Rhiot, and Grayson nod, flanking us as Kearan carried me away from the containment cells.
As consciousness slipped away, I knew with bone-deep certainty that Zandia was right. Whatever had started here… with the demon, with my power, with Zandia's games… it wasn't over.
CHAPTER 19
IT MEANS WE HAVE A LOT TO TALK ABOUT.
I came back to consciousness in layers, each one thicker than the last. First, the sensation of softness beneath me. Then, the weight of a blanket pressed me down. Finally, the dull throb behind my eyes. I didn't open my eyes yet. Didn't want to. My body felt like a shell someone had scraped clean, leaving nothing but echoes and dust.
The room smelled of sage and cedar, with undercurrents of rosemary threading through the air. Kearan's scents. My muscles remembered being carried, cradled against a chest that moved with steady, even breaths. Not Grayson's careful, measured movements. Kearan, who always moved like he was handling something precious, even when that something was me.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light filtering through curtains I couldn't quite place. My room. Not quite the sterile Division quarters, but now a space Kearan must have transformed since I was last here. The ceiling above me swam into focus, shadows playing across cream-colored paint.
How long had I been out? Hours? A day? The quality of the light suggested evening, but whether it was the same day or another entirely, I couldn't tell.
The compound lay quiet around me. No alarms, shouting, or demons throwing ultimatums. Just the soft hum of air circulation and distant, muffled voices somewhere down the hall.
I should have been relieved. Instead, the emptiness inside me throbbed like an open wound. I reached for my power, instinctively, the way you reach for a limb even after it's gone. Nothing. No response. Just hollow space where something vital used to live.
But as I lay there, something else stirred. Not the cold, sharp pull of demon magic, but something... different. Warmer. It brushed against my awareness like fingertips trailing across skin. Not demanding, not commanding, just... present. Waiting. Patient in a way demon magic never was. The sensation reminded me of something half-remembered from childhood. A scent I'd always known but never named. A song whose melody I recognized but couldn't place.
I sat up slowly, my head spinning with the movement. My clothes had been changed… someone had dressed me in soft leggings and an oversized t-shirt that smelled faintly of Grayson's laundry detergent. The thought of hands on my unconscious body should have bothered me, but it didn't. Not when those hands belonged to my mates.
