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Why did Agnarr have to escape? And even worse, why was I relieved when he did?

Killing him and eating his heart would put nearly half of the world’s remaining vampires under my thrall.

I could do terrible things with that kind of power.

I could do what other hunters before me have done and make sacrifices for the greater good.

I could give a simple order and decimate their population.

I should want that, shouldn’t I?

I nearly jump out of my skin when the sound of a ringing telephone line blares through my ears. I’m only half thankful for the interruption.

“Your phone,” I shout, but I’m cut off when the call automatically answers. It must be connected via Bluetooth.

“What the fuck is going on?” Margot’s voice is deafening. “You guys were supposed to check in an hour ago, and?—”

I don’t know what possesses me to tell Margot anything. “We’re on the way to the greystone. Emile involved himself and has Hale. He thinks Roman is under some kind of spell.”

Margot doesn’t speak for a minute. When she finally responds, it’s without a hint of emotion. Cold and detached, Margot doesn’t sound like herself. I suppose I’ve earned that reaction.

“I’ve wondered that myself. What does Roman plan to do?”

“I don’t know. Can you—would you look at the cameras for me?”

“As if I have a choice,” Margot snaps. “What do you want to know?”

How the fuck everything got so convoluted—that’s what I want to know.

I wonder what made me decide to pick up the mantle my dad had so clearly put down?

As I grew older, he’d made it clear that he didn’t want this for me.

He didn’t want me to infiltrate the coven and destroy it from the inside out—but he hadn’t wanted to be brutally murdered in front of me either.

“Where are they? What are they doing?”

The clack of her keyboard rattles around behind my eyes.

“Nico seems to be arguing with Emile in the backyard. Sasha and Hale are tied up beside them. I think I see chains around their ankles, so they’re probably warded against magic.”

The sound I make is that of a wild animal. Tearing one arm away from Roman, I try not to think about how my other is the only thing keeping me from a painful landing on the pavement and a body too injured to help the only family I have left. I flip the visor up, and tell Roman what’s going on.

I know the only reason he’s on my side is because of Remy, but having him feels like hope nonetheless. Like the intermittent light of a firefly before dark, or like his cigarette’s glow in the quiet cemetery, it’s a moment of in-between, and I wish I could live in it.

“They’re both still alive?” Roman shouts over the screeching tires of a beat up SUV almost sideswiping us, and I start to repeat the question for Margot. It’s clear she already heard him when she cuts me off.

“Yes. I assume he’ll wait for you to get there if he decides to kill them.”

“Let me know if anything changes,” he says.

The call disconnects, and I flip the visor back down.

I don’t know how much longer Roman zooms through the city, breaking every possible traffic law, before finally slowing down.

It could be a minute or an hour that my mind races, thinking of the very real possibility that Emile kills my loved ones before we arrive, the supposed spell he thinks has been placed upon Roman be damned.

At the stoplight a few blocks away from his house, Roman turns to talk to me over his shoulder.

“Get off. If we arrive together?—”

“Yeah, he’ll kill them. Fine. How are we playing this?” I slide off the motorcycle, careful to avoid the exhaust as he’d said. I take the helmet off, and don’t know what to do with it.

“There is no we , Gwyn.” His eyes are red in the stoplight’s glow, and his expression is all harsh lines. “I need to know that you know that. It’s crystal fucking clear that we are not?—”

“Fuck, dude. Yeah, of course that’s clear. But it’s in your best interest to work with me on this,” I say as I hold out his helmet. He’s not exactly gentle as he takes it.

“I’ve escaped the compound, so there’s no reason he shouldn’t cooperate and give Hale back.”

“Sasha,” I say. “She isn’t…she doesn’t…Hale can hold his own if necessary. I want Sasha back. She’s my sister, Roman, I?—”

“I didn’t ask for a justification, cockroach. Sasha isn’t his to return.”

“You can have Hale,” I say, knowing just how fucked it is. I’ll pick Sasha any day, no matter the cost—and Hale knows that.

“I don’t want Hale,” Roman says, mouth curling into a slow smile. “Your sibling for mine, sweetheart.”

I start to argue with him, but there’s no time for this shit. I just need them to be safe. The whole reason I did any of this—infiltrating the coven, killing Bjorn… betraying Roman—was to make sure they’d stay safe, and now they’re more vulnerable than ever.

“If either of them gets hurt, you know what happens to him,” I say. His mouth tightens before he tugs his helmet on.

He takes off a second later, and I follow behind.

I don’t have my bearings yet, so I don’t know exactly how close I am.

I don’t want Emile to catch my scent, so any time the wind blows, I make myself small and try to get behind a tree.

I lose sight of Roman when he turns into the back alley behind his home—or at least I think that’s where he is.

I reach for my phone to check the map, but realize I didn’t bring it.

Instead, the heavy weight of my last resort is cold as my fingertips graze the metal.

Tiny, it was easy to slip the Beretta into my pocket when I’d grabbed my coat. It’s already fired one shot tonight, so I have seven more chances to hit Emile square in the face with a silver bullet.

I’ll have to be precise, and I’ll have to get fucking lucky.

But I breathe deep and square my shoulders, because what choice do I have?

It’s the aftermath that I’m truly frightened about.

Roman will likely forget about Remy and kill me on sight if I’m successful.

While Bjorn may have been no father to him, Emile is more than an uncle to Roman.

Remy hadn’t been lying when he said they were close.

Their relationship isn’t exactly normal—but what could be between a man born during the Feudal era and another born in the 1980s?

Emile is still the closest thing to a dad Roman has.

If I kill his father figure, Roman will never cooperate with me—especially if he still has Sasha.

Briefly, I consider that all of this might be Roman’s plan all along, but I dismiss it after a moment.

He hasn’t been in contact with Emile, and I still have Remy.

Never mind that I don’t think he’d do this—humiliation will be key when Roman finally comes after me like an avenging god.

Everything feels far too messy and convoluted for Roman.

Roman doesn’t create chaos. He fixes it.

I pick up my pace, only allowing myself to run until his motorcycle cuts off. After that, I slow down, making sure every sense is attuned. If I hear a shout or a scream, I’m running. If I smell Nico or Emile, I’m backing off and waiting for some kind of signal.

But without my phone, that’s a trash idea. I can’t even call Margot to use her as my eyes. Glancing up at the moon, I consider saying a prayer to Sasha’s chosen deity, but decide against it. I don’t know what I’m doing, and it will probably do more harm than good.

Finally, I see Roman’s motorcycle at the end of the alley, so I know I’m close. And instead of staying put and waiting for everything to fall apart, I dip between two sets of attached greystones. Cutting through to the front yard, I decide it’s best to have the element of surprise.

Because of the wind, I can pinpoint exactly who is in Roman’s backyard—which thankfully means Emile won’t be able to detect me. Just as I’m walking up the sidewalk, cautious and quiet, I hear Roman’s voice raise in argument.

I double check the magazine in the Beretta, and I begin to climb.