Page 196

From the look on Roman’s face, he agreed. He clearly didn’t like it, but…he agreed.

“Look, Shay…,” he began, the words gruff. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did back there. If you weren’t with us, Pax probably would’ve…” His jaw flexed, and he looked away.

Been taken,Shay finished for him.

Instead of saying it aloud, she whispered, “Strength in numbers.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

“We stick together,” she decided, even as Roman’s eyes tightened, the warm shade darkening so swiftly there was not a single gold fleck left. “For now,” she amended, if only to make him feel better.

Roman inhaled, the sound, although soft, raising goosebumps all over her body. “For survival.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but the words were strained, and his expression stern.

Shay nodded, though. Because it was true. They needed each other, now more than ever, and what happened at that motel was evidence of that. “For survival,” she assented.

Nothing more.

Pfft, sure, Shayla,she thought, as her heart gave an outward tug, as if trying to haul her across the space and into the Shadowmaster’s arms. Those lean-muscled, ridiculously attractive arms that looked way too good in his stupid ripped shirt…We’ll see how that goes.

73

The Holding Center

ANGELTHENE, STATE OF WITHEREDGE

The sun was risingby the time the cops granted Loren an audience.

This room she was in reminded her of that fateful night six months ago, when Sabrine had been abducted, but this time her hands were cuffed. Today, she was not a witness, but a suspect—for what crimes, she still didn’t know.

Multiple pairs of eyes were peering at her from the other side of the observation window to her right. She didn’t need to see them to know they were there, their gazes searing the side of her face like glowing-hot branding irons. And, just like the night Sabrine had disappeared, the one-way mirror showed her how rough she looked.

Her face seemed pale, almost gaunt. Dark circles marred her under-eyes, and her hair was draped over the back of her chair in a curtain of waves in dire need of detangling spray and a brush.

She startled as the door buzzed open, and two men stalked in. One was Detective Glen Campbell. The other, she had never seen before. Both were warlocks. Both physically in their forties.

Chairs scraped like nails on a chalkboard as they took their seats across from her. Glen slapped a folder onto the table andmade himself comfortable, his silver-ringed eyes drilling holes in her face.

She twisted her fingers in her lap, her heart already skipping beats.

She couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t concerned about what might happen next, but most of the stress she was feeling was not wasted on herself.

It was spent on thoughts of Darien and Tanner. Surely, whatever she ended up facing here in this room, at this table that was bolted to the floor, would be one hundred times easier than what these detectives planned on doing to the men. While she was a lowly human whose only crime, if she were to ask the two prejudiced males seated across from her, was being born, Darien and Tanner…

Glen had listed some of their crimes while handcuffing them. Crimes of which the Devils were one hundred percent guilty. Darkslayers may be tolerated by most cops and MPU agents, who chose to turn the other cheek in favor of receiving indirect help cleaning up the streets, but that didn’t mean they liked each other. And when one bad egg came along in a position of authority… Needless to say, it didn’t always end well for any slayers in question.

She drew a calming inhale.

Darien’s reaction when she was being arrested at Angelthene Recreation Center was one she would never forget. The way he had completely freaked out and begged—begged—when he saw her being apprehended…

Pushing him away was not the answer. Not anymore. While she may never forgive him for tying his life to hers, she was struggling to keep her distance. She loved him far too much to keep doing so.

Wherever he was in this building, whichever room they had him locked up in…let’s just say she was surprised he hadn’t yet completely demolished the entire holding center to get to her.

Glen licked the pad of his finger and flipped through the pages in the brown folder. Taking his sweet time while the other detective watched her in stony silence, his beefy arms crossed over his large chest. The clock on the white wall ticked and ticked and ticked.

She opened her mouth to say something?—

Glen’s brusque voice clapped through the room. “You will speak when you are spoken to, and no sooner, Miss Calla.” He wasn’t even looking at her, too preoccupied with his papers.