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Fifty-Five

ALEC

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My eyes open.

Black encompasses my vision, but it quickly fades for colour, making the witch hanging over me, her mouth in a frown, clearer.

Everything comes back in a rush that causes my chest to clench. Including why this witch is above me. Why I’m lying on the ground of some tiny shop in Banff.

Harlow died.

My Bride is dead.

Which means, I should be too.

But I’m awake. I search for the familiar buzz of the bond. It’s present. Shattered but not absent.

She’s alive.

It’s a thought driven by hope…and possibility. Harlow consumed my blood before leaving the basement, and if she did die?—

I stare at the witch, sitting up until I’m too close for either our comfort. “Did you bring me back to life? How much time passed?”

“No, and less than five minutes. I’ve never seen a vampire pass out like that.”

“I died.”

She follows me up when I stand. “Randomly?”

“When our Bride does, yes.”

“Harlow’s dead?” Her screech is much too much on my ears and I turn from the shop, tiring of the conversation that’s preventing me from getting to Harlow.

“I don’t know,” I admit, half-distracted. “I assume she’s alive now. I can still feel her.”

Without another word, I take off, heading toward the Banff outskirts, letting the bond direct me. I run through the vast forests, the numerous small bodies of water decorating the land, passing the territory reeking of a pack of shifters.

There’s no scent trail, but I listen to the fragmented bond, which, with every step grows stronger. I don’t allow hope to take over—not yet—just follow it by instinct.

Harlow, I test after a few more feet, only to receive more silence.

So much silence. Too much silence. I never want to go without her voice in my head again.

I won’t fucking survive it.

The pull takes me halfway between Banff and Calgary, and I dip deeper into the woods, a faint scent catching on the breeze. It’s not Harlow’s, but the two others’ from the shop, which means I must be coming up to the right place.

The scents lead me to a large pile of dirt where they grow extremely strong, tainted by a third.

By Harlow’s.

“No, no, Hellion, you’re okay. You have to be.” I leap onto the dirt, senses seeking every molecule of Harlow’s trace, seeking the exact place her body is, or the direction it goes if she made it out.

It’s challenging to distinguish any one thing because her scent is all over the place. At the very centre, there’s a hole about waist height dug out. It’s empty but reeking of Harlow.

Hope blossoms, finally unshackled from the binds I’ve placed it in since waking. If she’s alive, if she transitioned, then she’s somewhere in these woods, probably terrified. Ideally, she’s attacked an animal because if she doesn’t drink soon…the thought causes me to search for a trail faster.

I won’t think about my witch possibly being one of my own until I see it. Until I find her.

Lingering with her sweet scent is another—not the witches who kidnapped her. It’s a familiar trace I’ve been around for centuries. From another vampire who would have known she’s in Banff.

But he shouldn’t have known to look for her here . Why is he in the area?

Whatever his reason for being here, he has my mate.

And when a flash of her panic hits me like lightning, I know it’s for no good reason. I should have fucking known too, from the moment I admitted what she is to me and he seemed off.

I take off following their mixed scents, even if I don’t need to. If this is what I think it is, then there’s only one place nearby he’d take her. The place he’s never moved on from.

When I finish with him, I’ll ensure he’s forever separated from his own mate.