Page 65 of Devour the Dark

I give Wendy my hand and help her out of the cab, then pay the man with a crumpled bill.

“Roc,” I call. “Crocodile!”

He’s already up the stairs and entering the house.

“He might tell us he is all right,” Wendy says, taking up her skirt so she can race up the stairs beside me, “but he’s not acting all right.”

“I don’t know if this was such a good idea.” We reach the third set of steps. Roc is already out of sight. “He’s unstable. Unpredictable.”

“He needs Vane’s blood.”

“And if we can’t find Vane?”

Up the last flight, we hurry into the house, past the staff.

We stumble into a grand foyer dotted with partygoers.

Down the hall, I spot Roc disappearing to the left, down a hall just before the ballroom.

I race after him, Wendy doing her best to trail after me.

The hall is dark, giving the attendees the indication that it’s supposed to be off limits. Roc slams into a closed door, then rattles the handle finding it locked. He reels back, then rams his shoulder into it, gaining entrance with a split of wood.

“Lainey!” he shouts.

“Bloody hell.”

“That can’t be good.” Wendy charges ahead.

Roc is in a library with a grand piano tucked in the corner beneath a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Leather-bound books fill the shelves.

“Lainey,” he says, softer now, a little wobbly.

“Roc.” I approach him slowly. He’s at the piano, hand trailing along the closed lid. “Can you hear me?”

He stops, his chin coming to his shoulder as he turns toward me. “Where’s Lainey?”

I swallow. I’m in over my head. Maybe we never should have separated. Only Vane knows how to deal with whatever this is. Only he knows how to stabilize his brother and prevent the worst from happening.

I’ve sailed choppy waters and fought hordes of other pirates, but this, the infamous Crocodile, wounded and broken, this is something I do not know how to handle.

“She isn’t here,” I tell him, keeping my steps slow. “I’m not sure when she’ll be back.”

He curses beneath his breath and bows his head. Moonlight filters in through the closed, gauzy drapes. It paints his dark hair in strokes of silver. “Captain,” he says now, his voice husky.

“Yes. I’m here.”

I come around him. His eyes are squeezed shut.

“I’m having trouble fighting her,” he admits.

The witch.

“She has me chasing ghosts.”

Wendy comes up behind him and slips her arms around his waist, embracing him from behind. “We’re here. We’ll be your anchors.”

He slides his hand over Wendy’s, threading their fingers together.

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