Page 6 of Witch's Promise

Swallowing hard, Gabe pushed down his doubts and uncertainties. There'd be time for that later. Right now, people needed him. His team needed him.

"Okay," he said, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. "Lily, give me everything you've got on the target. Lucas, I want you coordinating comms and running point on containment strategies. Emma, we'll need your shields to protect the civilians and contain the fires. Olivia, you're with me on direct engagement."

As he spoke, Gabe could feel himself slipping into the role, his mind already mapping out tactics and contingencies. Butbeneath it all, a small voice whispered insistently:Don't fuck this up. You can't afford to fuck this up.

The team sprang into action, prepping gear and reviewing last-minute intel. Gabe found himself stealing glances at the door Alex and Eryx had disappeared through. He couldn't help but wonder how the couple was faring, if they'd be able to work through this latest hurdle.

He knew all too well how powers – or the lack thereof – could come between people. The weight of Sean's ring seemed to burn against his skin, a constant reminder of what he'd lost, of the price of being different.

Shaking off the melancholy thoughts, Gabe refocused on the mission at hand. He couldn't change what had happened to Eryx, couldn't fix the rift between him and Alex. But he could do this. He could lead this team, protect those civilians, stop whatever supernatural asshole was out there playing with fire.

He had to. Because if he couldn't do this, if he wasn't good enough, strong enough, smart enough... then what the hell was he even doing here?

"Alright, team," Gabe called out, pushing down his insecurities with sheer force of will. "Let's move out. We've got fires to put out and asses to kick."

As they filed out of the briefing room, gear in hand and game faces on, Gabe sent up a silent prayer to whatever higher power might be listening.

Please, he thought,just let me be enough.

Chapter 2

Sean

Sean Drake nursed his whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in his glass like the thoughts in his head. The British-style pub in Salem was a far cry from the high-stakes world he'd left behind, but old habits die hard. His eyes constantly scanned the room, cataloging exits, potential threats, and the ebb and flow of patrons.

The place reeked of stale beer and greasy pub food, a scent that clung to everything like a desperate ex. Sean wrinkled his nose, taking another sip of his drink. The burn of alcohol was a welcome distraction from the memories threatening to surface.

Where the hell was Katelyn? She was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago. Sean checked his watch for the umpteenth time, his foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the worn wooden floor.

A burst of laughter from a nearby table made him flinch. Fuck, he was jumpy tonight. Then again, when wasn't he these days? Being an ex-assassin tended to do that to a person. You never really stopped looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or in his case, for a bullet with his name on it.

Sean's hand unconsciously moved to his chest, fingers brushing against the silver pendant hidden beneath his shirt. The cool metal against his skin sent a jolt through him, a bittersweet reminder of what he'd lost. Of who he'd lost.

Gabe.

The name alone was enough to make Sean's chest tighten. How many years had it been now? Fifteen? Twenty? And yet the pain was still as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. The memory of Gabe's face, twisted with hurt and betrayal, haunted Sean's dreams more nights than he cared to admit.

He'd fucked up. God, had he fucked up. Believing his father's lies, turning his back on the one person who'd ever truly seen him, all because he couldn't handle the truth about Gabe's abilities.

Sean took another swig of whiskey, grimacing at the taste. He'd been such a fool. A bigoted, close-minded fool who'd thrown away the best thing in his life because he was too scared to face reality.

And now? Now he was sitting in a dingy pub, waiting for his best friend to bring him intel on his father's latest schemes. How's that for irony?

The door to the pub swung open, letting in a gust of cool night air. Sean's head snapped up, body tensing instinctively. But it was just another drunk stumbling in, not the petite blonde he was waiting for.

Sean forced himself to relax, rolling his shoulders to ease some of the tension. This was Salem, for Christ's sake. Not some war-torn country or seedy back alley where danger lurked around every corner. He was supposed to be past all that.

Yeah, right. As if he could ever truly leave that life behind. The things he'd done, the lives he'd taken, they were a part of him now, etched into his very soul like the scars that crisscrossed his body.

Sean's mind drifted back to his last mission, the one that had finally made him say "enough." It was supposed to be a simple hit, in and out. But intel had been wrong. So fucking wrong.

Instead of the arms dealer he'd been sent to eliminate, Sean had found a family. A man, his wife, two young kids. They'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, victims of his father's endless power plays and manipulations.

Sean had walked away that night, leaving the family unharmed. But the damage had been done. He couldn't unsee what he'd seen, couldn't unfeel the sickening realization of how close he'd come to destroying innocent lives.

That was the night Sean had decided to become a ghost.

His eyes flickered to the bartender, catching the man's appreciative gaze. A few years ago, Sean might have returned that look, might have lost himself in a night of meaningless fuck just to forget for a while. But those days were behind him now.