Awakened

Before he could formulate an answer a truth came to him: he wouldn’t have to make that decision. Stevie Rae wasn’t there at the depot. He would know if she was near. The knowledge settled over him like a shroud, and with a long exhalation of breath Rephaim dropped to the roof of the depot.

Finally completely alone, he allowed himself to think of the terrible avalanche of events that had begun that day. Rephaim folded his wings tightly to his back and paced.

The Tsi Sgili was weaving a web of fate that could unravel Rephaim’s world. Father was going to use Stevie Rae in his war with Neferet for dominion over his spirit. Father would use anyone to win that war. The moment after Rephaim had the thought he instantly rejected it, automatically reacting as he would have before Stevie Rae had entered his life.

“Entered my life?” Rephaim laughed humorlessly. “It’s more like she entered my soul and my body.” He paused in his pacing, remembering how it’d felt to have the beautiful, clean power of the earth flow into and heal him. He shook his head. “Not for me,” he told the night. “My place is not with her; it is impossible. My place is as it has always been, with my father in the Darkness.”

Rephaim stared down at his hand, resting on the rusted edge of a metal grate. He wasn’t man or vampyre, immortal or human. He was monster.

But did that mean he could look idly on as Stevie Rae was used by his father and abused by the Tsi Sgili? Or worse, could he take part in her capture?

She wouldn’t betray me. Even if I captured her, Stevie Rae wouldn’t betray our connection.

Still staring at his hand, Rephaim realized where it was he was standing, on which grate his hand was resting, and he jerked back. It was here that the rogue red fledglings had entrapped them—here that Stevie Rae had almost lost her life—and here that she’d been so mortally wounded he had allowed her to drink from him … Imprint with him …

“By all the gods, if only I could take it back!” he shouted to the sky. The words echoed around him, repeating, mocking. His shoulders slumped and his head bowed as his hand smoothed over the surface of the rough iron grate. “What am I supposed to do?” Rephaim whispered the question.

No answer came, but he didn’t expect one. Instead he withdrew his touch from the unforgiving iron and collected himself.

“I will do what I have always done. I will follow the commands of my father. If I can do that and, at least by some small measure, protect Stevie Rae, then so be it. If I cannot protect her, then so be it. My path was chosen at my conception. I cannot deviate from it now.” His words sounded as cold as the January night, but his heart felt hot, as if what he had said made his blood boil at the core of his body.

With no more hesitation, Rephaim leaped from the roof of the depot and continued on his easterly route, flying the short miles from downtown to Will Rogers High School. The main building was set on a little rise beside an open field space. It was large and rectangular and made of light-colored brick that looked like sand in the moonlight. He was drawn to the centralmost part of the structure, the first of two large, ornately carved square towers lifting from it. That was where he landed. That was also where he immediately assumed a defensive crouch.

He could smell them. The scent of the rogue fledglings was everywhere. Moving stealthily, Rephaim positioned himself so he could peer down at the front grounds of the school. He saw a few trees, large and small, a long expanse of lawn, and nothing else.

Rephaim waited. It wasn’t long. He knew it wouldn’t be. Dawn was too close. So he’d expected to see the fledglings—he just hadn’t expected to see them walk boldly up to the front door of the school, reeking of fresh blood and led by the newly Changed Dallas.

Nicole was wrapped around him. That big, dumb Kurtis obviously thought he was some kind of bodyguard because while Dallas pressed his hand against one of the rust-colored steel doors, the oversized fledgling stood at the edge of the concrete steps, looking out and holding a gun as if he thought he knew what to do with it.

Rephaim shook his head in disgust. Kurtis didn’t look up. None of the fledglings, or even Dallas, looked up. He was no longer the broken creature they’d captured and used; they had no idea how pathetically vulnerable they were to his attack.

But Rephaim didn’t attack. He waited and watched.

There was a sizzling sound and Nicole ground briefly against Dallas. “Oh, yeah, baby! Work your magic.” Her voice lifted in the night as Dallas laughed and pulled the no longer locked or alarmed door open.

“Let’s go,” Dallas told Nicole, sounding older and harder than Rephaim remembered. “Dawn’s close and there’s somethin’ you got to take care of before the sun rises.”

Nicole rubbed her hand down the front of his pants while the rest of the red fledglings laughed. “Then let’s get us down to those basement tunnels so I can get going on it.”

She led the fledglings inside the school. Dallas waited outside until they were all in, then followed them, closing the door. In another moment Rephaim heard a sizzling sound like before and then all was quiet. And when, in the next moment, the security guard drove lazily by, all was still quiet. He, too, didn’t look up to see the enormous Raven Mocker crouched on the top of the school’s tower.

When the guard drove away Rephaim leaped into the night, his mind whirring in time with the beating of his wings.

Dallas was leading the rogue red fledglings.

He was controlling the modern magick of this world and it somehow allowed him access to buildings.

Will Rogers High School was where they were making their nest.

Stevie Rae would want to know that. She would need to know that. She still felt responsible for them, even though they had tried to kill her. And Dallas, what did she still feel for him?

Just thinking about seeing her in Dallas’s arms made him angry. But she’d chosen him over Dallas. Clearly and completely.

Not that that made any difference now.

It was then that Rephaim realized the direction he’d been flying was too far south to take him back to the downtown Mayo. Instead he was gliding over midtown Tulsa, passing the dimly lit abbey of the Benedictine nuns, cutting over Utica Square, and silently approaching the stone wall–protected campus. His flight faltered.

Vampyres would look up.

Rephaim beat against the night air, lifting up and up. Then, too high to be easily seen, he skirted the campus, diving soundlessly outside the east wall into a pool of shadow between streetlights. From there he moved from shadow to shadow, using the darkness of his feathers to blend with the night.

He heard the eerie howling before he reached the wall. It was a sound so filled with despair and heartbreak that it cut even him to the bone. What is making that terrible howl?

He knew the answer almost as quickly as he’d formulated the thought. The dog. Stark’s dog. During one of her sessions of nonstop talking, Stevie Rae had told him how one of her friends, the boy named Jack, had more or less taken ownership of Stark’s dog when he’d turned into a red fledgling, and how close the boy and the dog had become and what a good thing she thought that was for both of them because the dog was so smart and Jack was so sweet. As he remembered Stevie Rae’s words, everything slid into place. By the time he reached the school’s boundary and heard the crying that accompanied the terrible howling, Rephaim knew what he’d see when he carefully and quietly scaled the wall and peered down at the scene of devastation before him.

He looked. He couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to see Stevie Rae—just see her. After all, he couldn’t do anything except look—Rephaim definitely couldn’t allow any of the vampyres to see him.

He’d been correct; the innocent whose blood had fulfilled Neferet’s debt to Darkness had been Stevie Rae’s friend Jack.

Under the shattered tree through which Kalona had escaped his earthen prison, a boy knelt, sobbing “Jack!” over and over beside a howling dog in the middle of bloodstained grass. The body wasn’t still there, but the bloodstain was. Rephaim wondered if anyone else would be able to detect the fact that there was a lot less blood than there should have been. Darkness had fed deeply from Neferet’s gift.

Beside the weeping boy the school’s Sword Master, Dragon Lankford, stood silently, his hand on his shoulder. The three of them were alone. Stevie Rae wasn’t there. Rephaim was trying to convince himself that was for the best. It really was a good thing that she hadn’t been there—maybe hadn’t seen him—when a wave of feelings