Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
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CHAPTER 1
TORIN
WARNER ESTATE
I don’t know how long I sat in that damned graveyard, cradling my father’s body before the others took us into the house—to the Warner dungeon. I remember protesting then. I could understand putting Harris behind bars. Hell, better yet, we should dump his resurrected ass back in the ground.
But Dad?
I fought at first. Resisted letting go. Busted Heath’s lip. Gut-punched Riley. Got a good ball-kick in on that fucker Enzo, which was totally worth it. But finally, I managed to place my father on a cot and leave him there. Heath had a point. We didn’t even know for sure if it was my dad and Harris, or some trick of the Unconsecrated.
I had to get away from everyone until I could jerk myself under control. I leaned my head back against the wall of one of the guest bedrooms with a satisfyingly painful thump, wondering what the fuck had happened to Sierra.
Groaning, I hung my head, shoved my fingers through my hair, and relished the scraping pain of my nails against my scalp. I wanted to scream, claw my own flesh. But her scent lingered on my skin, a mix of sweat and vanilla that made my mouth water and my hands fall limp.
How the fuck could this have happened? The girl I thought I had hated, but who was now…
Gone.
Just fucking gone. Like I’d wanted her to be since the beginning of the school year. Except now…now I’d give anything to have her back. If I only knew where and how to find her.
We didn’t even know what had taken her, much less where. What had been inside her? A Dark One or something else? At the moment, we had no way of knowing. And barely any strength left to look. We were all still in shock and needed to regroup. Last I’d seen them, Enzo was prowling like a damned dog while Riley stood by, wide-eyed and pale, and Heath was also shaken.
I punched the marble surrounding the fireplace, busting my knuckles but not the stone. I craved the pain. It helped snap me out of the zombie state I’d been in since my dad’s body was thrown out of the earth.
My dad. The man who’d gotten himself killed—or so we’d thought—betraying the Dark Ones and leaving his wife and kid to fend for themselves. Now he was back, after the ritual had gone sideways, and Sierra was gone.
But…what the fuck had gone wrong with the ceremony? I replayed the horror movie in my head for the millionth time.
Mist had risen from the grave—blue, then gray, then roiling black. Sierra had been suspended in mid-air, a silent scream splitting her beautiful lips. Lips that had been wrapped around my cock just hours before, but now felt like a lifetime ago.
In my mind’s eye, I saw the hollow eyes of the Unconsecrated mocking me for my weakness. I suspected that’s who had taken her. They’d haunted my dreams for several weeks prior, until I’d wake up gasping, the iron taste of blood on my tongue. I slapped my hands over my forehead, trying to clear the images from my pounding head: Sierra’s silents screams, my father … and the unconscious body of what was supposed to be Heath’s uncle, Harris. It was wrong. Unnatural.
A spasm jerked through my back before slamming me hard into the wooden floor, mind-fucking me with a vision I couldn’t escape: a mist-shrouded battlefield, the slash of wands, the screams of the dying. And then Sierra, her auburn hair whipped by wind, standing amidst chaos. She called my name and I reached for her, but she vanished.
Suddenly, I was falling. Plummeting into an abyss. Panic welled inside me as I grasped at emptiness, until…
“Torin.” Her voice cut through the void.
She materialized before me, ghostly yet vibrant, her fingers brushing against my skin like silk. “You have to leave,” she said, pressing her palms against my chest. “You have to get out of here.”
I pulled her closer. I wanted to wrap myself around her and never let go.
“Come with me!” I begged, my voice rough and dragging through my throat, cutting like razors.
“I can’t yet,” she whispered, her lips grazing my ear. “But you have to go. The Reaper is coming.”
She shoved her hands against my chest and blasted me out of the vision.
I came to in Heath’s guest room. Despite the chill in the room, sweat beaded on my forehead as the echoes of her warning lingered. I scrambled to my feet, eyes darting around the shadows. Something was off…
Quickly, I pulled on jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to my chest like a second skin. My vision still swam with images of the battlefield, but there was no time to sort through them. It had felt too real, too urgent to ignore.
My footsteps echoed in the silence as I made my way downstairs. The scent of coffee lingered, but otherwise, there was no sign of life. No TV hummed, no radio played softly. The only sound was my blood rushing in my ears. Outside, the night was crisp, and the full moon cast eerie shadows across the lawn. I turned toward the panic room where I suspected Heath and the others still sat.
The keypad lit up as I pressed in the code, then pushed open the heavy door, steeling myself for anything. The space was dimly lit, save for the glow from a single table lamp, but my eyes adjusted quickly. There they were: Heath slumped on the couch, Riley pacing by a bookshelf, and Enzo sitting upright on the floor, staring at something in his lap. They all jumped at my entrance.
“What is it?” Heath demanded, his blond hair wild around his face. “What happened?”
“I-I had a vision,” I stammered, suddenly feeling awkward by my own drama. “Of Sierra. She was alive, but in trouble.” A shiver snaked down my spine. “We need to find her.”
They all straightened, their eyes going wide. Riley grabbed my sleeve, his voice low and urgent. “Tell us what you saw.”
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t being too dramatic.
I recounted the battlefield, the darkness, the Reaper. Their faces paled as they absorbed it.
“Her bracelet!” Heath lunged for her backpack and withdrew items belonging to Sierra: a bracelet, a torn shirt, a photo of her little brother. His jaw clenched.
