Page 64 of Forbidden Devotion
Those with information are encouraged to come forward. If you saw something, report it. You never know what could be important.
Those uninjured are likewise encouraged to make themselves useful in any way possible. Volunteers are needed. All able-bodied supernaturals are to be alert and ready should there be more attacks.
* * *
Mitchel
Hours had goneby with no sign of Sinclair. Mitchel was beginning to feel desperate. He’d just found his mate. He wouldn’t lose him so soon.
He’d run straight to the first group of werewolves he’d found, begging them for help, but none would search for a missing vampire at a time like this. Not when their own had been killed. Not when their own were missing.
Arguing with them would be useless. Worse, it would waste precious time. He had to move on.
The obvious conclusion was an uncomfortable one—werewolves wouldn’t help him, but a vampire might. They had to.
But he didn’t know any vampires besides Sinclair.
The first group he approached recoiled at his presence and wouldn’t listen to his pleas. The second reacted with only fear and suspicion. He understood that fear, but he needed to get through to someone. Sinclair was in danger, and the longer he stayed missing, the worse his chances of being found became.
An idea struck him, simple but worth trying. Sinclair was the heir. Vampires would recognize his name. The head of the Vampire Council would help because Sinclair was the man’s son.
He ran into the middle of the chaos and yelled as loud as he could, “I’m looking for Sinclair Davis. Do any of you know Sinclair Davis? Please. He’s missing.”
It worked.
A couple ran toward him right away. Sinclair’s parents. Had to be. The resemblance was uncanny, though Luther Davis looked more like a twin brother than he did a father. It was a stroke of luck they were in the vicinity at all, the complex was massive, and the disorder spread as far as the eye could see.
“You must be Mitchel,” Luther spoke above the clamor. “Was he with you?”
“Yes, yes, he was. We were in the dining hall. He’d just arrived when the explosion happened.”
“Where is he?” Sinclair’s mother looked frantic with worry, her turmoil clear in her expression.
“I grabbed him, but the crowd pulled us apart. I couldn’t hold on.”
“I’m Luther. This is Ann. We’re his parents.”
“Mitchel Edgehill. Where would he have gone?”
“We thought he’d be with you.”
“I lost him in the rush. I called and called, but he never answered. I’ve looked everywhere. I can’t find him.”
“We can’t find him either.” They looked as distraught as Mitchel felt.
He felt awful, like he’d failed. “I’m sure he got out of the building. We were almost outside when we got separated.”
“That’s good news,” Luther said. “Now we know he wasn’t in the part of the building that collapsed, which was more than we knew before we met you. He must be nearby.”
Ann sobbed. “Or he was taken.”
Facing the cold, hard truth was ugly. Mitchel’s heart sank. “I’ve looked everywhere. He’s gone.”
An image came to mind. A white cargo van leaving the scene. He’d been an idiot not to question it at the time, but then, he’d been sure Sinclair was close by.
That van could easily have held hostages. “Shit.”
“What is it?” Luther asked.
