Page 35 of Vows & Violence
Once we come back down, I lie on my side against Dean’s body. His hands are tracing up and down my arm, creating goosebumps to break out on my skin.
He’s breathing just as hard as I am. “I’m scared, Scarlett.”
I hold back tears. Dean never uses my real name, so I know he’s serious. I tighten my grip around his waist. “I am, too. But I will not let them take you away from me.”
“I know and I trust you.”
I pick my head up and stare into Dean’s eyes. “I love you, Dean Mercer, and I refuse to let you go.”
He leans in and kisses me gently. “I love you, Scarlett Kane, and I won’t let them take me without a fight.”
I use the bathroom and wash up. When I come back out, Ghost is sitting upright against the headboard. He’s shirtless. Bare skin over twitching muscle. He doesn’t want to sleep, and neither do I.
“I felt it,” Ghost finally says. His voice is raw. “I felt myself go cold. Like something cracked open and poured in.”
I sit next to him and press my hands to his back, grounding him with my touch.
“They used my own memories,” he whispers. “That phrase, ‘blood for the hollow’, I heard it during a briefing, years ago. I thought it was just ops slang. But last night… itactivatedsomething. Pulled me somewhere that I had no control.”
“Then let me be the thing that pulls you back in,” I say. “Let me be louder than them.”
Ghost turns. Finally. His eyes are glassy but alive. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“You won’t.” I press my forehead to his. “Because whatever they put in you, I’ll burn it out. You are not theirs. You’re mine.”
Ghost’s breath hitches. His hands shake, but they wrap around me tightly. And in this moment, I don’t care if I have to carve his soul out of every lab-grown command in his brain.
I feel it, underneath the fear. The fight. He’s not slipping.
He’s still burning. Still himself. Still ours.
Chapter Sixteen
Ghost
The night tastes like ash and bourbon. I can feel it on my tongue as we cut through the crowd, Phoenix and I, side by side, hunting death dressed like it belongs. Costumes stretch for blocks. Ghouls and glitter, devils with fake blood, and angels missing wings. Somewhere inside it all, real monsters wait, cloaked in sugar and bone. The Hollow Sons are planning a slaughter, and the city dances on, blind and laughing.
“Eyes sharp,” Phoenix says, her voice low, riding just under the rhythm of drums and distant brass.
I nod, my hand brushing the grip of my Glock under my jacket. I’ve never seen her like this, focused to the point of fracture, rage humming just beneath her skin. I want to touch her, anchor her, but there’s no space for softness out here.
We slip between alleyways, following smoke trails and radio bursts from Viper and Gypsy. The Non Cras are flanking the Quarter, closing in like a noose. Phoenix and I are the spearpoint meant to drive straight into the Hollow Sons’ heart.
“Any word from MV?” I ask, keeping pace with her stride.
She shakes her head once. “Off-grid. Which means it’s worse than we thought.”
The first scream doesn’t sound real. It’s too high, too sharp. The crowd just thinks it's part of the act, more Halloween theatrics. But Phoenix knows. I know. We run.
We hit Dauphine Street at a sprint. The air changes. Copper thick and smoke-curled. A body stumbles out of the shadows dressed as a skeleton, but the red on his chest isn’t paint. His mask slips as he falls, revealing the brand burned into his cheek.
Hollow Sons.
Phoenix fires first. Two clean shots. The body jerks, then folds into the gutter. Chaos explodes like a match tossed on dry leaves. Screams ripple through the crowd. Children cry. Music dies. A girl in a witch hat tries to pull her friend away from the blood slicking the cobblestones. And then they’re everywhere.
Dozens of Hollow Sons, painted like corpses, move through the masses, slashing, grabbing, stabbing. The masks make them ghosts. The blood makes them real.
I lose sight of Phoenix for a beat and feel panic claw up my spine. Then I catch her, already taking down two men with that blade she hides in her boot. She fights like fury incarnate, like she’s burning from the inside out and needs violence to breathe.
