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Imogen had tricked me. She, more than anyone in this world, understood how to shield her thoughts from me, but I had not expected such a vile, repulsive trick.

I sneered.

But she would not fool me again. Imogen was done.

She must have had Wrenhaven torture her for the believability. She’d accused him, but the attack on Saphire Lounge—all of this was connected.

I had been blinded.

“Where are you going?” Asher shouted at Ren, but he was already gone.

Ren left the room. He would hunt her down.

I slowly made my way back to the end of her bed and dropped on the mattress, every bone in my legs giving out on me.

“Isn’t it interesting how this little thing ripped our hearts out?”

I studied Asher as he caressed her, talking and cooing at her like she would understand. “Somehow, we love her.”

Awe filled his voice. We weren’t meant to love, so when we cared for something, the devotion that came from that could not be matched.

This clenching in my chest whenever I saw her, or how I wanted to hold her at all times. This was not normal. I had been with my Coven mates long enough to see their hunger for her was just as strong as mine.

Obsession bloomed to more, until she had her little fingers deep inside us and around our cocks.

I studied her slack features. The little half-moon eyes smiling up at me. I did not want to live in a world she did not exist. I would not.

“We have to prepare?—"

“For what exactly?” Asher whirled on me. I thinned my lips. “We are not staking her,” Asher snapped. Jax still did not react.

“We are not,” I said in agreement. We would keep her with us even if she was blood-mad.

She had to make it. She would beat the odds and turn into a vampire, even if bruises littered her body and her bones looked out of place.

I settled in to pray for the first time in a long time.

SIXTEEN

ren

All of it was connected.Whoever attacked did it knowing we had come to Saphire Lounge. I had no doubt Imogen had a part, but who informed her we would be here? There were too many options: Calliope, Alistair, anyone under Calliope—too many enemies crowded closer and closer. And the percentage only grew.

“I don’t know anything,” the snarled words dragged me back to the male bound by shackles before me, he kept eyeing the brass knuckles I’d slipped on over a protective glove. I’d had them specially made—with more steel than brass in the mix.

I stared back. I had no desire for levity.

He wore the same garb as the rest of the attackers. I’d found him huddled in one of Saphire Lounge’s storage closet.

Blood dripped off him at a steady pace. His face was a broken mess from the damage my brass knuckles inflicted, but he’d given me nothing. No information, no details. I flexed my hand into a fist. I could tell he hurt, because he took gasping breaths every other second. But as much as he tried to act nonchalant, the fucker was tense and hurting.

“Where is Imogen hiding?” I repeated.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he croaked. He spat blood on the floor.

I grinned, flashing my fangs.

I swung again and again and again. A layer of his cheek skin hung off his face. His eyes flickered side to side. He was clearly in agony.