Page 57 of Wake the Dream

“Here you go.” Kieran ripped open the front of her shirt without a second of hesitation. Bite marks peppered her skin and breasts, her clothing torn in the vamps’ zeal to get to her.

The fang punctures went deep, and silvery tinted blood looked like quicksilver as it flowed.

He did what he could to stem the flow, running his hands through his hair when the bandages soaked in moments.

“It’s not stopping.” Why the hell wasn’t it stopping?

Nothing prepared him for the terror. For the absolute and soul-breaking fear for her survival. Somewhere during their investigation, he’d crossed a line with her, and now he couldn’t keep his head on his shoulders.

Kieran stood for a moment, stretching his back and fighting to be rational against the panic. What should he do now? What the hell was his next step? None of the books or the training had prepared him for this. For the fear and the unrelenting well of anger that caused him to put his fist through the wall, straight through the sheetrock.

Illaria was on the verge of bleeding out and because he hadn’t stood his ground and told her to stay home. He’d allowed her to come with him, turning her into chum in the water for bloodthirsty vampires.

She could die. Perhaps Kieran should feel remorse for having killed the vampires who did this to her—his only leads on the grape, which might be connected to Yelena—but he didn’t experience much in the way of triumph either. He was too full of worry about Illaria to register anything more than fear.

He crouched next to her, wrapping another layer of gauze around the wounds on her wrists. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered. His gaze searched her face. “You always know. Or at least you pretend to know. You’re so self-assured. I can’t lose you, Illaria. Please tell me what to do.”

He waited to see if she heard him, watching the way her eyes flickered beneath her closed lids. Breath hissed from between her lips. At least she was still breathing. That had to count for something.

Kieran jumped a mile when the phone he’d stuffed in his pocket began to vibrate. Fumbling, his fingers numb and clumsy, he managed to answer the call.

“Shanahan, what in the blue blazes of fuck is this text message I get about a dead vampire nest?” Osgood’s voice reverberated out from the speakers. “I send a pair of officers over to the address you sent and I find a massacre! What did you do?”

Kieran sighed and pinched both sides of his nose. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have time to talk about this right now.”

“You left the scene of a crime—”

“I really can’t talk about this, sir. I have more pressing issues. I’ll explain everything to you in my report in the morning.”

He could practically see Osgood’s eyes popping out of his skull. “Get your ass down to the station now, Shanahan! Whatever leniency I’ve granted you from your bust the other night has officially come to an end. Do you understand me? You have a lot of explaining to—”

Kieran hung up the phone, seeing no other choice. Days ago, his response would have been different. He would have hung his head, done what it took to get the promotion he knew would launch his career and help his standing with the other officers. Would help get his life in the direction he truly wanted.

Until Illaria got hurt. On his watch. Because he’d been distracted by the gun to her head instead of doing his job.

Just like his mother, trying to prepare a midnight snack when no one else was awake.

Fae or not, immortal or not, she looked too close to the edge for his liking. The Fae could die, he knew. Not easily, but it was possible. If her wounds refused to heal...

Then he remembered a tiny nugget of conversation from earlier.

Maybe you could give old Caryss a run for her money telling street fortunes.

Caryss, the witch who lived near the town square above an abandoned video store. The police department kept a close watch on her because she hadn’t filled out the mayor’s census. Which meant they had little information to go on besides word of mouth, none of which had been solid.

She didn’t step a toe out of line. But something about her drew attention from multiple sources.

Could he trust her to know what to do?

Do I have any choice?

Kieran fumbled for his cell phone, then realized he wouldn’t have the number. But Illaria...she would have the witch’s number.

He checked her pockets, finding nothing. It had to be there. She never went anywhere without the blasted thing. He eventually found her cell phone tucked into her left boot once he pulled down the zipper.

With ten percent battery life left, his shaking fingers took him through the list of options down to the one he searched for. There was no mistaking it for someone else.

The entry in the address book read Hateful Bitch of the West. Thank God for modern technology.

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