Page 27

“Roman, do you have any sage?” Nico calls from my back door. Thankfully, though Caitriona’s gaze lifts to my friend, Gwyn is hidden out of sight.

“Why the fuck would I have sage?”

“Rosemary?” Caitriona asks hopefully. “For purification.”

“Check the spice rack,” I say. “I definitely don’t have fresh rosemary. I barely even live here.”

Nico comes out of the house, tossing a mostly-full shaker of rosemary at me, before turning back inside to raid my wine cooler. I think perhaps Emile will let go of Hale so he can perform a fake spell reversal, now that I have the necessary herbs. But he shoves Hale forward, keeping him close.

“Come, Roman.”

I nod, intending to go along with this fucking charade, knowing the risk. Whatever command Emile gives me afterward won’t work because I can still feel Gwyn’s blood thrumming through my veins—and then what? When it doesn’t work, what will he do?

I stop myself, sliding my hands into my pockets.

“No.”

My uncle’s brows merely raise as he leans around Hale’s tall and lanky body. Emile’s lips twist tightly together, and it’s almost like I’m a kid again, being reprimanded for getting a date wrong on a history test.

“I told you, there isn’t a spell,” I say, palms out in earnest, hoping that somehow, I can keep Hale safe, and in turn, my brother. “I was…goddammit. Je me suis ridiculisé.”I’ve made a fool of myself.

“Oui,” he says, simply. “Quand même.”But still. He uses his knife to gesture toward the circle Caitriona now stands beside.

I almost laugh, amused by his unfettered confidence in me. Is it loyalty to my dead mother, the little sister he was supposed to have an eternal life with, that allows him to give me the benefit of the doubt? Is it…love? Is it something else altogether?

My chest has gone tight. I know my uncle. Regardless of why he believes in me, when Hale fails to lift a nonexistent spell, all hell will break loose. He’ll issue a command I can’t guess, andhe’ll kill them both. Hale first, in a fit of rage. Sasha will be his next target, and I don’t know if I’m fast enough to get there first.

And Gwyn will see it all, rushing to kill Remy before I have a chance to stop her.

I’ll have to kill him myself before it comes to that.

Fuck.

“Roman,” he says, and we turn toward one another. His knife isn’t quite where it needs to be to be a true threat, and I know if I’m quick, I can shove Hale out of the way.

I don’t think immobilizing him will be enough, but I don’t think I have it in me to do more.

Despite myself, my eyes shift to the woman who now stands on my upstairs balcony. Striking, Gwyn’s dark hair blows on the wind, and her pale skin glows beneath the moon’s caress. She’s hauntingly beautiful, like a ghostly woman in white standing on a forested back road, though no less deadly. She’s certain to lure me to oblivion.

Despite every muscle in my body screaming at me to react, to stop, to warn, I don’t move when I watch her pull the same gun that she used on me out of her pocket. I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate her bringing it. Her advantageous position above us gives her an edge my uncle wouldn’t have foreseen. It kept her scent from reaching past the house save for the brief moment the wind had wafted that disarming rich temptation directly to me.

Time slows down the moment I decide my only action is inaction.

My brother is my priority, I remind myself as Gwyn raises her arm.

Though she doesn’t have much of a shot because of how my uncle holds Hale, Gwyn disengages the safety, and I close my eyes.

I’ve braced myself for the loud pop of gunfire, so when there’s a wet, slicing sound followed by a gush of liquid, it takes mea moment to understand what’s happening. I don’t manage to catch Hale’s body before the man crumples to the ground.

11

GWYN

I nearly drop my gun,narrowly managing to catch it without pulling the trigger, and I engage the safety.

The scent of Hale’s blood hits me before the realization of what happened does. Roman is kneeling beside my friend, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was drinking Hale’s blood, cupping it in his hands before it hits the ground.

Stupidly, all I can think of, all I can hear, is my father’s voice when he’d taught me how to properly carry a firearm while still being ready for anything.