carry your soul to the Afterlife, and I shall take you to Draven.”
I consider what she asks, but not for very long, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Only one thing does—saving Gemma.
“Fine. Just take me to him.”
She grins in pleasure, completely oblivious to the fact that she can’t have my soul even when I die. Like I already told her, I already promised my soul to someone else. Literally. And a Blood Promise is much stronger than any other vow.
She turns toward the alley that runs between two lofty, steel buildings, and I follow her. As she walks, her blonde hair thickens, her rough skin turns smooth, and her teeth whiten to a shade so bright the moonlight reflects against them.
“This way,” she instructs then ducks behind a large dumpster.
I reluctantly follow and discover a door is hidden back there. She unhooks a chain that’s around her neck, and on it is metallic key. She puts the key in the lock and then pushes the door open, and we step inside a small room.
The murky air reeks like pond scum, and I have a hard time keeping track of her movements as her silhouette blends in and out of focus. I squint my eyes, refusing to look away from her, worried if I do, she’ll vanish.
We hike down a narrow tunnel until we reach the end where there's another, much larger room with walls the color of blood. In the center is an oval table surrounded by eight chairs. In the corner, a Black Angel is sleeping in an iron cage, such a sad creature that I pity sometimes, being trapped until someone frees them. I remember when Gemma almost released one. Thankfully, I got to her in time; otherwise, she would’ve turned into one and been imprisoned.
“Have a seat,” the Banshee says then exits the room through a door at the back of the room.
I sit down and mentally prepare what I’m going to say. I know if I’m wrong about all of this, then I’ve wasted a lot of precious time. Although, part of me doesn’t want to be right. Part of me doesn’t want her to be one of them.
When the door opens again, the blonde Banshee returns with a man beside her. He has dark hair and eyes and the palest skin. Many would probably mistake him for a vampire, but I know better. He’s more dangerous than a vampire, and even the knife I have tucked in my jacket might not do any good against him.
He takes a seat across from me, taps a cigarette against the table, and then puts it in his mouth. The Banshee moves up beside him and lights the cigarette for him before shuffling back.
After he exhales, his eyes narrow on me. “I was told you want to talk to me about something?”
I carry his gaze, refusing to be a coward or feel fear, remaining calm, just like I was taught. “I need to know the location of a particular woman.”
Draven remains quiet for a maddening amount of time, thrumming his fingers against the table and puffing on his cigarette. “The Lord of the Afterlife doesn’t associate with mortal women, so I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“I don’t believe this woman is mortal,” I say with my hands resting steadily in front of me on the table, showing I don’t fear him. “I think she might be one of them.” Without looking away from Draven, I nod in the direction of the Banshee.
He deliberates what I said while flicking ash from his cigarette. “This woman you seek, does this she have a name?” he finally asks, taking another drag.
I take a deep breath before speaking so my voice will come out steady. “Alana.” Just hearing her name makes me feel as though I’m being strangled.
Draven waves his hand in front of him impatiently. “Alana . . . ?”
A lump rises in my throat, exactly like it did when I read her name on the pages of the journal. I swallow hard, forcing the lump back down, right along with my pain.
“Her name is Alana . . . Alana Avery.”
GEMMA
“I know you’re there,” I say aloud as I stare up at my bedroom ceiling. “I can feel you watching me.”
Nicholas chuckles. “How can you tell I’m here without the ring on? Or are you just mentally picturing me like we both know you’ve done a thousand times?”
“No, I can hear you breathing.” I roll my eyes, playing