Page 29

" H e’s not answering," Ares mutters, lowering his phone like he wants to crush it in his hand. The hard line of his jaw tells me exactly how much restraint he’s using.

Roman sits across from him, arms folded, that unreadable calm over his features. "He knows you’re onto him."

“He kind of gave himself away that something was up when he threw a damn tantrum on Ophelia,” Juliet says dryly.

“He’d want somewhere private,” I say, my gaze unfocused as I stare at the floor.

“He’s been looking for the bones for months.

He’s spent years getting Thaddeus’s journal, time tracking down Markus.

I don’t think he’d want to wait any longer.

He’s going to be in a hurry now that he has everything he needs.

He’s going to want somewhere private to do this… reincarnation.”

"He wouldn’t be stupid enough to use one of my buildings now," Ares says, pacing. “It’s obvious I’m looking for him.”

Juliet shifts her weight from one foot to the other. She looks like she’s about ready to crawl out of her own skin with the need to do something. "Then he’s using something new. Something that has no risk of you knowing about it."

"Let me try something," Ares says as he slides over to the computer. He types with the controlled intensity of a man on a mission. "If he bought something recently under his own name..."

It only takes thirty seconds before something pings.

“Closed today,” Ares says, his pitch rising with adrenaline. “James St. Claire. He paid cash.”

“Where?” Roman and Sysco ask at the same time.

“The Bronx,” Ares replies as he looks up and meets my eyes.

“Any other details?” Sysco asks. “Permits pulled, closing contingencies?”

“Nothing,” Ares says as he leans back in his chair, rubbing two fingers over his bottom lip. “No paper trail except the sale. But this just closed.”

“What time?” I ask as my heart starts hammering.

Ares’ eyes flick back to the screen. “An hour ago.”

“He might not even have the keys yet,” Sysco says as hope and excitement pitch his tone. “If we get there first, we might head him off.”

“Let’s go,” Roman says as he stands and heads straight for the door.

The building is empty. At least, it seems pretty safe to assume since there are no lights on shining through the windows, and I see no signs for any businesses that might be operating during the day. It makes sense since it just sold.

Billings kills the engine, parked half a block down and across the street.

We pile out quietly. It’s always just me and Ares in this gigantic SUV. It’s almost comical to watch as Roman, Juliet, and Sysco climb out in addition.

“Think he’s here yet?” I ask. I’m straining my enhanced ears, listening for signs, but I’m getting nothing.

“Can’t tell,” Ares says as we walk down the sidewalk.

“We keep quiet from here on out, got it?” Roman says, and it’s actually kind of impressive to watch him in his element. Whatever his job in Chicago is, he’s damn good at it, it’s easy to tell. “Hand signals. Eyes open. If he’s already in there, we go with our instincts.”

I, and everyone else, simply nod that we understand.

We scan the building, and Roman picks a side door. Ares tests it and has the lock picked in under ten seconds.

The door is thankfully silent as Ares pushes it open.

We step inside, and it’s kind of miraculous that I can see.

My eyes still dilate mostly normally, unlike the Born.

Their eyes stay dilated at all times, which allows them to see amazingly well at night but makes them nearly blind during the day.

So, I’m positive I can’t see nearly as well as they can at this moment, but it’s still far, far better than I could before I died by Giovanni’s blade.

There’s a lobby and a ticket booth. There are stairs that immediately head up on the left and the right.

I think this is an old theater.

But I hear the sound of faint voices on the other side of the wall before us.

Roman presses a finger to his lips, a reminder to stay silent.

One by one, we follow him up the stairs.

They’re old and dusty, but to our benefit, they don’t squeak.

My skin turns to goosebumps as the temperature seems to drop with every step.

Roman bypasses the main floor of seating, instead heading all the way up to the balcony level.

As we walk out, the sound of the voices increases.

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when I recognize one of those voices as James’s.

We didn’t beat him.

But it’s the next sound that stops all of us in our tracks, just moments before we step out onto the balcony.

It cuts through the quiet like a blade through something live—wet and unnatural.

It starts low. A grotesque, slurping noise, like raw meat being dragged across concrete. Then a crunch—sharp and intimate, the sound of bone grinding against bone, not breaking but fitting, locking into place like puzzle pieces being forced together too fast, too tight.

A moment of silence follows, and each of us looks at the other with absolute dread.

We’re too late. We’re too fucking late.

There’s something in the air. I can’t see it. But I feel something inside and around. Like it’s rushing. It’s as if we’re stuck in a tunnel, and the air is being sucked in or out, I can’t tell which. But it’s entirely unnatural and completely disturbing.

The sound builds.

A wet pop. Then another. Like joints snapping back into sockets.

But deeper. Thicker. It's as if something once hollow is being filled—arteries swollen with new blood, lungs inflating for the first time in centuries.

There's a grotesque gurgle, like fluid sloshing in a throat, and then a rattling, wet choke—the sound of someone trying to take their first breath through lungs that haven’t remembered how yet.

Ares shifts beside me. I feel him tense, and it’s a testament to how damn disturbing the sounds are that we’re all frozen here, immobilized by the horror of it.

The temperature continues to drop, turning more frigid by the second.

A tear—flesh knitting over raw muscle. The slick suction of tissue sealing closed.

Then a terrible, stretching groan, like skin being dragged over a frame too fast, too tight, too alive.

A shiver rips down my spine as something lets out a shuddering moan—not pain, not pleasure.

Just the confused, guttural sound of something remembering how to be alive.

Roman curses under his breath.

We all hear it now—the heartbeat. A wet thumping, pulsing erratically, like someone built a heart from scratch and didn’t know which way it should beat.

And it's wrong. It’s so fucking wrong I feel it in a visceral way.

Stretching. Curling. Wrapping around bone with slick, wet snaps.

A wet gasp fills the air—but it’s not from any of us.

Finally, it’s Juliet who steps out onto the balcony. I see her face blanch white, and she covers her mouth with her hands. Ares steps out after her, immediately followed by Roman and then me, and finally Sysco.

We find the edge tucked in the dark. But it grants us a perfect view of the stage, and the nightmare waiting down below.

Markus stands in the center of the stage. In front of him is an old oak table, and lying upon it, there are bones. He keeps a hand laid on them, only the bones are no longer still, and they are no longer simply bones. They twitch. Rattle. Shift. Connect.

Muscle begins to thread itself between the joints.

Veins burst from within, wrapping around the growing tissue like vines choking a tree. A ribcage forms. A spine. The hollow socket of a skull knits into place. The body breathes.

Breathes.

Oh fuck. I feel tears prick my eyes. It’s the most disturbing and horrifying scene I’ve ever laid eyes on, and I walked in on my mother and sister’s dead, murdered bodies.

It’s because I know what that reincarnating nightmare is. The wreckage he would make the world.

And we were too late to prevent the beginning of this.

I’m chilled even more when I hear Markus muttering. I can’t understand the words. And then I realize his eyes are entirely black. There isn’t a trace of white left in them.

Beside Markus stands James. Calm. Steady. Reverent.

Two other men flank him, one on either side. They look so much like him that, for a second, I think I’m seeing triple. But no—brothers, they have to be. Their posture is militant, their expressions unreadable. Their gazes remain fixed on the reforming Blood Father.

Ares’ fingers close around my hand. I hadn’t realized I was reaching for him until I feel his grip. We exchange no words, but I see it in his eyes. Horror.

Markus chants louder, the words something ancient and evil.

The body keeps growing.

Hair sprouts from the scalp. Skin stretches across bone like paper being unrolled. Orbs start forming in the eye sockets, wet, round blobs of goop.

I feel a scream building in my chest.

Ares is trembling, barely restrained.

The creature’s chest rises and falls.

And then he speaks.

It’s in a language I don’t understand. But still, the words chill me. The voice is wrong. It vibrates through the air. It rattles my bones and reaches into my chest.

James and his brothers drop to one knee. “Father,” they utter at once, reverence in their voices.

Juliet grabs Roman’s arm. He doesn’t even flinch.

"We have to stop this," she hisses.

Ares breathes through his nose, and slowly, he withdraws his dagger.

Sysco leans in beside me. "We’re out of time. We have to do something. Now."

Below us, the Blood Father turns his head in our direction. He sniffs the air once.

And then he smiles.

It is a smile that knows hunger. And savage power.

Ares whispers, "Now."

Ares straight up jumps over the edge of the balcony, immediately followed by Roman, then Juliet, then Sysco. I hesitate for just a moment, but I know this new Made vampire body of mine can handle it.

I jump.

Markus doesn’t see us coming.

James does.