Page 22 of Illusory

“I might be able to help with the grimoire,” offered Gabriel, his voice breaking through the quiet like a tiny ray of sun peeking through the gathering storm clouds. “My Latin isn’t very strong, but two sets of eyes on this has to be better than one.”

“Yes!” Saint Gabriel to the freaking rescue. I was just about to bust out a wave of high-fives for the whole room when reality dawned on me. “Except you can’t do it.”

“I can’t?” His brows bunched together in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because you need to look after Trace,” I reminded, the nervous tension in my voice escaping absolutely no one. “Someone has to help him through the bloodlust and make sure he doesn’t, you know…” I trailed off because I wasn’t even sure how to finish that statement. Hurt someone. Hurt himself. Go berserk and slaughter the entire town in a blood-fueled rage. The possibilities were endless.

“I can certainly do both. He only needs some guidance, Jemma, not a prison warden,” reminded Gabriel and I promptly blushed at my overreaction.

Well, damn. Maybe this wasn’t doomed after all. Maybe,for once, there actuallywassome hope for us.

“Great. Then it’s settled,” concluded Tessa, slapping a hand against the kitchen island before turning her attention back to me. “Jackie will work on translating the grimoirewithGabriel’s help when he’s available, and I’ll work on strength training and combat with you in between your other lessons.”

Jaqueline and Gabriel nodded as I crooked my brow at Tessa. “Other lessons?”

“Yes. Other lessons, Jemma,” she reiterated pointedly like I was the village idiot up to my old tricks again. “I have a couple of other things lined up, but I’ll fill you in on that after you’re done.”

“After I’m donewhat?”I asked, growing increasingly confused as the conversation went on.

She shot me an irritated look. “Talking to Trace. Or did you already forget our conversation last night?”

Fucking dammit.

“Of course I didn’t forget.” Not entirely, anyway. Frankly, I’d been hoping thatshe’dforgotten it, but apparently, she had the memory of an elephant. “It’s just…it’s still really early, and he’s probably super cranky after the night he had. I doubt he’d be very receptive to this right now, you know? I mean, even Gabriel just said he needs time to—”

“Tick, tock, Jemma. Either you march your ass downstairs and handle your business, or I’ll go down there myself and do it for you,” she snapped as she crossed her arms along her chest and waited. “You decide.”

7. DON’T FEAR THE REAPER

Cursing Tessa and the godforsaken day she was born, I hauled my ass out of the kitchen and down the narrow corridor that led to the basement door. My feet felt heavy and wooden like I was carrying two clunky blocks of concrete, their weight seemingly intensifying with every step I took toward the door, as though there was a full-blown mutiny breaking out in my uncooperative legs. Like they wanted to stage a coup and separate from the rest of my body entirely.

If only I could separate from my sister instead.

Who in the hell did she think she was anyway? Always telling me what to do and how to do it, throwing around her little ultimatums and threats like she had any right. I was getting sick and tired of her and her meddling ways. And I wasn’t scared of her either. Not one bit.

And I sure as heck wasn’t going downstairs to see Trace because shemademe.

I was going downstairs to see Trace because I loved him, and I wanted to make sure he was okay. And because I knew I couldn’t keep avoiding this. It was time for me to face the music.

At least that was what I’d told myself as I turned the doorknob and opened the basement door.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, I strained my ears and eyes for any sign of life, hearing only the low strum of some chaotic metal song playing in the distance. The bottom landing was swathed in shadows, the air as still as a grave. The perfect conditions to stage an attack…

A chill crept down the length of my back at the pervasive thought and I hesitated, my foot hanging in the air as I tried towill it to drop down onto the first step.

Stop being such a chicken shit, I scolded myself.This isTrace, for crying out loud.

I mean, sure, he was upset about what I had done to him, and also probably a little freaked out by the spectacle I’d made with the whole wings thing, but he was still my soulmate. And we loved each other.

If I couldn’t reach him, then who could?

Solidifying my resolve, I lowered my foot down onto the first step, and then the next until I’d somehow managed to make it down the entire flight of stairs. The window shades were drawn shut, and all the lights were turned off, bringing the large space into absolute darkness save for a single lamp illuminating the homemade prison cell I’d constructed for Dominic all those weeks ago.

And then I found him—Trace—his familiar form sprawled on a mattress in the corner, his forearm draped over his eyes as if to block out the entirety of a world he no longer wanted part of.

My heart pinched and lurched beneath my ribs as the urge to go to him—to comfort and take care of him—swelled inside of me. And suddenly, my feet were moving again, taking me to him before I’d even consciously made the decision to move.

As if sensing my approach, he bolted upright and in one fluid move, pushed off the bed and swung around to face me, his back flattened against the concrete wall as a low rumbling growl sounded from someplace deep within him. An angry place. A place I wasn’t familiar with.

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