Page 104 of For Dear Life

“What? I wasn’t there!”

Adam smirks up at me. “You’ve never planted false memories in someone’s mind?”

“You’re lying!”

Dipping my head, I fight against the girl who’d rip Josef apart, avoiding looking at Rowan, only reassured he’s okay by his heartbeat in my ears.

“You’ve lost either way, sweetheart,” says Adam.

“Who’s doing this?” I shout at him. “There’s someone else. Someone bigger.”

“Isn’t there always?” Adam chuckles.

Josef claps his hand, a gleeful smile on his malevolent face. “This is better than anticipated and all I had to do was follow. We have a number of deaths here,” says Josef and gestures at Viggo and Grant. “Not enough though.” I cringe as Josef strikes out at the witch, kicking him beneath the chin until his head snaps back. Josef glances at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill him. That’s your job.”

Where’s Grayson? I lift my head and inhale, desperate to sense him too. Maybe he left to warn Dorian. And the bear… “Where did Trent go?”

Josef shrugs, but his expression’s less casual. “He got away. My bastard nephew helped the wrong person as usual. This would’ve been over much quicker if you’d killed Trent for attacking Rowan.”

“You do know the police and my father are on their way?” I tell Josef.

“Yes. But there’s still time.”

“Kai’s safe,” I spit, pointing at bloody footprints leading away from us. “Your client will be impressed.”

“Mmm.” Josef steps closer and I prepare to launch myself at him, but he merely darts to one side and looks down at Rowan. “Why aren’t you helping your bonded, Violet? Playing for time?”

“If you value your life, do not touch Rowan.”

He pouts. “You’d kill a Petrescu, and witches, and shifters. Dear me, you really are out of control. Just look at the state you’re in.”

As I stare at the vamp, wiping the blood leaking from my nose, stories of my father tumble into my mind. Some speak of his infamy for slow, sadistic torture; others how he could pull apart person after person in a room before anybody catches up to what’s happening. Heads smashed, throats opened, and Dorian’s high from his actions spurring him on.

But Dorian was created and taught to be that thing by others; an experiment that backfired because they gave him something they shouldn’t. Intelligence. Dorian ended every threat to his and his families’ lives and continues that behavior to this day.

Josef Petrescu. The witches. They all rely on me to be the same as Dorian, and here I am—in a warehouse with a crushed shifter, and a dead witch bleeding out. Whoever’s at the pinnacle of this attack on the supernatural world, these aren’t the only victims they want. Even if arrests happen tonight, this is not over.

“Kill the witch!” shouts Josef. “I need the shifters back in my control. These witches need to know I’m a step ahead of their pathetic plans for a coup.”

I shake my head, wishing I could shake away the images of Dorian. I wasn’t created to be a weapon, but I’ve a part of him seeded deep in my soul by birth. And right now, my bond to Rowan feeds this part and the hybrid flourishes. Everything I can see Dorian doing in my mind? If Rowan’s dying, that’ll be child’s play compared to what I’ll do to these men.

Rowan isn’t dead. Rowan isn’t dead. I repeat the mantra as the hybrid nudges, telling me I should kill the witch anyway. End Josef. They deserve to die.

I’ve no chance at rationality anymore. Especially not when Josef hauls Rowan from the floor like a rag doll and spins him to face me, one sharp nail against a jugular. “Let’s hurry this up.”

Every sense hones razor sharp as I face off Josef. “Do you think you’d survive if you killed a hybrid’s bonded witch?” I snarl out.

He’s waiting for me to pounce, but I’m preternaturally still, calculating—how and where to strike, the moment my speed could catch him unaware.

Take out a threat to my father. My world. Me.

I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Ragged breaths saw from me, and I switch my focus to Rowan. My father could move fast enough, but Josef’s reflexes would almost equal mine. Rowan would die before I touched the vampire. Rowan’s injured but breathing, and as I will him to open his eyes, my stomach lurches when he does. There’s no signs of the sparks from his elemental magic, nothing moves magically within the warehouse. He’s too weak.

Fire’s my strongest element, but impossible to use here. Plus, if my violent hemia side is overruling the witch part of who I am, I’ve no chance to use shadow magic to end this. I don’t have the control to use magic as quickly and easily as a full-blooded witch.

I bite my lip. But Rowan’s capable of conjuring shadows without my touch. He already contains them. Leif told me shadows exploded around Rowan when I died at the lodge. I’ve always repressed them; never practiced—I suspect Rowan has and could use them now.

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