Rowan gestured for Miles to follow him, his face still grim. “We should reinforce the estate’s defenses and see what we can do to repair the gate.” His green eyes went to Stacy last, his voice lowering, almost breaking. “I’m sorry this happened. I will find a way to restore the previous defenses and build better ones for the future.”
“Don’t be sorry. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent it. I don’t think anyone could have. Victor would have come after me regardless.” Stacy’s hands bunched into fists as she mentioned the billionaire businessman.
Rowan opened his mouth as if to object, then thought better of it. Miles squeezed the dryad’s shoulder with a broad hand. “Come on, bud. Let’s fix them damn wards.”
Kiera had already slipped away, and Stacy heard the distant running of water coming from upstairs. She wanted a shower, too. She watched Rowan and Miles leave, deciding she would ask Rowan about the wards later. She wanted the longest hot shower of her life. But first, she turned to observe the state of her home.
Her heart nearly broke at the sight. Debris littered the hallway. Doorframes had splintered, and several framed photos and paintings had fallen from the walls, glass broken everywhere. Her anger simmered. Fucking werewolves. Would she ever be done fighting them?
Her business registration tasks would need to take a back seat while she repaired her home. She clutched the locket around her neck that belonged to Catherine Thorn and whispered as if her mother could hear. “I’m sorry. I should have defended the home better.” She remembered what she’d said to Rowan and repeated the words to herself. This isn’t your fault.
Still, she couldn’t fight off the pressing sensation of guilt. She left her shattered hallway behind and climbed to the second floor. At least nothing up here had been touched. She sought her bathroom and turned on a stream of hot water. She didn’t want to think about how many werewolf corpses were bleeding out on the grounds.
After she was under the water and scrubbing the blood, grime, and dirt from her skin, she started to plan. I will find a way to make Victor pay for what he’s done. The billionaire had to run out of werewolf packs eventually, right? As steam filled the shower, she muttered, “He’s going to regret ever sending them here.”
Victor turned from the windows as the door to his office opened, and a figure stumbled in. He glared for a few reasons. One, it was the middle of the night, and he expected to be left alone. Two, normally, when people wanted an audience with him, they fucking knocked instead of hurtling into his office. Three, the werewolf was bleeding all over his damn carpet.
“What happened?” Victor demanded.
The wolf shuddered. He was injured, and he was alone. He gasped for breath through his pain.
“Where is the rest of your pack?” Victor growled.
“I… They…”
Victor already knew. They had failed.
He released a long, controlled breath and closed his eyes. Stacy Drake was becoming more trouble than she was worth. “And the other mission? Has that failed, too?” he asked.
“I-I don’t know. We haven’t heard anything.”
The werewolf was beside himself. Probably because he’d seen his entire pack slaughtered. “Tell me everything that happened,” Victor demanded.
“Pl-please. I’m hurt…”
“Tell me!”
The wolf shuddered, then spilled. They had gone to the Thorn estate and successfully gotten past the magical barriers exactly as Victor had instructed but were met with more resistance than they’d bargained for.
Not only from Stacy Drake and the estate guardian Rowan, a skilled dryad trained in magic and combat, either. The wolf described a man who could bend the earth to his will and a woman who had folded herself in and out of the shadows, killing with arrows from a high vantage point.
“Who were they?” Victor asked.
The wolf didn’t know. Victor hadn’t heard of people with descriptions like that, though the woman reminded him of Voss.
It couldn’t be her. She’s hiding, Victor thought. Perhaps it was time to bring the wolf sentinel out hunting the vampire back to New York to deal with their newest problem. One that had started small and gotten much larger.
She’s growing in her magic, Victor realized. He began to wonder if there was more to her than witch magic.
“What happened to your alpha?” was the Titan’s next question.
“H-he died. Bled out in the garden. Sh-she killed him.”
Victor didn’t need to ask who “she” was. He tensed, fists clenching at his sides. Controlled fury masked his face. His eyes narrowed in thought. Stacy was much stronger than he’d given her credit for. A small part of him admired her fight. Maybe her defiance could be used instead of snuffed out.
I’ll find a way, Victor vowed inwardly, with his gaze settled on the city beyond his windows. Though he knew something was always happening, always changing below, everything appeared the same. His empire. I won’t let that witch ruin anything for me.
He turned back to the werewolf. The creature uttered a plea, but the sounds vanished as Victor drew a small pistol and shot the wolf between the eyes.
“A shame,” he murmured as he stepped over the dead beast. “My damn carpet keeps getting stained with blood.”
Rowan stood before the gates, gauging the damage. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. “What was that thing?”
The alpha wolf had been a hybrid with something strong enough to melt iron bars covered in runes. The only way Rowan could think of to do that was if the alpha had somehow reversed the magic inside the runes. Such a thing would have required a very talented magician. He’d never seen anyone do that, much less a beast with blazing red eyes and a thirst to kill and feast.
It wasn’t like they could ask the beast what it was now. Stacy had left it to die in a patch of lilac beneath a window. Good for her, Rowan thought. She had defended her home well.
He channeled his magic despite the exhaustion sliding along his bones and wove new bars where the old ones had been. Fresh sigils appeared, and the gate gradually repaired itself. Miles worked beside him, restoring the leaves and flowers along the gate to their previous condition. Together, they would heal the grounds.
The pair stood with only the glowing sigils and the moon as light. The sprites had long since disappeared into the trees and would not soon return. Rowan thought of the grounds’ guardian spirits, who had also slipped away. Though he would have liked to speak with them, he didn’t blame them. They’d done their job and had no reason to linger.
Rowan became so engulfed in his thoughts that he stopped realizing what he was doing. His magic worked anyway. It was second nature. Stacy had been angry, of course, and she had every right to be. Not with him, but he still felt responsible. He imagined what Catherine would think of all this. She wouldn’t blame him, either, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty about it.
I am this home’s protector, and I failed. A pause, then, Did you, though?
