He didn’t see Kianna until after dinner.
She had been in meetings all day, apparently, and since he wasn’t being informed of what was going on, he couldn’t imagine the meetings were good. All he knew was that two thirds of the Guild had been deployed, some north, the rest south to alert the Guild in London of their success and help in the eradication of any remaining Howls.
He knew, because he’d watched the troops march while he had been stationed inside. He’d trained most of those warriors.
The hypocrisy made him sick.
He wandered down the hall that led to Kianna’s room. She lived in an aboveground room just like he once had. Though she had made sure to request one not by his; apparently he was too loud when he had boys over. Outside the hall windows, the sky was dark and flooded with rain, only the occasional flares of light from passing Hunters or civilians breaking the gloom. It was easy to imagine that the rest of humanity had just broken away and sunk into the abyss, leaving only this: the rain and the cold and the dark.
The very elements he felt he would spend his entire life fighting back against. Vainly.
He stared out, saw his reflection staring back. Blinked.
And he wasn’t alone in the hall. A woman stood behind him, her pale hair glowing in her own unearthly light, her lips dark red with spilt blood, her hand on his shoulder, claiming him...
Aidan turned, but there was no one there. Just the closed door to Kianna’s room and the frantic thud of his heart in his rib cage.
Just like that, his dreams spilled back into consciousness. Him and his mother in the field. The frantic cries of the sheep and her own mangled screams as the kravens tore her apart.
And then the Dark Lady. Promising him she would grant more than power. Swearing she could bring Aidan’s mother back from the dead.
The thought was a jagged shard to his chest.
He could have her back. He could right his wrongs.
But just as quickly as the hope flared, it burned to a crisp as Fire’s harsh embrace enveloped it. Even though he’d seen the Dark Lady resurrect Calum, even though he’d seen life after death, he couldn’t let himself believe it was possible. Couldn’t let himself believe anything the Dark Lady said was true. She was the shadow, the lie. If he let himself think she could help him, he’d be no better than the necromancers.
Besides, there wasn’t anything of his mother to bring back. Calum had been whole. Prepared.
The thought sickened him, and so did Fire’s anger. He had almost let himself be weak. Had almost let himself get tricked into following the Dark Lady. He wouldn’t be so stupid.
He was going to get the shard not for her, not for Tomás, but for himself. He would unlock its secrets, and he would keep every single one of them for himself. He would harness its power and more, until he had the whole world begging for forgiveness. Including the Dark Lady and all her minions. She had cost him everything. He would never let himself think that she could bring it back.
He knocked on Kianna’s door. It wasn’t latched, and opened slightly after the first knock. He peered through, wondering if she had left or...
“Are you a perv or did you just forget how doors work?” Kianna asked, her voice flat.
Aidan fought down the blush and pushed the door open.
Kianna sat at a desk inside, back facing him, the room lit by a few oil lamps and a fire roaring in the hearth. It was warm and comforting despite the wind and rain crashing against the large windows. But the heat didn’t stop his blood from going cold the moment he saw what she was doing.
“Shut the door, will ya?” Kianna said, not looking toward him. “I swear to Christ you were raised in a bloody barn.”
Aidan did so, but he didn’t look back at the door. His stare was transfixed on the great wooden desk before Kianna, on the rows and rows of bullets set up in perfect lines, glinting silver soldiers in the lamplight.
Silver, save for the ones dripping crimson.
“Kianna, what are you—”
But he knew perfectly well what she was doing. Her arm raised over the desk, slowly dripping blood from a fresh slit in her forearm. Imbuing the bullets with her blood. Ensuring no necromancer could turn them against her.
She was preparing for war.
Her eyes flickered to him before she looked back to her work. “Already did ’em once,” she muttered. “But I like a second coat for good luck.”
He stepped into the room. Tried to seem nonchalant as he plopped down on her unmade bed—a king. Nicer even than his old one.
Truth be told, even though he knew she had to imbue her weapons and bullets with blood—seeing as she didn’t use the Spheres to keep them bound to her—he’d never caught her in the act. She was highly secretive. About everything.
“Looks like spreading kindness requires a big sacrifice,” he said, nodding to her pistol.
“That was a stretch,” she said. “I hope you weren’t working on that one long.”
He grunted.
“Put the kettle on, would you?” she asked. “I’m always a bit woozy after this.”
He watched the blood drip down her arm, transfixed by the red as it glinted warmly in the lamplight. So transfixed that she had to ask him a second time. He shook his head and went to the hearth, then hung the filled copper kettle from a hook over the fire. He didn’t bother mentioning he could boil the water with magic. She had refused that offer a hundred times in the past. Said she could taste magic in the water. That it spoiled tea, just like it spoiled everything else.
“They say this is older than magic,” Kianna whispered, watching the blood drip down her forearm. Her voice filled his head like amber. Crimson blood. Honeyed words. “Blood magic. The power of sacrifice, of offering. They say that when we offer our flesh to the gods, the gods grant us immortality.” She scoffed. “Rubbish. I don’t offer anything. I just know it works.”
It was about as close to esoteric talk as she’d ever come, and when she reached over to grab a wet rag from a bucket steaming with the scent of herbs, he knew it was the last.
“Gaining immortality, though...” she continued. She looked back to him. “That’s something I think I’ve finally gotten sorted.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a problem,” she said. “But I think we can make it an opportunity.”
“What’s the problem?”
“London isn’t responding.”
His blood went cold as Tomás’s smirk cut through his thoughts. Good luck. What had the Kin known? “What?”
Despite the direness of her words, she seemed nonchalant about it all as she wrapped the rag around her forearm and used her teeth to tie it tight. Her movements were well practiced. He couldn’t even imagine the number of times she’d done it. And without letting an Earth mage heal her after...
“The troops that left...none of them have returned.”
It was general protocol—whenever troops were deployed, at least one Air mage was sent back to report to the main Guild once the destination was reached, to give updates or ask for reinforcements. Short-wave radio was too easily intercepted and didn’t reach that far anyway. As the mage flies, London should have been a short return trip.
“What do you think it means?” he asked.
“Either they got lost on the Underground, or the Guild’s been jeopardized.”
“And what do our overlords want to do about it?”
She chuckled. “You used to be an overlord.”
“And I relished in it.” He leaned forward. “Please tell me you convinced them to let us go investigate.”
Her lips twitched into a grin. “I didn’t fight my way up through layers of British bureaucracy without learning how to get what I want.” She gestured to the bullets. “Thus, the arsenal. They’re sending us out tomorrow morning. Low-key operation. Small command.”
“Speaking of command—”
“No such luck. You’ll be taking orders from me, wee man.”
He slumped back. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter—he was still getting out to the field and down to London. Once he got the shard, the rulings of the Glasgow council wouldn’t matter anymore. He just had to be patient. Which was never a virtue he held dear.
Kianna stood and pulled the kettle from the stove, muttering to herself about how Americans sucked at making tea, then poured the steaming water into a teapot.
“I thought you’d be more excited,” she said. She set the kettle back by the hearth.
“I am,” he said. He pushed through Fire, just enough so he could truly mean it. “I was starting to go crazy.”
“You were already there,” she said. Looked down at her bandage. Red seeped through the cloth. “Damn it. Cut deeper than I thought.” She reached over and grabbed a fresh bandage—dry this time. He watched with morbid fascination as she redid her work.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” he asked.
He hadn’t actually meant to voice the words floating through his head, words he’d thought countless times before. Why not let someone heal her? Why not get attuned? Why live in this world of magic and monsters and intentionally deny yourself the best part of it?
Without magic, Aidan couldn’t see much point to life. So where had her drive come from?
He hadn’t meant to ask it, and he hadn’t expected her to answer. She never had in the past.
“Because magic makes everything worse.” She glanced up to him. Then her eyes flickered to the bullets. “And I’m already bathed in blood. Might as well use what I’m used to.”
He didn’t press her for more. He’d tried, once, when they met at the abandoned hostel up north. He’d tried, and she’d nearly walked out the door on him, leaving him to die, without magic and without family, by Loch Lomond.
He’d come to her without any more tears to shed, and she had at least given him the dignity of never asking why that was.
“My parents were killed a few days before the Resurrection,” she said. Her words were heavy. Thick as the blood congealing on her workbench. “By magic.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. Necromancers had taken so many, it was almost like saying your family member had died of cancer. Common, but no less heartbreaking.
“It’s not what you’re thinking.” She stared at the bloody rag in her hand, and he knew that she wasn’t seeing the cloth. “It wasn’t a necromancer. And we didn’t know about the Howls yet. No. This was some dumbass, high on power, and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She glanced at him before looking away. For the first time in the years that he’d known her, she actually looked lost.
“That’s the worst of it, you know? They didn’t die because of monsters. They didn’t die because of evil, or a war, or anything that we fight against. They died become some arsehole wanted them to die. I watched them go up in flames,” she said. “By the time I was able to snap the bastard’s neck, my family was dead.”
She sniffed. Tossed the wet rag into the flames, where it hissed and steamed and filled the room with smoke that reminded him way too strongly of Trevor and Vincent’s burning bodies.
“That’s why I don’t use magic. Magic stole my parents away from me, and my strength was the only thing that kept me alive after. If I had known better, if I had thought myself strong in the face of magic, I would have saved them. Now I know—even magic is no match against me. And I plan on keeping it that way.”
The rags hissed. She sipped her tea.
“I’m sorry,” Aidan said again. This time, it sounded more like he meant it.
“Don’t be,” she said. “Sadness doesn’t change anything. Just makes you slow.”
He sat there in silence, watching her drink, watching the flames crackle, not knowing if he should comfort her or leave.
“I know what you did in there,” she said.
“What?”
His attention snapped right back to her. But there wasn’t the slightest hint of mockery or threat on her face.
“I know you killed them. I heard Trevor begging you, when I was coming to.”
“I don’t know—”
“Playing stupid doesn’t suit you,” she said. “Neither does playing weak.”
Her eyes bored holes through his heart, and he had no idea what to say.
“I’m not telling you my life history because I want to share a good sob story. I’m telling you because I worry about you. Good people can do terrible things, Aidan. Often when they think their motives are altruistic. You’re a bastard, but you’re a good person. Don’t let anything burn that away.”
It didn’t sound like she was threatening him, but that didn’t make him feel any better.
She knew.
“What did you see?” he asked. Did she know about Tomás as well? Were all his secrets hidden behind her eyes? Fire had winked out long ago, and now his heart hammered somewhere deep in his gut.
“Nothing,” she replied. “I didn’t wake up until you grabbed me. But I had heard things. Screaming. Begging. Took a few days for it to come together, and you owe me for some really shite dreams.”
“I don’t—”
“Then don’t,” she said. Her next words were low, but razor sharp. “I will trust that you did what had to be done. But I swear to every god listening, Aidan Belmont, if you ever turn on me, I will put a bullet between your eyes before you so much as make a spark.”
He swallowed. Hard.
“Good,” she said cheerily, leaning back in her chair as though she hadn’t just threatened his life. “I need to rest, and so do you. We leave at first light.”
He stood awkwardly, torn between interrogating her and running straight out the Guild and never stopping. He settled for just nodding and turning for the door.
“Sweet dreams,” she said.
She sounded like she meant it.
By the next morning, Aidan was going mental with frustration.
He hadn’t been able to sleep. Not after that. Kianna knew he had killed Trevor. She knew Fire had taken over once more—or, worse, that it hadn’t, and Aidan had killed his former lover in cold blood. He lay there all night, staring at the black ceiling, for the first time in his life not wanting to open to Fire to ease away the darkness and the cold.
For the first time, Fire and passion scared him.
Had he been acting solely under its spell?
Was he a threat to the ones he loved?
Without the flame whispering that he was safe, that everyone was safe so long as they didn’t get in the way, he couldn’t be sure.
But a small voice inside of him—one that had been silenced years ago, one that sounded way too much like his old Sunday school teacher—whispered that he was getting exactly what he’d earned. For some reason, the flier he’d seen in the Underground flickered through his mind again. All sinners burn. Just the thought made him shudder. He didn’t put any faith in faith, but that didn’t mean the rhetoric didn’t resonate.
If there was a god, he hoped he never met them. For everything he’d done, there was no way in hell he’d go anywhere but, well, Hell. He closed his eyes and tried to convince himself it was all rubbish. Even though he was hearing the words of a figure most people thought of as a god.
Even though he had been told outright he could become one himself.
Kianna knocked on his door after what felt like days, bearing a pot of tea and some warm biscuits. He had been dressed and ready since lying down.
“We leave in an hour. Gear up.” She set the tea on the tiny-ass bedside table and left. No mention of their conversation hours ago. No further threats for him to be on his best behavior. And he knew then, like all other things in their past, this was dead and behind them.
He opened to Fire and burned the last shreds of his doubt away. He was fed and out the door in moments.
Their small troop assembled in the cloisters. When he’d first visited the University, he’d thought the passage looked straight out of Harry Potter—a covered hall between courtyards and buildings, supported by columns that stretched up to arched domes like miniature cathedrals. Back then, students raced between the pillars to their next class, or chatted on benches in the green courtyard beyond. Now, the cloisters were filled with racked weapons and the clangs of sparring Hunters. Frankly, he thought the metallic din of war suited the space much better.
His small team—no, Kianna’s team—waited impatiently at the edge, staring out at the misting rain. Only three others, total. An Earth and Air mage named Margaret who had a bow and sword strapped to her back. Kianna.
And Gregory.
The guy turned around the moment Aidan laid eyes on him.
Shite.
Aidan had a rule: never serve at the side of someone you’re screwing. It was fine when he was a commander. The power dynamic always worked in his favor—he could be aloof and pull strings from afar. But to serve side by side...that felt like a recipe for disaster.
And by disaster, he meant emotion. Mostly grief.
It didn’t help that when Gregory spotted him, the guy smiled. And not one of those cocky oh it’s you smiles, but a genuine I’m happy you’re here and maybe I even volunteered to do this because I’m secretly in love with you smile. At least he didn’t try to muck things up further with small talk.
Aidan didn’t meet Margaret’s eye. The last time they’d worked together, he’d been in charge. At least she had the decency to nod in a sort of half bow.
“Fancy seeing you on this mission,” Gregory said, effectively dropping from Aidan’s graces. Small talk was his biggest pet peeve. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. After you ghosted me and all.”
Aidan knew the correct response was some sort of apology or lie. But it was early and he hadn’t slept and he wanted to start killing things ASAP so he could finally make his situation bearable. “Aye, well, I was drunk and you were available.” He looked over at Gregory, just enough to see that his words hit home. “Don’t take it personal.”
Then, before Gregory could respond, Aidan grabbed one of Kianna’s duffel bags and headed for the drawbridge.
Less than a minute in, and this mission was already going to shit.