The rising tide of panic starts in my gut and crawls its way up my sternum, squeezes my heart until it hurts.
Where is she?
I scent the air, scan the horizon. The light burns my eyes and tears well beneath my lids, but I look harder, look farther, trying to spot her. Anything. Any clue at all.
But she isn’t there.
She is gone and it’s my fucking fault.
“A little toasty, is it?” a voice calls from slightly behind, to my left.
I glance over my shoulder to find a fae standing in dappled sunlight beneath a much younger red maple. He is pale and ethereal. There is a pack at his feet.
He’s not one I’m familiar with.
Over the years, since the gate closed, the fae have dwindled in number and power here in Midnight. There are greater populations in Europe and a lot of them left here for there. I’ve heard stories of other gates, ones that open and close on a whim so that you must be vigilant and nearby in order to catch them.
I’ve never laid eyes on one. Some say they are myths.
Only the gate in Midnight was a permanently open and accessible doorway. It’s why Damien wanted to establish Midnight just outside the gate. “Greater access to power,” he’d told me.
“For whom? Us or them?” I’d countered.
“Controlling the land directly beside their gate puts us at greater advantage.”
I could see his strategy. I could even agree with it. But it didn’t mean I liked it.
I’ve always been wary of the fae.
Until Mouse.
“This your doing?” I ask the fae. He’s leaning against the trunk of the tree, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. He’s chewing on what looks like a piece of licorice.
“Depends on what you mean by ‘this’.”
Typical fae, dancing around a straight answer.
“I’m a vampire.”
“Yes,” he says.
“And I’m in the sunlight.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Which is bad. Did you put me in the sunlight?”
“Yes,” he finally answers. “But ask me why.”
“Why?”
“Arion ordered me to.”
This isn’t unexpected. He wanted Mouse to help open the gate. And I delivered her directly into his trap like a stupid little shit. I should have taken the reins. I should have stood in front of Mouse instead of letting her lead.
The panic is still beating at the back of my head, but I can’t let it take control. Panic is only good for one thing—flight. And I will not run.
I will, however, maim.