Page 29 of Walking in Darkness

In a flurry of motion, he clutched me against him, his body a burning flame against mine. He buried his face in my hair. “This is all so fucked up.”

“I know. But we can’t lose hope in the middle of it.”

Peeling myself out of his hold, I leaned down and grabbed our bags where we’d left them packed at the foot of the bed. “We need to go.”

We made it into Fort Wayne a little before noon. Our nerves were frayed. We’d spent the entire trip on edge as we sped as quickly as we could without drawing too much attention to ourselves.

I could barely take in the quaint beauty of the city as I sat forward in the seat, though there was no missing that it was frozen.

Covered in snow.

I had the cell gripped in my hand as it gave directions to the address Pax had found, my attention rapt as he wound through the city.

My heart thundered and my spirit screamed.

We had to make it.

We had to stop this tragedy.

Pax made a right off the main road and into an older family neighborhood. Most of the houses appeared unique, each different from the others, the yards of different sizes and the paint different colors.

Some were surrounded by tall wooden fences, and others remained open to the ruddy river that ran on the opposite side of the road.

Trees soared, their branches stretched out like bare bones in the frigid winter, and the ground was completely covered in snow except for the sidewalks and roads.

The heater cranked through the vents, but it didn’t do anything to allay the chill that suddenly slicked across my skin and sank all the way into my spirit.

Pax flinched, fingers twitching on the steering wheel.

“Do you feel it?” I asked, the tension suddenly so stark that I could barely speak.

A harbinger of wickedness.

“Yeah, Aria, I feel it,” Pax grunted.

He sat forward in his seat, both of us peering out the windshield as we approached the address.

Your destination is on the right,the computer-generated voice proclaimed, though somehow it felt like it was issuing a sentence.

A penalty.

Pax slowed to a crawl, and ice slipped down my spine and a chill raced through my body.

Because up ahead was a two-story house painted a sage green with white accents, and coming down its walkway was a tall, lanky man who ambled along with his head down and his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

He was headed toward a gray truck parked in front of a closed garage.

Short, black hair and pale, pale skin.

“Peter,” I rasped, blinking, unable to believe I was laying eyes on another member of our family.

But there was no relief in it. There was only a crash of desperation and a frenzy of recklessness when we saw another man step out from where he’d been hidden behind the truck.

Arm trembling as he lifted a gun and aimed it over the hood.

“Oh God,” I wheezed.

In the middle of the road, Pax shoved the car into park and threw open his door. “Stay in the car,” he gritted as he jumped out.