Jae raced around, frying brightly colored vegetables, as well as meat. Tiny bowls dotted the counter with pre-sliced ingredients. Jae's sleeves were rolled up, as he dumped a handful of chili peppers into the wok and was immediately rewarded by the roar of sizzling food. He did not look up as he rushed around, cooking the same Korean food that his Omma had probably taught him in her Formica kitchen all those many years ago.
Hart sat at the table, his tablet laid face up on top of a pile of old books. He visibly relaxed when he heard the rustle of my bag. “Did you find all the ingredients?” Hart asked.
Remi followed on my heels. “Tracking and Truth amplifiers. Have you managed to find anything?”
Hart rubbed his face, exhausted. “All Hunters are fitted with a tracker. Small as a grain of rice, in the skin of their arm. Daniel Gardiner didn’t have a tracker. He wasn't a Hunter.”
Remi made a thoughtful noise. “I’ve set up alerts for all his credit cards and his phone. So far, no activity.”
“The commander is furious about all this, isn’t he?” Jae cut in, finally taking a breath to wipe his hands on a cloth. “He’s put everyone on it.”
“All of the non-combative contractors have been called in to be fitted with trackers. The infirmary is packed.” Hart continued, lifting the tablet. “And Riley Fisher is missing.”
“Missing?” I blurted out, stepping forward. Worry seeping into my tone. “Do you think the Ifrit got her? We should do something. I like her.”
“Her tracker implies that she hasn’t left the compound, but she hasn’t signed in to any building, room, or facility in the last forty-eight hours,” Hart said, ignoring my hysterics. “We have to consider that she may be working with Dr Gardiner.”
Jae turned to the cupboard and grabbed a pile of plates. Remi joined Hart at the table, as he looked over some of his abandoned books.
“Where’s Hugo?” I asked.
“Sinclair and Davenport are searching the apartment in Maywood for anything we might have missed.” Hart murmured, scrolling on his tablet. “Warren’s got everyone on this.”
I laughed softly. “And you guys are all sitting around eating dinner and reading dusty old demon texts?”
No one said a word.
“Wait? Why are you all here? If you're his best Hunters, you should be out there trying to find Daniel and his Ifrit.” I waved my hand in their direction. Hart's face creased in a guilty expression, which said it all.
“He doesn’t trust me anymore.” I surmised through numb lips, slowly the cogs of my mind realized what was happening. “You’re my babysitters.”
Jae stepped up and flicked one of my braids. “Doesn’t most pornography start with a horny babysitter.” He winked.
“Or a pizza guy.” Remi supplied helpfully.
I unwrapped the plastic bag full of ingredients from my wrist and thrust it into Jae's arms. “I’m going to bed,” I said.
“Don't you want dinner?” Jae asked, helplessly. Hurt shone in his eyes. Guilt wormed into my chest, an alive and writhing being. I ignored the emotion to wallow in my own self-flagellation.
“If I'm asleep, I might actually be of some use.” I stormed off into the spare bedroom, leaving the three men to share looks of pity at my departure.
As I sat on the edge of the bed, Davenport's words continued to haunt me. He’d called me useless, and he was right, but I couldn’t stand to bear the brunt of his anger.
I had always viewed Warren as part of my troupe, as Daddy Davenport, but perhaps he couldn’t truly come to terms with my demonism. Being a Demon was something I could never change.
A firm hand and punishment sounded good in theory when they were BDSM play tools—but I felt like I had been relegated to the sidelines of something that I was somehow crucial to. Then, punished when I didn’t understand what was happening.
Hart found me an hour later, staring into space. “Warren’s more angry at himself than you.” He said as the door closed softly behind him.
“I don’t know what you're talking about.” I lied. My voice was muffled by my arm.
“The commander shouldn’t have taken his anger out on you.” Hart continued, perching on the bed. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy.”
“Do you want dinner?”
“No,” I said.
Hart moved, shifting until his head was against the pillow next to mine. He stared at the ceiling. Content to let me wallow. His presence was enough to ease part of the empty feeling in my chest. When Callum felt my shoulders relax, he reached over and rubbed circles on my back, content to offer his silent support.
“I never said thank you,” Hart said softly after what must have been an hour of silent reflection.
“For what?” My voice was hoarse.
“You found my wolf. You found me.” Hart sniffed, and I rolled over. He rubbed his eyes, but I caught a glimpse of a tear stuck to his russet lashes. The stoic and silent man gave me an uncharacteristically watery smile.
“Callum...” I murmured.
“I never told you how happy I am to be yours.” He cupped my cheek. Both of our heads rested on the pillows as we studied each other. “I’ve never met someone like you before.”
I opened my mouth to make a self-deprecating remark. Still hurting from Davenport’s outburst.
“Don't.” Hart put his finger to my lips. “That’s not you.”
“How did you know what I was going to say?” I narrowed my eyes.
Hart chuckled. “You're hurting. Warren is blaming himself but taking it out on you. The chances are, he already wants to apologize but hasn’t had a chance yet.”
“I don't want to talk about him.”
Hart tweaked my nose. “Of course. Do you want me to continue telling you how brilliant you are?”
“I know how brilliant I am.” My chin jutted out. “But it's still nice to hear.”
“I’ve never met someone who loves life as much as you do.” Hart's marmalade eyes glowed.
“Don't forget. I'm also a snack.”
“I love you.” He told me softly. My eyes widened as I blinked. Taken aback by his proclamation.
I opened my mouth to reply.
“Don't say it unless you mean it.” I had never seen the burly man look so vulnerable but determined.
“Callum...” I whispered, gripping the front of his flannel shirt, I used it to pull him towards me. His lips met mine. Our kiss was sweet until it began to border on obscene as the heat grew. Soon, my chest heaved, and every inch of my body ached to rub against his. My fingers trembled as I undid the buttons of his shirt, skimming my hands against his hard stomach and the trail of coarse hair that led down to his prominently hard cock, still encased in his worn jeans.
The kiss ended slowly, and I kept my eyes closed even after his lips left mine. “Why did you stop?” I asked breathily.
He gave me a look. “Mara, you're wearing someone else's body.”
I laughed to myself. “Yeah.” I was glad that I didn’t have to have the same conversation again. Hart understood. He had known Frankie when she was alive. Somehow using her body in that way felt disrespectful. I wriggled forward until my cheek pressed against Callum's chest. His arms wrapped around my shoulders.
It was in his arms that I fell asleep.
My dream was darkness filled with the sound of sobbing. An inhuman wail, so distraught that it sounded like an animal dying.
As I stepped forward, I realized that the darkness was fluid. It was made of thick smoke. Unable to find the source of the scream, I turned in a circle, completely alone.
<Mother?> The Cyclian words were guttural and harsh, spoken from a throat not intended for speech. <Save me. Save me. Save me. Save me.>