Page 79 of The Fire Went Wild

“Why—”

“They were sacrifices.” It’s the Unnamed who answers, and its presence is so sudden and so forceful that even Charlotte feels it in her sleep, moaning and shivering beside me. “The first a request, the second a payment.”

I stroke Charlotte’s exposed arm, her skin soft against my fingers. So that’s why both victims were connected to the ULS. Some human in the Occult Underground is making deals with my gods, and the gods asked me and Charlotte to be their weapons in this world.

It’s not the first time I’ve been asked to kill on the gods’ behalf, and it won’t be the last. But I can see how it would be overwhelming for Charlotte to go so long thinking she’s human and then, when she finally learns she’s a Hunter, to get thrown into some divine chess game.

“Are there going to be other requests?”I ask softly, watching Charlotte breathe in the dark.

“Perhaps.” It’s my Guardian again. “But for now, your task is her.”

“Charlotte?” There’s no way to say her name in the language of the gods.

“Yes.” The Unnamed answers the question, and it circles closer, winding around me like a snake. Constricting my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. I like it though. I’ve alwaysliked it. “Her binding broke, but the magic poisoned her. Find a way to leach it out.”

“How?”I stroke her cheek with the back of my hand. Her eyes flicker behind her lids. I wonder if she’s dreaming of the gods. If she’s dreaming of me.

“We can not see it,” says my Guardian. “But she can’t exist like this, in two states at once.”

“Make her a Hunter,” snarls the Unnamed, as if that wasn’t what we did two nights ago.

And then, like an exhaled breath, they’re both gone. The room feels empty without their presence, but at least Charlotte is here. Still breathing, still dreaming.

The magic poisoned her.

She doesn’t seem poisoned, at least not physically. But her resistance to what she is—her guilt, her sorrow. It’s hurting her.That’swhat’s keeping her from becoming a Hunter.

She spent so long thinking she’s human that she can’t give it up.

Some unfamiliar emotion surges through me. I think it’s empathy. Or love. Maybe both. All of it is directed at Charlotte.

I lay down beside her and wrap my arm around her waist and bury my nose in her hair and breathe in her scent. I don’t do anything I shouldn’t. Don’t grope her breasts or slide my hand between her legs. Don’t grind my quickly-forming erection into her soft, warm ass. But I do hold her. I wish I could take my knife and cut open her chest and carve out the poison desperately trying to keep her human. Maybe I should. Maybe she needs the initiation of death.

No. That’s too drastic. But I have other options. I should call Ambrose?—

Or Sawyer.

The thought hits me like a punch. That is one gift I can give her, isn’t it? The thing she came to Louisiana to find.

I press closer to her, breathing her in, considering the possibility. All I want is to make everything right for her.

And maybe taking her to Edie is the best way to do it.

I’ll see what Ambrose says. But for now, I just hold Charlotte in my arms, listening to her heart.

Ambrose letshis phone ring three times before he answers with a gruff, “I’m busy.”

“Then why did you answer?” I stretch my legs out, propping them up on the coffee table.

“Thought it might be an emergency. Did you take that woman on her kill yet?

“Her name’s Charlotte,” I snap. “And, yes, I did. Figured you’d be watching the news for it.”

Ambrose grunts. “Been busy. Haven’t had time to keep an eye on the news. Did it work?”

I lean back and sink into the couch cushions, my gaze fixed on the light fixture overhead. It’s loose, hanging a little crooked, and it reminds me of Charlotte still clinging to her humanity.

“Kind of,” I say.

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