around me besides my own breathing. It’s almost like I’m immersed in a sensory deprivation pool. A second later, I’m shoved forward, landing in a different place. I’m in Elena Montenegro’s apartment. The old witch is kneeling in front of an altar, praying to a statue that wasn’t there when I visited. My heart lurches forward. Above the statue there’s a symbol painted on the wall in red. A symbol I just saw in the book about the Boucher family.
I only linger in the scene for a couple of seconds before I’m yanked back by an invisible elastic band. I snap back into my body with a jerk. My senses return in a rush, making my skin tingle. I’m lying on my back, and above me, hovering with a worried expression on his face, is Saxon.
“Rora, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? I don’t understand.”
“You let out a cry and then collapsed.”
I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. “It was the blood vow magic. Did I hex you?”
“No.”
I’m still feeling out of sorts after my bizarre experience. Did I travel all the way to Elena’s apartment for real? Then does that mean she’s somehow worshipping a demon? Solomon gave me the tome about the Bouchers for a reason. I have to ask him what that symbol in the book means.
I try to sit up on my own, but Saxon links his arm with mine and gently pulls me up. My eyes immediately drop to his chest. He bled so much that the stain has covered the entire front of his shirt.
“I’ll heal, my love.”
It’s the second time he called me that, but only now the coin drops. “Why are you calling me ‘my love’? I thought you didn’t believe our feelings were real.”
Guilt shines in his eyes. “I’m sorry I said that.”
I hold my breath, dying to hear more from him, but the world decides to interrupt again when King Raphael himself plus four of his highly trained soldiers march into the clearing. The dragons present seem to grow larger as they square their shoulders. At least they’re pointing their weapons down. The king’s Red Guard flank their boss, keeping their hands casual and loose by their sides. But despite their stance, their hard expressions leave no room for doubt. They will kill anyone who tries to harm the king.
Lucca moves toward his uncle, but he stops halfway when Ronan and Manu join him. I was so focused on saving Saxon that I completely forgot the reason he was here in the first place. A quick overall glance tells me Manu is not harmed.
“Larsson,” the king says in his rich tenor voice that carries in the open. “I trust you weren’t going rogue again.”
King Raphael’s comment is met with obvious deep-rooted anger. The relationship between vampires and shifters, especially dragon shifters, has never been as strong as his relationship with witches and mages. Somehow, all the supernatural types have managed to co-exist in Salem without any real conflict. As long as everyone stays on their turfs, everything is fine. Things are not the same outside of Salem. Boston, for example, is famously known for the constant bloodshed caused by gangs of different species fighting. Since humans outside of Salem don’t know jack about the supernatural communities, they think the violence is caused by regular criminals.
“It wasn’t any of my people who stepped outside of their turf. A young dragon was killed, and your niece has his blood all over her.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” Manu retorts angrily. “I was set up.”
“Manu.” The king levels her with an intense stare, dousing her fiery indignation in an instant.
Larsson steps closer to him, lips peeled back, aggression rippling over his body. “I warned you when I agreed to your terms that I didn’t want to be dragged into your clan war. Now look at him!” He points at a dead guy in a woman’s arms. “Gus was only seventeen!”
Ah, shit.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Spare me the sentiment. Consider this your final warning. If you don’t deal with your enemies on your own, I will not restrain my people. They will come after all vampires, regardless of allegiance.”
The woman who was holding the dead dragon in her arms rises to her feet. “Do you know who did this to my son?”
“Not with one hundred percent certainty,” Ronan replies.
“I want a name.”
“Ma’am, I can’t give you a name. You—”
“Give me a fucking name!” she roars so loudly she might