Dark Before Dawn (The Protector Guild Book 7), page 15
I grinned, wondering what his response would be when he found out that not only was Max bonded to a vampire, but I was as well. “If it helps, that vampire saved my life once, at great expense to himself.”
Seamus’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching in surprise. “It helps.” He nodded, expression softening. “Actually, it helps a lot. This world of ours is a strange one—I expect this won’t be the first time in the coming days when I’ll meet with the unexpected.”
When I looked up, I realized that we’d found our way back to the others.
Max was looking far more chipper than I’d seen her in days. Her mouth contorted into a reluctant smile. “I’m also the daughter of Lucifer, so I’ll bet you didn’t have that on your bingo card, either.”
“And I’m an incubus,” Wade added with a grin, “though I suppose you expected something was up with me. What, with the whole me clearly not being dead thing and all.”
Seamus’s eyes cut to Declan, like he was expecting her to lay claim to another secret, equally shocking heritage.
She shrugged. “I’m still just me,” she tilted her head, considering, “but the hell realm is at risk of collapsing and taking our world as we know it out with it. So, there’s that if you haven’t had enough surprises yet today.”
He looked stunned and turned to me for confirmation.
“It’s true,” I said, feeling suddenly like our roles had reversed at some point on our walk, and now I was somehow the one offering guidance and assurance. “Unfortunately. But we’ll take it one step at a time and fill you in on whatever we can.”
“At least I’ll never have to worry about life growing dull in my old age.” He wrapped an arm around Max’s shoulder and directed her back towards the house. “Spawn of Satan, eh? I knew your mother was a handful the moment I laid eyes on her. Should’ve guessed you’d be just as unpredictable. Especially with my brother’s influence guiding you all these years. How about you show me to some food? Knowing Cy, you’ve probably got all kinds of bland non-perishables stocked here—enough to keep us full and happy for months.” He snorted a gruff laugh. “I could use a decent meal and a shower before we start mapping out a plan to jailbreak that werewolf of ours.”
10
MAX
The days bled together, all of us racking our brains, trying to find a way to get to Atlas.
Days. And we still weren't any closer to rescuing him. All of our ideas were just iterations of the same thing over and over again. We'd gotten nowhere, even with Seamus's knowledge of Guild infrastructure.
"Security will be tighter than ever before," Seamus said for the hundredth time since his arrival, "I'll have no access of course, and he will be kept under tight surveillance. Assuming he's still even—"
"He's alive," I said, cutting him off before he could voice the fear that cloaked us all. "I'm sure of it."
I wasn't sure of it of course. Not really. But something in my gut told me that I would know. That if Atlas had been killed, I would feel it in some deep, fundamental part of my being. It was silly—a childish thought, really, but I clung to it fiercely.
We had no other hope, and we desperately needed hope. Now more than ever.
"Max getting her power back is our best option. I know it's not ideal," Seamus's eyes cut to his son who was glaring daggers back, none of them exactly stoked by the idea of me going off on a solo mission into enemy territory, "but I've been over all the possibilities. Anyone I trust at Headquarters will be lying low. Council will be in charge of everything. Tarren himself is even likely under heavy surveillance, his loyalties questioned with the breach happening under his supervision. With his own son—" he paused, nodding towards Wade who was making us all a canned meat concoction that smelled pitiful, "sons proving to be demons and no one the wiser. If any of us set foot on campus, we won't stand a chance. Max is our best bet."
The others were sullen, and I'd often catch them whispering in huddles together when I walked into a room, splitting apart the moment I appeared, like they were desperately trying to find a different answer, a magic solution that would prevent me from getting my hands dirty. But I didn't need the kid gloves.
Having a mission, a clear goal, helped shield some of the pain. It gave me something to focus on.
I'd tried dream walking.
To Atlas and to Izzy.
I'd even tried to reach Wade, hoping his proximity would help ease the strain on my powers.
Even that I failed at.
It was beyond frustrating. All of my hard work honing and strengthening my power, simply gone.
Wade was able to reach out to me, at least, to carve a dreamscape for us at night, where we'd work for hours in my slumber to pull out even a spark of my abilities—no minute wasted, even in sleep, as I tried to call them back to me.
Still, nothing. Not even a stirring. And I could never start the dream walk, could never reach in and craft or shape the dream myself. I always had to be pulled in by him.
He was getting stronger, better at it at least. He'd crafted us onto a glacier, into a club in Tokyo, onto a beach in Greece. It was an entire new world that he could explore, the only limit his imagination.
Slowly, day by day, surrounded by them all, the tightness in my chest started to ease.
I still felt Cy's loss acutely. I'd probably always feel it—a deep, heavy ache, a gaping hole.
And I spent my early mornings, when darkness still shielded the sun, huddled on the floor of the shower, crying as the water rained down on me, hoping to protect the others from witnessing my pain, from seeing how fragile I still was.
I was sick of the pity rounding and softening their eyes whenever they looked at me or Ro.
Even Wade and Darius had stopped bickering when either of us entered the room, everyone working overtime to cushion us in our grief.
As much as I hated them all for it, for seeing me like this, for seeing me so weak and powerless, it helped.
And Seamus's quiet, stern presence acted as an unexpected balm.
He was very different from his brother. Softer, more open. But every now and then, I'd see the shadow of Cy in his occasional scowl, the same eerie wisdom in the depths of his dark eyes as he watched us train in the yard.
It made the pain of living with Cy's memory—haunting every inch of the cabin like a silent ghost—more tolerable. Like Seamus was a link to Cy, to home, that I hadn't known I'd needed.
We hadn't spent much time together before now, often only seeing each other in passing or when he was helping out with training, but I'd grown unexpectedly fond of his quiet, surprisingly gentle presence. He’d even spend the occasional evening relaying stories from their childhood.
It was days before I could bring myself to open the journal he'd given me.
When I was ready to take the plunge, I sat on a cleared path in my closet, sheltered by the familiar scents, now laced with the must of abandonment.
I ran my hand over the soft leather cover, imagining Cy's long fingers doing the same.
The paper was cream, yellowing at the edges from age. Cy's almost unreadable writing scratched in black over almost all of the pages.
I'd never seen him with this book, but it was obvious that he’d cherished it for years, finding solace with his isolated thoughts.
Many of the pages were filled with random, isolated phrases—fragments of ideas that were completely decontextualized from me, that I didn't know how to make sense of.
There were lists of names, a few hastily drawn maps to places I didn't recognize.
But it was the very first page that cracked me in half.
The first line of the journal made my eyes well until I almost couldn't read it:
She's small. Spends all hours of the night wailing. I don't know what the fuck Sayty was thinking, leaving her with me. What do babies even eat?
The next entry:
I can't do this. I'm working on finding a family I trust to take her in. Hopefully, by the end of the week, she'll be out of my hair.
A few days later:
A girl in town took pity on me. Loaded me up with formula and diapers, put in a special order for what was supposed to be some simple necessities. But now the child's things take up more of the cabin than mine.
One month later:
The girl has a strong grip. Holds on to my finger with a quiet fierceness while she eats.
Watching me. Always watching me. She's going to be smart—stubborn, too—I can see it in her eyes. Good. She's going to need her wits if she's to survive in this world.
I turned the page:
Maxine. It's a good name. I need to call her something. Mother would have liked her, I think.
One of my contacts got back to me finally, might know a spot for her to go to. Not sure I trust it, so going to keep looking. Still no word from Sayty. Assuming she's dead. Poor girl, no idea what she’s gotten herself into.
Tears dropped, smudging the ink as I flipped through a few pages:
First word—fuck. I'll need to start watching my language around her.
She took her first step! Fell almost instantly, but not a single tear. Kid's got grit.
Went to the bathroom, came out and she had one of my blades swinging around. Terrifying. Need to secure them better from now on.
I flipped through a few more pages:
The girl never stops badgering me with questions. Gets annoying as hell, but she's smart. She looks more like her mother with every day that passes. I wish she was here, that she could meet this child. I think she'd be proud, albeit unsurprised by the number of gray hairs sprouting from my scalp.
Well, it's happened. She saw it in a movie, and begged me for one, so now I've had my first tea party. What has become of me? The girl smiled for hours afterwards.
She's officially read through every book I own. Ordered more, but I can't keep up with her. I think she's bored. Was naive of me to think this quiet life would be enough for her. Selfish.
Netty and Jay were murdered. They were on the run, I think. Guild, most likely. Their son can't go back there. He's Max's age. Going to take him in for a few days until I find somewhere safer for him.
I’m outnumbered. These kids are going to be the death of me. The girl hasn’t stopped smiling since I brought Rowan home.
They took their first trip into town without me today. Followed them down anyway, just to be safe.
She’s eighteen today. No sign of extraordinary powers, thankfully. Hoping whatever bind Sayty had put on her lasts for a few more years. I need to tell her the truth, but I don’t know how. Hell, I don’t even know the whole truth myself. All this shit I’ve kept from her.
She’ll never forgive me.
Can’t say I blame her either.
The letters became little more than blurs as my eyes welled with emotion, scanning each page like it could somehow bring me closer to him—like it could bring him back to me.
“You okay?” Darius stood above me, his white-blond hair curling over his golden eye as he studied me. The harsh angles of his face and the rigidity of his posture made it seem like every muscle in his body was working overtime to keep him from murdering someone.
I wiped the liquid from my cheeks and nodded, closing the journal with a silent promise to show it to Ro later tonight. I nodded. “I’m fine.”
He grunted before climbing into the closet and sitting down next to me, his side glued to mine. “You don’t really seem fine, little protector. I’ve been listening to you weep for an hour now.”
I handed him the heavy journal, the cover slick with my tears, as if it could answer for me.
He studied it carefully, eyes narrowed as he turned it in his hands, before glancing back to me for permission to open it. When I nodded, he did, his long fingers soundlessly feathering across the weathered paper.
I watched his eyes scan the first page. It was strange, seeing Cyrus—my childhood—through his eyes. Even more strange to realize I was sharing this with him. I’d spent so much time denying how I felt about him, but now that fear of connection stemmed from something darker, a deeper pain. Now, I only feared losing him.
He soaked in the words greedily, his lips twitching every few seconds, like he was fighting back the urge to grin or frown, the movement too subtle to distinguish which.
I could tell he wanted to pore over every word, but he didn’t read more than the first few pages before settling the book reverently on the floor in front of us.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t know him.” His voice was unusually contemplative and serious. “But I can tell that he loved you, deeply. And I’ll forever be indebted to him for saving your life that day—and all the days before that. For shaping you into the person you are now. The person I—” he cleared his throat, his breath catching as he changed course, “I know it doesn’t feel like the truth right now,” he said, tipping my chin up until my eyes met his. The gesture was surprisingly gentle and it sent a shiver down my spine. I’d been avoiding him since the other night, but here, there was nowhere to hide, and suddenly my closet felt impossibly full of him, of all the unspoken things sparking between us, until all of my senses were vibrating with the closeness of him. “You won’t always carry so much sadness, little protector. And while it might carve you up inside right now, that book will feel like an immense gift in years to come—a way to hold your past tight, to carry it with you.”
I swallowed, unable to form words as I studied him.
His lips were soft and only a few inches from mine, his skin uncommonly smooth and pale in the shadow of the closet. It would be so easy to sink into him right now, to open myself to him and let him inside, to bury the pain for a few minutes in a wash of pleasure instead.
To let him take my pain, shape it and reclaim it until it sparked with something wilder.
Slowly, his hand traced my jawline, his expression growing more intense like he could read the tempting path my thoughts were traveling.
My skin was fire where he touched, until I was certain that Darius would be the very thing to reignite my powers. Every inch of me throbbed with desire, my body craving his touch after so many days locked in this house with all of them—lying next to them each night without a single caress.
I’d reached my breaking point. I could feel the invisible pull between us, my body a magnet to his that it took every ounce of my willpower to resist. The bond linking us was tightening and sharpening—hungry for the connections I’d been depriving it of since the other night.
I wanted desperately for him to sink his teeth into me, for him to press me up against the wall and torture me with pleasure and pain in equal parts, until every thought in my mind evaporated—until I was limp and a puddle before him, putty in his hands.
I whimpered, the sound whiny with need and shaping between us without my permission.
His eyes dilated, every muscle in his long, lean body tensed.
The desire to fuck him, to give in to the bond forging between us completely and entirely was almost as strong as the desire to protect the remaining fragments of my heart.
Almost.
I dropped my eyes, my stomach clenching with shame instead of need now.
How was this what I was focused on right now?
What the fuck was wrong with me? Cy was dead. Atlas was in danger. The literal world was ending.
And yet my thoughts kept drifting to the team that had eclipsed my entire world—to the desire to lose myself to the pleasure—to the warmth—only they seemed able to pull from me.
It was selfish. I was selfish.
“I can wait.” He groaned, shifting slightly as he leaned in closer, his mouth so close to mine that his words felt like a caress against the soft, sensitive skin of my lips. My eyelids grew heavy, every inch of me sparking with the electricity between us. “I want you, little protector. But not just the parts you’re ready to share right now. I can feel you shielding yourself, protecting yourself. And that’s okay—the wounds on your heart are raw, fresh. I get it.” He chuckled, the sound low and vibrating through me. “Believe me, I get it. One day, when you’re ready, I’ll fulfill every single fantasy you can dream up—but not a moment before you’re ready to take that dive with me.” His lips ghosted over mine, featherlight and not enough. “Take the time to figure out what you want, how you want to exist and live in this strange world of ours. And I do mean what you want—not because of the mate bonds. Not because of what we want or the power coursing between us. What you want. That’s the only thing that matters—everything else is just noise. Even the apocalypse.” He smiled a slow, lazy smile. “When you’re ready for me, you’ll have me.” His breath tickled the shell of my ear as he leaned impossibly closer, tightening my belly. “All of me. And, though it may surprise most, when it comes to what I want, I’m a very patient man.”
He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to my forehead and leaned back, creating what suddenly felt like a crater of distance between us. My chest strained with the desire to pull him close again.
I didn’t. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe as he studied me with an unreadable look in his eyes.
“And you are the thing I want more than anything else in this world. I’m confident you’ll be more than worth the wait.”
“Your form is good,” Declan panted, lunging towards me again, “and it’s good to know that your strength and speed aren’t affected by the power loss.” She wrinkled her nose. “Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised though. Even before your powers kicked in, there was always something… more about the way you sparred.”
I crouched to dodge her as she came at me again, then used her own momentum to knock her off balance. She fell to the ground but I cushioned her as much as I could on the way down.
