Page 65

“Rhyan—”

His hand closed around mine, and our fingers interlocked. His grip tightened, and I stepped forward. It was an unspoken acknowledgment that neither of us would win this argument, so we were going in together, and we’d watch each other’s backs.

I slowed my breathing, wanting to be as silent as Rhyan as we stepped into my apartment. We moved soundlessly through each room, lighting candles as we went until the entire space was glowing in flickering candlelight.

Every corner was inspected, every door checked. There was no one here. And by the looks of it, nothing had been taken—no coins, none of the gold jewelry I’d left out. But when we brought the candle into my bedroom, we discovered that whoever had been in here hadn’t come to take something from me. They’d come to leave something behind. A message.

There was a bulge beneath the covers of my bed. Rhyan squeezed my hand before releasing it and stepping in front of me, his body shielding mine. I sucked in a breath as he pulled the blanket back.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his hand shooting out again to protect me as he stepped back.

I side-stepped him, peering over his arm, and covered my mouth with my hands. A baby seraphim’s severed head had been stuffed under the covers, its feathers painted black. Red blood, tinged with the darkened paint, was still running from its neck onto my sheets.

I ran to the bathroom, bile rising up my throat.

“Lyr!” Rhyan chased after me.

I heaved as I reached the toilet, but nothing came out. I gripped the edge of the seat, dizzy, feeling like the walls were closing in on me, the ceiling sinking.

No, no, no.

“Lyr?” Rhyan asked, stepping in the bathroom behind me. “Lyr, you’re all right. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

I spit and wiped my mouth, standing slowly, my pulse racing, heart pounding, a sick feeling still washing through me as I washed my hands and face.

“It’s okay. Come here,” he said, pulling me to him. “Come here to me. Breathe.”

I buried my face in his neck. His arms wrapped tightly around me. The broad expanse of his chest, his warmth, his scent—it all began to wrap around me, to absorb my senses, to slow my breathing, to bring me back from the brink of panic.

“You can’t stay here tonight,” he said, rubbing my back. He stopped and cupped the nape of my neck. “I’m going to get you somewhere safe.”

I nodded against him, swallowing back the rising bile. I was tired of falling apart, tired of being affected like this. “I thought with all the new protections in place, this wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. Arianna was looking into it, every protection was doubled. How are they getting in here? And…Gods…how could they do something like that? To a baby?” Tears burned my eyes as the image flashed before them again. My entire body was shaking.

Rhyan held me tighter, making soft shushing sounds against my ear. “Hey, partner. Hey, I’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

He led me out of the bathroom, away from my bedroom, and into the living room, where he sat me down on the couch. He sat beside me and wrapped one arm around me as his free hand moved to the vadati stone in his belt pocket.

“Aemon,” he said, holding the stone before his lips. His voice was clipped with the anger that hadn’t faded for the arkturion’s role in my whipping. The stone glowed milky white before swirling into a shimmering blue that shined against his skin.

“Hart,” Aemon’s voice called through the stone. “What happened?”

“Apartment breach. Place is empty. No sign of forced entry or the intruder. Her grace is secure. Nothing stolen. Emartis left another message.”

“What was it?” Aemon asked, the stone brightening with his voice.

Rhyan frowned, his eyes on me before he said, “Seraphim head. Baby’s. Painted black.”

“Fuck,” he said. “She with you?”

“I have her,” Rhyan said.

“Fuck,” Aemon said again. This time I could hear the shift in his voice, the subtle change that marked him as the Ready. “Give me a minute.”

The stone stopped glowing, the blue fading until the light inside vanished.

“You all right there, partner?” Rhyan asked, his arm tightening around me.

“I just want to get out of here.” I felt dirty, gross, and violated. And like I’d never be able to sleep in my own bed again.