Page 63 of Black Bird

Sarah’s hand shook as she raised the cigarette to her mouth and took a long drag. Wren decided to make herself scarce and went to grab her phone and make a few calls. Athan knelt down and pinched her chin, raising her face to meet his. He knew he’d been the start of this whole train wreck, but now it had gotten personal. They stared into each other.

“I meant every word. No one will ever hurt you again. You understand?” Athan couldn’t stop himself from wiping a rogue tear sliding down her cheek with his thumb.

“I believe you,” Sarah croaked, her lip quivering. “I’m just sick of this shit, Athan. I’m sick of it.” She shook her head. “Just knowing that this is so much bigger than some random attack in an alley … even with another person dead it’s just … it’s been years of this, and I can’t—” She exhaled sharply, and another tear dropped from her eye. He caught that one, too. “I wish I knew what the fuck they wanted. I almost want to just—”

“Stop.” He hushed her with a finger. “We’re not giving them shit. You don’toweanybodyshit. Just let me do my job. Let Rhaena do her job.” Sarah closed her eyes, more tears falling when she did and nodded her head. “I need to go meet Stratford. Will you be okay here?”

“Yeah … I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll leave you the key to Rhaena’s place. It’s the one just out this door to the left. Coffee is still on. She’s got a T.V. and a shitload of food. Whatever you need. I’ll pick up whatever you want on the way back, or I can take you to get some things from your apartment.”

He didn’t realize he was holding the entire side of her face in his hand. He promptly moved it and stood, clenching his jaw, and heading into the living room to grab his jacket. Sarah met his eyes one more time before he opened the door and he paused.

“Thank you.” She smirked, her eyes glossy from the tears. He managed a nod and walked out.

His vision was blurry, and the smell of his own blood had crammed itself up his nose as Tony slowly came to and realized he wassomehow still alive. She had utterly drained him of his blood. Tortured him. Fed on him. Had her henchmen beat him, although every one of them seemed reluctant to do so. His arms were strung up in chains above his head and he still lay in a puddle of dark red blood against a freezing stone wall in the deepest dungeons of the coven’s stronghold. He’d never in his nearly three centuries been in this position. He generally left everyone alone or was always kind toward them. The coven members, as well as any human that came in and out of that bar. He reckoned it was the only reason she’d let him live. Tony coughed and it felt as if his immortal body was slowly replenishing itself of life … or whatever they called this existence.

An iron door screeched open, and heels clacked along the stone floor, echoing through the dark, musty space. Two other sets of footsteps followed behind, heavier, and flashlights created hazy beams of light that flickered back and forth as they approached him.

“It pains me to see one of my best down here in this filth.” Dahlia’s voice rang out as a blinding light shined in his face. Tony winced at it; trying, and failing, to focus his eyes. “Perhaps next time you’ll be so kind as to stand by your word. You’ll find I’m very impatient … especially when I’m interrupted while doing business. Do not waste my time. Do not waste your life. I’ve given you a comfortable eternity, Tony. All I asked of you was to tell me when either of them came into this building, and to reveal whatever was said. The loyalty you showed him belongs tome. Do we understand each other?”

Tony hung his head in shame. “Yes, mi’lady. I just—”

“You just what?”

“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. I’ve stayed out of folk’s business. Conversation at the bar is part of the job. I never expected to be tested like this.” He huffed another cough.

“Unfortunately, business bleeds every now and then. I’d rather not lose another good member to their inability to relieve themselves of humanity. That’s something you should consider in the future. If you can’t manage to do as I ask, then perhaps you should limit your conversation to drink orders and nothing more.” There was a short silence, the only sound being his labored breathing. “Release him.” The flashlights lowered and the two males freed his wrists. Tony’s arms dropped and he fell fully against the cold floor. “Clean this up. Help him to his chambers and clean him up, too … fucking amateurs.”

She moved forward, kneeling down, and taking a fistful of his strawberry blonde hair. She raised his face to meet hers and her strange eyes nearly glowed with fury. He was still incredibly weak. “Why is she such a threat, ma’am?” He dared to ask.

Dahlia’s sick smile made his bones chill. “Because she wants what’s mine. And he wants her, too. And I don’t share my toys, Tony. You’d do well to remember that. When you’ve rested enough, return to your post at the bar. The next time I ask you a question, I’d better not have to come looking for you for the answer. You’ll not live through the next mistake.”

She dropped his head to the floor, and he groaned as she clacked back out of the iron doorway. Her men picked him up from beneath each arm and started dragging him back to his room. He silently prayed to God, if He was still listening, that there would be some kind of intervention. Some end to this madness … even if it took the entire coven down with her.

Brent sat across from the captain of the 12th precinct, shaking his ankle over his knee and fidgeting under the awkward tension as they waited for Detective Kane in his office. They had run out of things to make small talk about, and he could tell that Captain Foley was not his biggest fan.

“Could I get you some coffee while we wait, Mr. Stratford?” Foley offered, his tone suggesting that he could care less about his comfort.

“Thanks, sir. I’ll pass. I will say that I won’t be able to wait much longer. I’ve got clients that—”

“They can wait.” Kane sneered as he passed right by Foley’s office door and stalked toward a white board that he promptly flipped over. He made no move to come back, instead taking a seat at his desk and removing any papers or files from it as he shoved them into drawers. Brent glanced back at the captain, who smirked behind the fingers that were drawn across his mouth. He jerked his head toward the detective.

“Better go, then,” he said simply. “You can close that door on your way out.”

Brent stood, buttoning his jacket and did as the captain asked. As he made his way to Kane’s desk, he looked over to see several officers staring at him. He brushed it off and continued past, stopping at an empty desk across from him. “Should I sit?” he asked, earning no attention from the detective.

“Not there,” Kane said, turning on his monitor. “That’s Northwood’s desk. She’ll have both our asses.”

“Ohh …” He nodded, turning a chair in between that was left near the whiteboard. He didn’t ask for permission that time as he sat, crossing his ankle over his knee again. “How is she?” he asked, watching the detective’s reaction as he swiveled around, the mere question seeming to irritate him. He’d suspected as much. This guy was just as much into his former fiancé as she was to him, it seemed.

“She’s scared, Stratford. Rightfully so.”

“Scared of what? You seem to be doing a fine job of protecting her.”

Kane leaned back in his chair and interlocked his fingers in front of him. “You tell me. You’re a smart guy. You seem to know a little bit about everything, except maybe how to keep her happy.” Brent wanted to slap the smirk off his face.

“Get it all outta your system, detective.”

---