Page 25

T WENTY -F IVE X ANDER

I’ve never attended a Thanksgiving dinner, let alone prepared one for a group, so I’m not entirely sure what led me to think doing so for my council was a good idea. Blake jumped on board the moment I mentioned it and had invites sent out before I could change my mind.

“We should meet with them anyway, so why not do it over a feast?” he’d said, and I couldn’t argue with him.

As I stand at the sink, rinsing and peeling a ridiculous amount of potatoes, I severely wish I had.

Blake walks into the kitchen wearing a bright red apron with the phrase kiss the chef printed above the outline of lips. “How’s it coming?” he asks, setting down the grocery bags he carried in. “Having fun yet?”

I shoot him a bland look, and he grins before starting to unpack the rest of the things we needed for dinner. “The turkey has been in the oven for a little over an hour,” I tell him, pulling a knife from the block on the counter behind me before turning back to the island to chop the potatoes.

“Excellent,” he beams. “Fran’s grabbing the pie on her way over after she picks up Declan.”

I nod, finding it somewhat strange that Declan would be coming with Francesca instead of his partner. “What about the others?”

He pulls out a bag of carrots and a large head of broccoli. “Roman and Jude are coming together of course, and Greer is visiting a friend in Tacoma, so she’ll head here on her own after.”

“Sounds good.”

And hopefully everyone will be gone before nine .

That hope goes out the window an hour after Roman and Jude get here and Francesca and Declan haven’t arrived. Greer shows up shortly after them. The food is ready, and the table is set. The others are half an hour late. Then an hour. Blake calls Francesca several times, and it keeps going straight to voicemail. Same with Declan’s phone. Greer paces the living room, texting and calling, trying to get ahold of him.

“I’m going out to find them,” I announce, shrugging on my jacket. I was hoping to avoid tracking them using the blood connection we made. It’ll take a toll on my energy, which isn’t ideal ahead of the next trial—especially not knowing when it’ll be—but I’m left with no other option.

Just as I straighten from lacing up my combat boots, there’s a loud crash in the hallway. The others rush forward as I open the door, and my gut sinks as a bloodied and bruised Francesca collapses. I catch her before she hits the floor, and she groans in pain as I scoop her into my arms and carry her inside. Her head falls against my chest, damp with water from the rain outside and tinged black with blood.

“She’s barely alive,” Jude says in a grave tone.

Blake curses, and I’ve never heard his voice so livid. He’s vibrating with rage, his eyes flickering black as he keeps them locked on Francesca.

I lay her on the couch as gently as I can. Dark makeup is streaked down her pale, tear stained cheeks, which is the least of my concerns when her lip is split and bleeding down her chin and one of her eyes is nearly swollen shut. Her knee-length dress is shredded across her waist, her sheer tights ripped almost entirely off her legs, which are spattered with bruises like the ones on her arms.

Roman disappears and comes back with a warm, damp towel. Jude takes it from him and sits on the edge of the couch, leaning over to clean up Francesca’s face. She continues making sounds of discomfort, and her heart beats faster, her non-injured eye filling with tears when Blake asks her what happened. She shakes her head, whimpering, and I exchange a look with Blake, who looks ready to slaughter whoever did this.

“Tell us what happened,” Jude says.

Francesca shudders, tears rolling down her cheeks as her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

Jude stops cleaning her face and holds her still by her arms. “Easy, darling. Take a breath.”

She sniffles, then inhales and exhales slowly a few times as the rest of us wait for her to speak. “We—” Her voice breaks, and she tries to clear her throat, wincing as if it hurts. “We went to the market to get the pies and when we were walking back to the car…They came out of nowhere.” Her chin quivers, and she stops talking, shaking her head again.

“Hunters?” I ask, a muscle ticking in my jaw and my temples throbbing from the tension.

Francesca sucks in a breath. “N-no.”

My brows tug closer as the pit in my stomach grows. “Then who?”

Her attention lands on me as she licks her lips. She swallows hard before she’s able to force out, “My father.”

Fire bursts in my gut, and I bite back a growl.

Marrick is a dead man.

“Francesca,” Greer speaks up in a small voice, keeping herself pressed against the wall. “Where is Declan?”

She doesn’t look at Greer, but it’s written all over her face.

He’s dead.

“No,” Greer snaps frantically, moving toward the couch as she demands, “Where is he?”

Roman catches her around the waist, holding her back, and she completely loses it. It takes both Roman and Jude to haul Greer out of the room, and she continues screaming from the bedroom upstairs after the door slams shut.

Blake helps Francesca upright on the couch, then sits next to her. “Talk to us, Fran. Marrick did this to you?”

She exhales an unsteady breath. “His cronies. My father has never done his own dirty work.” Reaching up with a shaky hand, she touches her lip and sucks in a pained breath. “He watched as they beat me and called me a traitor for aligning myself with you.” She sniffles, and the utter brokenness in her features gnaws at me. This is my fault.

“He won’t get away with what he did to you,” I vow to her, perching on the coffee table in front of the couch to face her and Blake. “Or what he did to Declan.” Greer’s screaming upstairs has quieted. I’m not sure how Jude and Roman settled her down, or perhaps she cried herself dry.

Francesca’s voice is so uncharacteristically small when she says, “He was going to let them kill me, Xander. But he…he needed someone alive to send you a message.”

“What message?” I snarl, though the anger isn’t directed at her.

“He wants the throne and he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t take it.” She winces at the movement as she reaches for me, grabbing my hands where they’re clenched in my lap. “Everyone you care about is a target.”

My back straightens, my whole body going taut. I can’t help immediately thinking about Camille and Harper in New York.

I glance toward Blake, a silent message passing between us, and he nods in understanding.

“I, um…” Francesca starts, then trails off, dropping her gaze to her lap.

“What is it?” I ask, focusing back on her.

“It’s going to sound insane.” She inhales slowly, lifting her head and looking at me. “Years ago, when we were still in hell, I overheard a conversation between Marrick and Lucia. They were discussing the future of our kind following the eradication of the hunters.”

“They had a plan?” Blake asks.

Francesca shakes her head. “Not quite. What I heard…It didn’t make a lick of sense, but my father was adamant, convinced this was the answer to any threats they would face.”

“Just tell us what you heard,” Blake says, shoulders tense.

There’s a moment of hesitation before she continues. “My father seemed to think he could gather an army of demons that were loyal to him by default.”

Blake makes a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “How exactly could he guarantee that?”

Francesca’s brows knit, and she exhales an uneven breath. “By transforming humans into demons to form an army.”

My stomach drops as dread floods into my chest, seizing my lungs in an ironclad grip.

“ Make demons?” Blake echoes. “Is that what you just said?”

“I’ve never heard of it happening,” I say, trying to ignore the nausea swirling in my core. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. I don’t think we can rule it out at this point.”

Francesca nods. “Other creatures inhabiting this world can turn humans into their kind. Who’s to say demons can’t do the same?”

“If Marrick can turn humans into demons and force their loyalty, this just became a much bigger problem,” Blake says, raking his fingers through his faded blue hair.

The tension in my chest burns hotter, morphing into something violent. My hands curl into fists, and I inhale slowly. “If Marrick wants a fight, I will give him a war he’ll have no chance of surviving. He’ll wish he’d been at the compound to perish alongside Lucia.”

Blake and I leave Francesca to rest on the couch while we go to the kitchen. My thoughts are racing, blood rushing through my ears as I struggle to ground myself.

I haven’t felt this out of control since the day I killed Lucia.

Jude and Roman enter the kitchen, leaving Greer asleep upstairs.

“What do we know so far?” Roman asks, glancing between us.

“You heard what Fran told us?” Blake checks, and Roman nods.

“I spoke to an old friend of mine in California,” Jude says. “Marrick was living there for a while before he joined your mother’s council, and it seems he’s returned.”

“This has been confirmed?” Blake asks from where he stands next to me, arms folded over his chest.

Jude nods. “He’s been spotted several times.”

“It makes sense,” Francesca chimes in weakly, and we all turn to her in the living room as she continues, “We have family in Los Angeles. He could be hiding out there.”

“I don’t think he’s hiding,” Roman adds in a low voice, his jaw tight. He turns to me. “Your mother had a lot of support in California. Marrick is most likely recruiting demons who will fight alongside him against you taking the throne.”

I rub my jaw, leaning against the counter. “How does he plan to turn humans into demons?”

“Who bloody knows?” Blake grumbles.

“I’ve come across centuries old literature that spoke of the process as a myth,” Jude offers with furrowed brows.

The knots in my stomach grow and tighten, making me shift my stance at the pang of discomfort. “How is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

“There’s no way to say for certain if it’s been done before because, if I remember correctly from the writings, you cannot discern a born demon from a created one.”

“Well isn’t that just fucking peachy,” Blake huffs.

“And you believe Marrick has access to this information?” I ask.

“I think it’s safe to say he does,” Roman says. “You know how close he was to your mother. How obsessed he was with pleasing her. She wanted demons to rule the human world, and he’d do anything to give her that.”

I loathe Marrick with every bit of my soulless being, though I suppose I can understand doing whatever it takes for the love of a woman.

Glancing between Roman and Jude, I say, “I need you to dig for more information. Find out if this is truly Marrick’s plan. And if I can leave it to the two of you to take care of Greer—”

“Of course,” Jude interjects smoothly. “We’ve got it covered.”

The two of them go back upstairs, speaking in hushed voices about where they’ll start looking for answers.

I grab the bottle of whiskey from the bar cart and pour two generous glasses, sliding one across the counter to Blake before downing mine. I exhale a deep sigh as the liquor burns a path to my stomach. “No one in the inner circle is safe. I need you to do something for me.”

He nods, sipping from his glass as he stares down at the phone in his other hand. “I’m already booking a flight. You stay and make sure Fran gets better. She needs to feed and keep resting. I imagine Greer will also need both of those things.”

“I’ll make sure they’re taken care of.” My voice sounds detached, an eerie reflection of how I’m starting to feel. I glance at the kitchen island, at the spread of untouched food Blake and I spent hours preparing.

He sets his phone on the counter, giving me his full attention before asking, “When I get to New York, what do you want me to tell them?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you say so long as you bring them back with you.”

“Of course, but I also don’t think we should stay in Seattle. Too much has happened already, it’s no longer a viable or smart option.” He takes another drink. “I was already in the process of arranging a new place for after you complete the trials when Marrick started causing problems.”

My brows lift, and I lean against the counter, folding my arms. “A new place where?”

“Vancouver. It’s a nice house. Out of the way so it’s private enough, but still close to a handful of portals for any necessary trips home.” He scratches the stubble along his jaw. “I think you should head to Vancouver with the others, and I’ll meet you once I’ve collected your girls.”

I rub my eyes with my thumb and finger, sighing.

“We’re going to figure this shit out, mate.”

“There’s nothing to figure out. Marrick is going to find out what happens when you threaten what’s mine.”

He whistles softly, finishing his drink. “Spoken like a true king.”