Page 22 of Thorns from the Fall

They’re beautiful hands, only made more so by the tattoos. A snake opening its maw on one—venomous and lethal. A rose on the other—delicate yet thorned. Large and capable, I think of all the things those hands have done and could do. My own look small and weak in comparison.

But they’re no less deadly. If Emile hurts my sister, these hands will be covered in Sauveterre blood.

“Did he see you grab Sasha?” Roman asks just as my phone starts to vibrate on the counter.

Hale’s grinning face lights up my screen. The picture is from a few years ago on one of his birthdays. He’s wearing a plastic, golden crown and a touch of black eyeliner, and goosebumps crawl down my legs and up my back. Because he shouldn’t be calling me back. In my fury, I hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. He should have found a darkened alcove by now. He should have drawn a chalk door on the wall and opened aportal into the alley outside. If it weren’t for ancient warding on the compound, he would’ve already been standing in my living room. He’s that proficient with his skills.

So the fact he’s calling me doesn’t bode well.

“Continue to the greystone. Call me back if he escalates,” Roman says, then disconnects the call. “Answer it.”

“Hey,” I say, voice shaking as I answer.

“Miss Parsons,” the voice on the line says, and I suppress a sob. Emile’s accent is thicker than I remember. Sickening syrup and slime oozes down my spine, and I take three panting breaths before I lose the ability altogether. “I believe I’ve found something of yours.”

Roman says nothing. His temple throbs in time with his pulse, and those gorgeous hands curl around the edge of the countertop. I’m sure he’s fucking thrilled. He took Sasha and now Emile has Hale. Roman couldn’t have planned it better himself.

“He must have gotten lost,” I say, slow and measured. “If you’d send him back to?—”

“I believe you have something of mine, do you not?”

For a fraction of a second, a smile lifts my lips. Because I have enough things Emile thinks belong to him, that I’m not sure what he’s referring to. Roman’s brow raises, and I avoid his gaze. “I’ll need you to be more specific,” I say, deciding against taunting the man who holds my best friend’s life in his hands any further.

A low chuckle comes through the phone, and I wince when Hale yelps in the background. “You have my nephew and my coven. We have your best friend and your sister. A fair trade, don’t you think?”

“I can give you Roman, but you know that’s all I can do,” I say, hoping it isn’t a mistake. “When a coup occurs, does the victor often give it up to someone from a failed regime?”

“Petite voleuse,” Emile murmurs like a swear. Despite myself, I seek out the man across the counter from me. Tall, and still shirtless, he’s a lot to take in. I’m surprised to see his lips move, forming the wordthief.

“You led no coup, huntress. You stole it,” Emile grits out.

“Stole it, earned it. Potato, tomato.”

Roman’s eyes narrow to slits, and I turn so I don’t have to look at him. I’m not cut out for this negotiating shit. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Agnarr was supposed to be dead, and every vampire of his Making ordered to die along with him.

Including me.

But no. I’d had time to consider how little I wanted Roman to die—how little I wanted Margot and Nico to die—and then Agnarr had peaced the fuck out. And now here we are.

“If you will not give me the coven, I fear this young man is useless to me,” Emile says.

Before I can interject, before I can scream or cry, Roman’s booming voice yanks on my nerve endings and sets them on fire.

“Remy is alive. I’ve talked to him. She’ll kill him if you?—”

“Miss Parsons, send me my nephew. And whatever spell books they might need to lift their curse from him. Quickly, now, before I grow bored.”

“There is no?—”

“You stay right where you are in the penthouse. If I catch a whiff of any vampire under your thrall, I will kill your loved ones. Do you understand?”

“Put this on,” Roman says, tossing me a helmet that he pulled out from beneath the seat of his motorcycle.

“Youput it on,” I say, combative for no reason other than the fact my sister is in danger, and I’m terrified. Nico having Sasha was bad enough, but now Emile has Hale, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to save them both.

Emile is a fucking wild card, and…

I can’t think about it.

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