Page 106 of Fated In Ruin

“Then this is a lost cause.” Metal sang as Blake drew his blades, a shiver of anticipatory bloodlust trickling down the mating bond. “But while we’re here, we can do some clean up.”

We killed everything inside the warehouse, leaving a trail of rotting bodies in our wake. My back was stiff, Riordan’s right hand wasn’t working quite right, Malachi’s eye was swollen shut, but most of the thralls didn’t even put up a fight, and we were on our way to the next building when we found Silas, or what was left of him.

His once-pristine uniform—the one he took such pride in—was in tatters, his skin gray as death, peeling off his bones. His mouth moved, but no sound came out, so he fell to his knees, fingers scrabbling through the dirt before he rocked back on his heels, his glistening eyes pleading.

HELP ME.

Then Silas’s cracked lips gaped open and I saw why he couldn’t speak…his tongue had been torn out, the stump rotting between yellowed teeth.

I swallowed down the surge of bile clawing up my throat.

That was Dante’s handiwork, my uncle’s favorite punishment for those enemies he considered untrustworthy enough to deem such a precaution. Obviously, my father had fallen into that category when he’d tried to warn me the other day.

“Fucking hell,” Blake muttered and I blinked, trying to stop my eyes from stinging.

My sweating, shaking hand rested on the hilt of my knife, my agonized father’s gaze pinned there with such rapt hope I could barely breathe. How many times had I imagined killing him? So many I couldn’t begin to count.

But not like this. Never like this.

Not like an animal in the street, begging for…

Blood misted the air, turning the world into a haze of coppery red, then Blake stepped back and sheathed his blade, his face solemn as he looked down at the headless corpse that used to be my father.

My mate dipped his head and my throat got even tighter. “Your blade, Evangeline. Always your shield, always your blade, ready to kill your enemies, so you remain in the light.”

The prickling in my eyes turned to a burn and I turned away, taking a deep breath that reeked of death and decay.

I couldn’t look at the body when we moved, finding the next building empty, then the next.

“I’d say this is a trap, but I think this place is truly abandoned. Where would they go, Evangeline?” Riordan prodded. “They’ve obviously abandoned the compound; is there anywhere else your family might hide Ravok?”

I searched my muddled thoughts and came up empty. “Sleepy Hollow is the only other location I ever heard Silas talk about. I…they didn’t exactly trust me with the family secrets,” I finally said. “But Virgil would know. He could tell us where Dante would go next.”

Because Dante was calling the shots, now that Silas was gone.

Alistair was a decent enough soldier, but he was no leader. Ravok wouldhaveto rely on my family for housing, for weapons, for blood, since he’d been locked away for so long…who else could he trust?

But Romulus was the wild card that put all my best guesses in jeopardy, because something told me he outranked even my uncles now.

We never found Alistair and Dante, or Romulus, or any more thralls, just a few decaying bodies, their bodies literally crumbling before our eyes.

We emerged from the compound battered but alive, having achieved nothing.

Ravok was still out there, Romulus had escaped, and we’d all need to visit Sylvester when we returned. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. Romulus's strange power, Ravok's disappearance—his cryptic, gloating taunt about transformation—everything pointed to something bigger coming our way.

I slid a sideways glance at Malachi.

If only we could see the future, we could prepare ourselves, know which defenses to shore up, how to fight Ravok—how tobeathim when he returned.

He claimed his power isn’t reliable, that it didn’t ever follow his command.

But part of me wondered if that was really true. Or, like me, he was afraid of plumbing the depths of his own power. Both because of where it originated, and because of what he might turn into, if he truly embraced what he was.

45

EVANGELINE

We returned to Crimson House in the midst of a violent afternoon summer storm, and after Sylvester healed me with enough annoyance to make it clear I was an overwhelming burden to his very existence, I went on the hunt for Malachi, who—not that Blake and Riordan were in any hurry for a big group hug—seemed determined to play lone wolf.

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