Page 27

ELIAS

T he night stretches thin, heavy with the kind of tension you can taste on the back of your tongue.

Kaia’s sitting across from me on the beat-up couch that wasn’t too scorched from the explosion, her dark curls falling in messy waves around her face, her amber eyes locked onto mine like a goddamn vice.

She’s got a file clutched in her hands, thick enough to be dangerous if she decided to hurl it at my head—which, knowing her, isn’t off the table.

She hasn’t said a word since barging back into the safehouse an hour ago, dirt smudged across her cheek, sweat plastering her shirt to her skin.

I smelled trouble before she even stepped through the wards.

But seeing her—seeing her alive and fire-eyed and furious—yeah, it makes my chest ache in ways I don’t know how to fucking fix.

"You gonna tell me why you smell like blood and bad decisions, or do I have to guess?" I finally break the silence, voice low and sharp.

Kaia tosses the file onto the table between us. It lands with a heavy thud.

"I went back," she says, and there's no apology in her tone. Just that stubborn fucking edge that both drives me insane and makes me wanna tear the world apart for her.

I arch a brow. "Back where?"

"Compound." She leans forward, elbows on her knees, hands laced together so tight her knuckles turn white. "I needed to know more. About your father. About the shit they've been hiding."

A muscle in my jaw ticks.

“When?”

“While you made sure the coast was clear to come back here. When I said I’d grab some things for us.”

"You could’ve gotten yourself killed."

"I can take care of myself."

"That’s not the damn point, Kaia." I push up from the couch, pacing the narrow space between us because standing still feels like an impossible task when she looks at me like that—like she's daring me to tell her she's wrong.

"You wanna tear the Order down, Elias? Good. Me too," she snaps. "But you don’t get to decide how much I’m allowed to know. If I’m gonna keep standing with you, fighting for this, I need the whole truth."

Her voice cracks a little on that last part, and something in my chest fucking breaks.

I stop pacing. Stare at her. Really stare.

She’s not just doing this out of stubbornness or rebellion.

She’s doing it because she trusts me. Because she’s choosing to tie her fate to mine, even when every instinct she’s ever had probably screams at her to run.

Godsdamn her.

I sit back down, closer this time. Close enough to see the faint shimmer in her eyes that she’d die before letting me call tears.

"You want the truth?" I rasp. "Fine. You’ll get it."

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

So I start talking.

"My father’s name is Tarek Vorn," I say, the words tasting like rust and old grief. "Alpha of the Red Ash Pack. Strongest shifter in five generations. Stubborn as hell. Smarter than most of the Council combined. And completely fucking doomed the second he fell in love with my mother."

Kaia leans in slightly, listening like the world outside us has stopped spinning.

"My mother, Velara... she’s Crimson Court royalty. Vampiric bloodline older than some kingdoms. They said it was a disgrace when she chose a wolf. Said she betrayed her lineage, weakened her blood. They hunted them. Both sides. Vampires and shifters alike."

I drag a hand through my hair, memories clawing at me from every angle.

"When I was five, they caught him," I say. "Order operatives. Black-bagged him right out of our safehouse. They told my mother he was dead. I thought he was dead."

Kaia's hand twitches on her thigh, but she doesn't interrupt.

"It wasn’t until I was older that whispers started surfacing. Rumors. About a prison. A place they kept ‘unstable assets.’ Supernaturals too dangerous to kill outright, too useful to waste. Experimental material, they called them."

Her face twists in horror, and fuck, I hate putting that look on her. But she asked for the truth, and I’m done sugarcoating the ugliness we’re wading through.

"I spent years searching for proof," I mutter. "Found pieces. Never enough. Never close enough."

Kaia swallows hard, voice rough when she speaks. "You think he's still alive?"

"I know he is." I meet her gaze, letting her see the bare, bleeding thing inside me. "Because if they killed him, they wouldn’t still need his blood."

The weight of those words settles like a stone between us.

"Your father..." She hesitates. "My da– Jareth. He’s leading the serum project, isn't he?"

I nod once, curt and brutal. "Using my father's blood to make new weapons. Hybrids they can control."

Kaia flinches like I struck her. She presses her palms into her thighs like she’s trying to ground herself.

"I’m sorry," she says, so softly I almost miss it.

And gods, that undoes me more than any apology ever could.

I shake my head. "Not your fault, Kaia. None of this shit is."

She finally nudges the file across the table toward me.

"Look," she says, voice still unsteady. "I found current records. Your father... he wasn’t in the lab when the explosion happened. He’s alive. They moved him. Here."

She taps a map tucked into the file. I lean over it, studying the coordinates. Recognition slams into me like a goddamn freight train.

"The Graymoor Wastes," I whisper. "No man’s land. Even the Order doesn’t patrol there much anymore. Too many old wards. Too much residual magic from the old wars."

Kaia’s eyes spark with a fierce, reckless light.

"Then that’s where we’re going," she says.

"Kaia—"

"No." She cuts me off, standing now, full of fire and defiance. "I'm not asking, Elias. You said it yourself—we're doing this together. "

I stand too, close enough that our bodies almost brush.

She lifts her chin stubbornly, daring me to argue.

And gods help me, I love her for it.

"Together," I rasp.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The pull between us hums like a live wire, electric and inevitable.

Then I reach out, threading my fingers through hers, grounding us both.

Her fingers tighten around mine.

Tomorrow, we walk into hell.

Tonight, we remember why we have something worth saving.