Rariel had to hand it to the demon—he was sneaky as shit, tricking Idess into flashing him to Shade’s old apartment. From there, he’d hoofed it over here and slipped inside when Runa opened the door.
Rariel kneeled next to her and adjusted the ski mask he wore to conceal his identity. The bitch had wrenched it askew in her struggles. “I’m going to kill your cubs now.”
He gently smoothed his knuckles over her face in an odd, impulsive need to comfort her despite what he was saying. He despised that about himself, the little glints of goodness that hadn’t yet been corrupted by the evil surrounding him. Fortunately, they didn’t last long or happen often.
“You’ll hear their cries,” he continued, “but you can do nothing about it. I’ll take one of them, and you will tell Shade that I will trade him for Kynan. If you don’t hand over the human within twenty-four hours… use your imagination.”
She let out an agonized cry and tried to claw her way toward the stairs. He admired her pluck, for all the good it would do her.
Leaving her to bleed, Rariel followed the sound of wailing babies. They were at the top of the stairs, three of them, in a nursery decorated in deep blues and greens. Though toys littered the floor and animal murals covered the walls, the room was in no way set up like a frilly human nursery. Still, from the two rocking chairs to the daybed where it was obvious one or both parents had lain with the infants, the room was a testament to the love Runa and Shade shared for their offspring.
Regret turned Rariel’s stomach inside out, but after a single, shaky breath, he got over himself and lifted the loudest child out of his crib.
The thing bit him. Maybe wringing his little neck wouldn’t be so hard after all.
“Runa!” Shade’s shout carried up the stairs, and so did the pounding of feet. Shit.
Go, Roag said. I’ll slip into the Harrowgate with them. I want to watch Shade’s misery.
“Have fun.” Rariel cast one last glance at the two infants in the cribs, and flashed out of there with the third.
So he hadn’t killed the babies, but he’d still get what he wanted: Kynan. Dead. Amulet. In hand.
Idess. Disgraced.
Victory was so close he could taste it. As he materialized in his central Sheoul hideout, he smiled down at the glaring baby, and thought maybe he’d allow Deth a taste, too.
Of the child.
Needing to stretch her legs and feeling the itch of helplessness, Sin went to grab some coffee. Not that she knew where the cafeteria was. Funny how she found the very closet where she’d knocked boots with Conall, though.
Warmth flooded her body at the memory, and she actually trailed her fingers over the door as she passed.
Idiot.
And where the hell was the cafeteria? Lost in the maze of hospital halls, she followed the signs back to the emergency department, where the staff was concentrated around one curtained cubicle.
Craning her neck, Sin could make out the top of Eidolon’s head. Nimbly, she climbed up on one of the waiting-area chairs so she could get a better view. And then she wished she couldn’t see a damned thing.
Shade and Eidolon were in the tiny room, where a bloody female lay motionless on the bed. Shade looked as if he was going to break down at any second. The female must be Runa, his mate.
Eidolon and Shade were both channeling power into her, Eidolon cursing and Shade pleading. Twice Shade’s dermoire flared so bright Sin had to squint. Both times, Eidolon reached across Runa to lay a hand on his brother.
“Easy, bro,” Eidolon murmured the second time. “Downshift a gear. You’re going to burn yourself out.”
Shade trembled as his markings dimmed, though they still glowed brighter than Eidolon’s.
“Please, Runa.” Shade’s voice broke. “Come back to me, baby.”
Sin stood frozen, unable to look away from the female fighting for her life and the two males who were so fiercely trying to make it happen.
“Yo, Sin.”
She spun around to the owner of the voice, nearly falling off the chair. A red-haired female who bore the Seminus mate marks on her left hand stood next to her, but Sin couldn’t tell to which of the other brothers she belonged, given that her leather jacket and high collar covered the rest of the dermoire. But she held a squirming infant in each arm, and as Sin stepped down from the chair, the other female shoved a baby at her.
“Here. Hold your nephew.”
Too startled to refuse, Sin held out her hands, and the next thing she knew, her hands were full of rugrat. She sniffed it. Didn’t smell like baby powder or crap. Bonus.
“Are you Tayla?” Sin vaguely remembered Lore mentioning that Eidolon’s mate was a Guardian, and this woman was wearing a weapons harness beneath her jacket and a scabbard at her hip. Sin totally respected that.