Because there’s no going back now. I signal my forces to move forward now, walking more quickly now, my boots splashing through the water as I head directly for the door that I know is 100 feet forward and to the left. Roger snarls beside me, a wicked sound, as we approach – 50 feet now, and
Sinclair I give our troops outside of the sewer updates on our movements, letting them know when we take left and right turns, all the time following Roger, who steadily pads along, tracing the priest’s scent. The troops outside relay the information back to my father, in the bunker, who is able
It works, for a moment – before the priest growls another one of those arcane words and I feel a pulse of burning heat coming from his left hand, his wrist suddenly becoming white hot – way too hot for me to hold, lest my skin begin to melt – I roar at the pain and the frustration but hold on lo
Ella “It’s been too long,” I mutter, twisting my fingers together with my eyes fixed on the hard iron door of the bunker. I have one hand on Rafe’s little carrier as he sleeps peacefully beside the two uncomfortable chairs that Cora and I dragged down the hall, wanting to be as close to the ent
“Are you all right?” I ask, leaning over him, worried – “I’ll be fine,” he groans, waving a hand at me. “It hurts but – it’s nothing bad – thank you, Luna,” he murmurs, leaning his head back against the pillow and squeezing his eyes tight in pain. I nod to him, making a mental note to come c
Cora It’s hours, hours later when I finally have a moment to step back and breathe. And when I do, I feel my head spin and stumble back a step or two. Roger is there, instantly, his hand on my back. “Cora,” he says, pulling me closer to him, tilting up my face so that he can study me. “A
I turn to her, my poor tired sister, and open my arms out, inviting her in for a hug which she happily accepts. “How is Sinclair?” I ask, looking to the corner of the room where her mate naps lightly, Rafe secure in his arms even as he sleeps. Sinclair’s burns were worse than Rogers, but likewise su
Cora Roger gives a rough, sarcastic little laugh. “Jealousy? Jealousy? Cora, this has nothing to do with jealousy –“ “Then what is it?” I ask, confused. “Honestly, Roger – if it’s not jealousy, then what else is your reason for not wanting Hank here to take over for me, and treat these men w