I step through the door, and Legion follows, grabbing my gloved hand as he takes the lead down the hallway. On both sides, we pass doors, some of them open but most closed. The ones that are open offer a glimpse into an office, each of them empty, which makes sense considering how early it is.

  Near the far end, an open doorway leads to a large conference room, but Legion doesn’t stop until we come to the main doors. There, a large reception area features a high counter, and behind it, a male in uniform springs to his feet at the sight of us.

  “General.” He salutes Legion, casting me a wary look.

  “At ease, Whitman,” Legion says. “Where’s Klyn?”

  “Not here yet, sir.”

  “Thanks. As you were.”

  Legion tugs my hand, and we continue past the confused guard through a side door that Legion unlocks with his hand print.

  “Sir, is she⁠—”

  The guard’s voice is lost as the door closes behind us, sealing us inside a low-lit hallway. The doors are all equipped with scanners for entry, but Legion bypasses the first few.

  “Where are we?” I ask as he stops in front of a door halfway down and presses his palm to the scanner.

  The lock disengages, and Legion motions for me to enter.

  I have no idea what I was expecting, but a large room containing wall-to-wall weapons is not it. I stare open-mouthed at the rows of daggers, short-swords, and various other uniquely deadly items.

  “Is this the entire army’s weapons cache?” I ask.

  “This?” Legion turns back from where he’s crossed to a small keypad. He frowns at me. “No. This is just for the officers.”

  “Damn.” I whistle. “I guess joining organized crime has its perks.”

  His mouth quirks. “Crime, huh? I thought the army was for defending its leaders.”

  I lift a brow. “Isn’t Tartarus a prison world?”

  He goes back to punching in some code. A second later, a click sounds, and another display wall is revealed. This one isn’t full of weapons though, and I immediately take a step back.

  “No fucking way.”

  Legion grabs an armored breastplate off the wall. When he swings his gaze back to mine, there’s a full fire blazing in his eyes. “No fucking way you’re going without it.”

  He takes a step toward me.

  I take a step back.

  “I’m not wearing that.”

  “You’re wearing this and this,” he says, pausing again to snatch a thigh plate off the wall as he comes for me. “Or you’re not going.”

  My back hits the closed door, and I glare up at him. “You planned this,” I accuse. “Bringing me here and forcing me to wear this crap. It’s why you agreed to let me come so easily.”

  “The fact that you thought I’d let you just walk right into what I have planned for those monsters, without so much as a steel plate of protection strapped to your body, is remarkably naïve, little assassin.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Assassin. I’m scary. And dangerous. I don’t need all this showy shit. It’ll only slow me down.”

  “Hold this,” he growls.

  He shoves the breastplate at me. When I don’t take it, he bares his teeth and says, “Just fucking hold it.”

  I snatch the breastplate, letting it dangle in my hands. He grasps the edges and lifts it so that the breastplate is held flat against my torso. Then he backs away five paces and snatches a bow off the wall.

  Before I realize what he intends, he’s taken an arrow out of the quiver, notched it, and let it fly. It slams into the breastplate hard enough to vibrate my wrists painfully before the steel-tipped arrow clatters to the ground at my feet.

  In the silence, I stare at Legion, not sure whether to scream or fight or just walk out. “You just shot me.”

  “It’s not for show,” he says simply.

  “You just shot me,” I repeat through clenched teeth. My temper is like molten lava poured through my veins. How did I ever think this asshole was nice?

  “You wear the armor, or you stay here.”

  “Or go alone,” I say, dropping the breastplate and turning for the door.

  His hand closes over my arm, pulling me back to face him. I yank away from his grip and look up at him. His eyes are blazing almost as brightly as they do when he’s in his dragon form.

  “I wasn’t asking,” he says in a deadly quiet voice.

  “I don’t take orders from you, General.”

  Whatever power I think my temper holds is nothing compared to the way he stares at me now. “I’m not ordering as your general. You are not a mere soldier to me, little assassin. You are so much more than that. You are the breath in my lungs. The beat of my heart. If you are injured or⁠—”

  He stops, his breathing ragged, his eyes blazing with an intensity I feel in my core.

  “Just wear the armor, love.”

  Love.

  I am not proud of the way my knees weaken and my heart skips a beat at the silly nickname. Nor am I proud of the way my ovaries practically hum inside me. I should be better than this, and yet…

  “Fine.”

  His lips twitch almost imperceptibly. I tell myself it’s a sign that I’ve pleased him—not that I want to—and not him just being smug as fuck about winning the argument.

  The armor is surprisingly light and easy to move in, thanks to whatever magic has been woven into the material. I don’t dare admit that to Legion, who stands surveying his work once everything is strapped into place. Finally, he grunts, which apparently is alphahole code for “looks good.”

  “Happy?” I ask.

  His eyes snap up from my thigh coverings to meet my stare. The gleam from earlier returns. “If I say no, what will you do about it?”

  My stomach flips at all the ideas that spring to mind. Ideas that are all impossible or lethal at the moment. “Take it all off,” I say, knowing full well that would only make him suffer.

  “I look forward to the day I can call in that dare,” he says, and my heart tugs wistfully as I let myself imagine it.

  He reaches above my head, pulling down a sword and its belt that are mounted to the wall. I watch as he straps it to his waist then starts for the door.

  “Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” I demand.

  “We need to get moving if we’re⁠—”

  “Are you going in this form then?”

  “I want to be able to stick close to you.”

  “What about your armor?”

  Impatience flashes in his gaze. “I hardly need⁠—”

  “If I have to wear this crap, so do you.”

  “Tori.”

  “Why did you insist I wear this?”

  “Because I need you to be safe.”

  “Exactly. I deserve the same thing.”

  “You do know I’m immortal, right?”

  “You do know my sister’s visions are reliable, right?”

  He looks ready to argue, but after a heavy sigh, he turns around and grabs a chest plate from the wall. I watch as he straps it on, followed by a few more pieces.

  When he’s done, he’s not nearly as covered as I am, but it’s enough.

  “Satisfied?” he asks.

  The gleam in his eye is either a sexual innuendo—again—or a way of baiting me into another argument. I don’t trust myself in either scenario.

  “Let’s just get going,” I mutter, turning for the door.

  His chuckle is quiet at my back.

  I ignore it and march out the way we came in. When we emerge into the lobby again, a few people are entering through the main doors. They salute Legion and glance uncertainly at me.

  Legion leads me past them and out the doors. Outside, he sets a brisk pace down a walkway that leads straight toward the castle gates. We pass more soldiers as we go, each of them with a salute for Legion and a curious stare aimed at me.

  “Am I going to get into trouble for wearing this?” I ask as we walk.

  “Are you worried about being punished?” he asks with no small amount of enjoyment written on his features.

  I scowl. “I’m already in hell. Not sure what more you guys could do to me.”

  “Oh, I have lots of ideas.”

  I don’t have an answer for that one, so we walk in silence, passing through the gate with barely a word exchanged between Legion and the guards. As we get closer to the castle, we encounter more guards and more salutes.

  “Sir,” several murmur with respect and admiration reflected in their expression.

  I get more stares.

  Likely wondering who the masked warrior is beside their beloved General.

  But no one stops us, and soon enough, we’re through the portal and out the other side into the Crossroads. It’s deserted here other than the Tartarus guards posted at the portal entrance.

  One of them is a woman Legion addresses as Clara. After a quick conversation that involves several dubious glances from her, he breaks off and returns to my side.

  “What is it?” Legion asks as we leave the fountain and head for my house. The area is a lot more deserted than I expected. Dead trees and a lack of grass surround the entire portal area. Coating it all is a layer of blackened char marking a clear perimeter where the portal magic has infected our realm. Even the fountain is now stained black.

  Tartarus guards keep a watchful eye on it all, making sure no Crossroads citizens come into contact with the dark magic residue.

  “I’m surprised,” I say, “I thought the portal would have drawn more folks by now.”

  “Tartarus is being very selective about those they allow to pass through. Clara has guards keeping people outside the perimeter of the portal’s magic. We don’t want anyone else infected or hurt.”

  I glance up at him and find a hard expression. “Did something happen?”

  He glances at me then back to the road, his watchful gaze scrutinizing everyone we pass.

  “Legion?”

  He cuts me a look as if I’ve interrupted some distracting thought. “No.”

  “Reagan told me about the explosion,” I say.

  He looks at me, surprised, but then nods. “We hunted down those responsible.”

  “Yes, I heard you’re second best at interrogation.”

  “Who— Styx.”

  “Yeah.” I smirk at his scowl, but my smile fades quickly. “She said you got the name of the guy who set it all up.”

  “I did what had to be done.”

  A shadow passes over his expression. It’s a glimpse behind the mask of the death dragon. One of so many he’s shown me so far. He doesn’t enjoy hurting others. But he also won’t hesitate if it means protecting the ones he cares about.

  He doesn’t want to kill innocents either, I realize.

  “Good,” I say, drawing a look of surprise from him. “I’m glad you’re keeping people safe.”

  He doesn’t answer, but I can feel him relax at my acceptance.

  We walk a bit in silence.

  My armor earns me stares from the people we pass. I do my best to ignore them, but it feels strange to be back here. Like a lifetime has passed in my absence. Maybe that’s because, even in such a short amount of time, I’ve changed, but this world hasn’t.

  “Are you sure about stopping at my house first?” I ask. “You said you were here the other night and you didn’t run into anyone. Maybe they aren’t watching the place after all.”

  “They’re watching.”

  He doesn’t meet my gaze.

  “Legion,” I say, my tone a warning.

  His expression tightens, and he continues to look straight ahead as he says, “I may have been inaccurate with the details of my visit.”

  “Inaccurate,” I repeat, glaring daggers at his cheek.

  He glances at me then away again. “There may have been a couple of other visitors during my time collecting your plants. And I may have neutralized them.”

  “Do you think this vague military-speak is going to trick me into not being pissed at you?” I ask.

  He looks over at me, an evil grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “I had hoped.”

  “How many?”

  He sighs. “Three.”

  “And what did you do with the bodies?”

  He shrugs. “I left them. They deserve to bury their own dead. I can’t do it all.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  My temper cools as I realize, even more important than his omission—lie, technically—is the fact that he’s right. It’s daylight, which means the club will be empty. Vamps don’t love the sun, but it won’t stop them either. Letting them come to us is the smartest play. Going home will be like sending up a bat signal to let the Crimson Roses know where we are.

  “We’re going to talk about this later,” I grumble.

  Legion has the audacity to wink. “I look forward to it.”

  When my house comes into view, emotion slams into me. Grief weighs heavily as my gaze darts toward the backyard—the last place I saw Juniper.

  I make my way toward the front door, glad to bypass the backyard and all its memories. Beside me, Legion tenses. There’s no visible change in our surroundings, but I somehow just know he’s poised and ready for anything. It reassures me.

  When we reach the front porch, Legion grabs my arm.

  “I’m going in first,” he says, daring me to argue.

  But since I already know how that will go, I simply wave him through. He gives me a smug smirk before proceeding. His large frame fills the entire doorway, making it impossible to see whether a threat stands on the other side. But when he doesn’t yell or launch himself into an attack, I exhale, assuming the way is clear.

  He stalks slowly through the house, but I linger in the foyer, inhaling the scent of home and staring around at a house full of things that bring back so many memories. Tears burn my eyes. Juniper may not have lived here, but I see reminders of her everywhere I look.

  A photo of her and Kendall grinning at the camera from last Christmas. A throw blanket she brought over when I had a cold the year after my mother died. Her artwork hanging above the couch. A lump forms in my throat, and I blink back the tears that threaten to overtake the senses I know should remain on alert for threats.

  I end up in my bedroom, my gaze sweeping the space for anything important I might need. A tiny vial sits on my dresser, and I swipe it, tucking it into my pocket just as Legion returns from his sweep of the house.

  “All clear,” he says.

  I’m glad again for the mask that hides my emotions, but somehow he knows because he closes the distance, his hand coming up to cup my cheek in a surprisingly affectionate gesture.

  “It’s all right to be sad,” he says quietly.

  “How do you know I’m sad?”

  “Because I feel it. Through the bond.”

  “I miss Juniper.”

  “She fought bravely.”

  “She was a warrior,” I agree. “In her way. Like my mother. They were against violence and death, but they were fierce.”

  “That must be where you get it from.”

  My chin comes up in defiance, which is stupid considering everything. “Don’t forget that I actually have killed though.”

  “You may have taken life, but you are not a killer. There’s a difference.”

  Unlike before, this time when he says it, there’s no judgment. In fact, it’s admiration I see reflected in his dark gaze.

  A noise comes from the backyard, and I tense.

  Legion whirls toward the back door, already moving. I follow, chasing him through the kitchen and out the door into the yard. I catch a flurry of movement near the trees—a figure disappearing at the edge of the charred yard—and Legion races after them.

  I start to follow but stop when the scent of blood hits me. It comes from the direction of my workshop, and I look over to find the door hanging open. Even from here, I can see it’s empty of plants. The plants Legion carried from here all the way to his home in Tartarus—for me.

  But the scent of blood is strong, so I follow it, stepping into the shadowed interior. In the back of the space, on the floor, is a body lying prone in a pool of blood that’s slowly saturating the wooden plank flooring.

  Whatever happened is still fresh. My heart squeezes as I approach.

  I crouch, peering below the worktable, and gasp at the sight of Chase Lanson, the elf Kendall had a crush on. Rounding the table quickly, I lean down beside him, hoping to find a pulse. But his throat is nearly gone, ripped messily open by narrow slashes that look a hell of a lot like teeth marks.

  Fangs, actually.

  Vampires did this.

  My eyes catch on something on the floor nearby. I pull off the fabric covering on my face and stare at it, my stomach tightening into knots.

  A crimson rose.

  Legion appears in the doorway, his eyes burning with intensity.

  “Did you catch them?” I ask, pushing to my feet.

  “I let one go to deliver our message,” he says in a deadly promise. “What is it?”

  “Chase Lanson.” I swallow hard. “Kendall’s friend. He must have come looking for her when she didn’t show up to school. Gods, he’s only a teenager. And now he’s dead.” I hold up the flower. “With a crimson rose left behind.”

  Legion’s dark eyes blaze with contempt. “They will pay for his life. Come on.”

  I follow him out, glad for the fresh air, inhaling gulps to clear the chaos buzzing inside me. But I don’t keep going like I know he wants. When he sees I’m not following, he turns back, impatience flashing.

  “He died because of me,” I say, still trying to process all of it.

  The dead elf.

  The calling card I know only belongs to one person.

  And it’s not Em.

  “No,” Legion says roughly. “He died because of evil creatures who think they can destroy without consequence.”

  “This rose… it’s Uziah’s thing. He told me once it was the mark of the leader. He went on and on about it too, spouting some elitist bullshit.” Legion doesn’t answer, letting me process it. “Do you think they mistook him for me? He was in the workshop…”

  “I think Uziah wanted to get your attention. To make you come looking for him.”