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A beat of silence. And then, “Loren was here.” Travis’s reply pushed Darien into action. He stalked out of Logan’s house without a backward glance, screen door banging shut behind him, fingers squeezing the phone tight. “At Hell’s Gate.”

Darien’s stomach dipped as he hurried across the porch and down the steps, wood sinking underfoot.

Travis continued, “I passed her on my way into the house.”

“What was she doing there?” Darien got in the car, started it, and reversed out of Logan’s driveway, gravel flying. “Did you talk to her?”

“I didn’t really get a chance to. She had a cab waiting at the gate.”

“Did she take anything with her?” Darien’s lungs felt tight. “Can you check, please?” If Loren was packing up the last of her things… Darien couldn’t take it.

“It doesn’t look like it, but…hold on.” It sounded like Travis was ascending the stairs. “She left her planner here. Must’ve fallen out of her bag or something.”

Darien sped through the Silverwood District, ripping through the streets so quickly he was nearing the border in no time. He could see the white paint marking the road up ahead, the werewolf symbol—a howling wolf with a crescent moon behind it—that signaled where Logan’s territory ended. Various streets throughout Werewolf and Vampire Territory were marked with symbols to show which packs or houses were in charge of the land. Same with the venefica districts. “Don’t judge me for asking this, but can you go to today’s date?” Darien asked.

The rustling of pages filled the speaker. “She has her classes written down. Herbology was finished at one p.m., looks like she had a half-day.… Does AA do half-days?”

“Trav,” Darien complained. “Focus. Please.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “At the bottom, it says Tattoo at Angelthene General — 2:30 p.m.”

“Thanks, Trav. I’ll take it from here.” He hung up before Travis could talk some sense into him.

Maybe he was a psycho boyfriend for doing this, but he didn’t care. He drove straight to the hospital, blowing through yellow lights and a few red ones, horns chasing him everywhere he went. He’d promised Loren that he would hold her hand every time she got her tattoo touched up, and he wasn’t one to break promises, not when he made them to her.

Not only that, but he was starting to worry about her—in different ways than he had all week.

Was it possible that she was in trouble? That she was connected in some way to all this fuckery going on around him? Now that Emilie had shown up, revealing that even the vampires were tangled up in some shady shit, he wasn’t crossing anything or anyone off his list.

He hoped he was wrong, and that her excuse not to see him—her excuse about being afraid of Gaven—was the only thing keeping her from him.

But if there was another reason, if he had been too short-sighted to see the danger she was in… He would hate himself. He would hate himself for being so blind and insecure.

When he got to the hospital, he would find out. And no matter the answer, he would listen to her. He couldn’t handle this yoyoing of their relationship anymore. Even though he was new to the dating scene, it was common knowledge that communication could make or break a relationship.

And fuck, he would make her talk to him, even if he didn’t end up liking what she said. At least then, if he found out what was truly wrong, he would have the opportunity to fix it.

He would not waste that opportunity.

53

Darien hurried through Angelthene General Hospital, weaving around nurses and healers and patients and guests, ignoring the curious and fearful eyes tracking his every step.

He’d found out from one of the receptionists which room Loren was having her procedure in, and as soon as the number had left the woman’s mouth, he’d hurried straight to the elevator and ridden it to the third floor, nearly prying the doors open as soon as it had lurched to a stop.

As he walked, boots pounding the floors, he shook back the sleeve of his jacket and checked his watch.

It was only two thirty-one. Maybe he didn’t need to sprint there and put every employee on high alert in the process.

“Dare,” called a bass voice from one of the rooms he breezed by.

Darien backed up and glanced in the open doorway.

Malakai was sitting in a chair beside an examination table, fingers laced behind his head. Perched on that examination table was Jewels. Under the fluorescents, she somehow managed to look paler than she already was, not a hint of pink in her cheeks. There were beads of sweat on her forehead, causing strands of purplish hair to stick to her skin.

Darien took one step into the room, still half-turned toward the hallway. “You okay, Jewely?”

She was swinging her legs from side to side, platform sneakers thumping against the table. “As okay as I can be.” The tight smile she offered him was more like a grimace. There was a bandage in the crease of her elbow, a cotton ball taped under it.