The good thing was that Ivar felt as strongly as Zane did about Logan’s safety. About all his brothers, actually.
In Ivar’s current mood, mating Promise that night didn’t seem like a good idea. He’d have to distract her with the plans he’d just arranged with the Queen of the Realm for everyone to undergo MRIs that would test the teleporting zones in their brains. The queen had been beyond delighted at the idea, and he could see why Emma and Faith had built such a fast and quick friendship. He’d like to get Promise inserted in their group, just in case he died when he took over for Quade. It’d be nice to leave her with friends.
He reached their suite and called out her name, surprised at the empty feel of the place. A quick search confirmed she was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps she’d gone looking for food. He retraced his steps and found a kitchen, where Logan was munching on chocolate chip cookies and looking around. “Hey.”
Logan glanced up. “Hey. Where have you been?”
“Your brother has been yelling at me,” Ivar said. “Well, not yelling, but threatening some pretty impressive and anatomically impossible revenge if anything happens to you.”
Logan kept chewing. “Must be Zane. Sam doesn’t threaten. He just kills somebody and says they should’ve seen it coming.”
Ivar liked both of Logan’s biological brothers. “Fair enough.”
Logan threw him a cookie. “I’m sorry about Zane. Sometimes he thinks we’re still teenagers running from our asshole of an uncle.”
“No problem,” Ivar said, scratching his neck. It was tingling again, damn it. “Have you seen Promise?”
“Nope, and I just looked through the entire headquarters for Mercy. Didn’t see either one of them.” Logan straightened. “Oh, man. That is not a good sign.”
Ivar finished his cookie. “They must be here somewhere.” Promise wouldn’t have left the area without speaking to him.
Logan exhaled slowly. “If those two found each other, they’re halfway around the world right now.” His lips compressed in a thin line. “At least, they’d better be on this world.” He dusted off his hands. “In fact, I believe I asked my mate to stay close since we’re in lockdown right now. The world is unsafe. And there’s a pissed-off Fae jackass out there who can teleport and likes to take Cyst soldiers with him.”
Ivar shook his head, even as his blood thinned. “They wouldn’t have teleported out of here. Not without saying a word.”
Logan just cocked his head.
Ivar closed his eyes and counted backward from ten. Nope. Didn’t help. He reopened them. Fire crackled through him, engulfing the control he’d tried so fucking hard to learn these last three months. Like a whisper, it disappeared. He slammed his fist on the counter, and the marble cracked down the middle. “Tell me you’ve developed the skill most mates have to talk telepathically to each other.”
“Sure,” Logan said. “Just tried. Nothing. You know what that means?”
“She’s pissed and is ignoring you for some reason?” Ivar asked, his hand hurting as if he’d taken a blade to it.
“Nope. She’s off-world. Not here. Anywhere on earth, I can reach her.” Logan moved toward Ivar, cutting through the kitchen with long strides. “And I can’t reach her right now.”
A cold sweat broke out on Ivar’s forehead. His last time off-world had lasted an eternity and scarred impenetrable skin. The savage beast at his core, hard to restrain under the best of circumstances, stretched wide awake with almost a gleeful swelling of anticipation. He shook out his hand, even as the flames licked up his arm. Slowly, his chin lowering, he flipped his wrist over.
Logan whistled. “Huh. Well. There you go.”
Ivar stared down at the raw branding mark on his right palm. His left one was already a scarred mess from the Seven rituals he’d endured; surprisingly, the brand on the right palm hurt more than those ever had. Maybe because it was unused and wanted to change that status immediately. It pulsed, heated and alive.
Logan moved closer. “The Kjeidsen marking. I’ve never seen one. That’s seriously badass.”
Ivar’s eyes saw but his brain didn’t compute. Not yet. “Kallgren,” he corrected. “My mother’s side was the demon part of my family—they were Kallgrens.” Demons, not vampires, branded their mates.
“Of course,” Logan said. “I forgot. Same with us. It’s odd that both of my parents had K for their surname. You too.”
Ivar could only stare at his palm. The dark K was surrounded by sinuous knots that crested out like waves from the ocean—the lines darker and thicker than