Page 22 of The Bonds of Indigo

“Anything to do with what happened in Sidence? I heard the sky turned red. Lots of casualties. You weren’t stationed there, right?”

I chuckle somberly. “Yeah, I was there. But that wasn’t my work.” The painful image of the aftermath and of those two lying silent in death together, pushes me to move on. “I wanted to borrow your dark web talents. I can’t go through militia channels, and I’ll need you not to as well.”

“Oh, sounds fun. What’re we lookin’ for?”

“Who. Let me know when you’re ready to take this down.”

I hear typing and a bit of shuffling. “Ready.”

“I’m looking for any information on a Witch by the name of⁠—”

My tongue hits the roof of my mouth, freezing mid-word.

What the fuck?

“Kayn?”

“Sorry, that’s weird. Her name is—” Pain stings as my fang pierces my tongue, copper flooding into my mouth. “Alright, what the fuck?”

“You good, man?”

I sit up, legs spread, pulling the phone off speaker. “The name is⁠—”

This time my throat tightens, the words dying before they’re born. No matter how hard I try to say Amarah Holloway, I can’t.

“Let me send you a picture.” Groaning, I grab my phone, snap a photo of the paper, and send it to him.

“Got it, one second…”

This is so damn strange. Why can’t I say it out loud?

“You sent me a blank piece of paper, bud. But, uh… are you naked right now? Are those your thighs?”

I don’t respond. I just stare down at the clearly not blank page.

“I also see your feet. For free? How generous of you.”

“Do you know anything about Yldarwrights?”

“You made that shit up,” he chortles.

“I said the same thing…”

“They can’t have my n—” Damn it. I should’ve asked exactly why they couldn’t have her fucking name.

My patience is thinning. I’m not usually like this—not with women, and not with anyone who doesn’t deserve it. But something about her… it gets under my skin. It probably has to do with her killing all those kids.

“You gonna finish that thought, or was that it?” Atlas’s voice pulls me back. “I can’t help you without a name.”

“Right… I’ll call you tomorrow. Need to think something through.”

“Alright, man. Just let me know. Good talking to you.”

“You too.” I hang up and toss the phone toward the foot of the bed.

Opening my hand, I stare at my palm, then trace a line up my forearm to the ink lined there—a lioness with a butterfly perched on her snout, a tribal sun crowned above her head. Just this single tattoo thrusts me back to the memory of meeting him.

I’ve got to get a hobby or something. Running through a forest without chasing someone just isn’t as exciting, and honestly, I’m bored out of my mind. I never understood why Vampires rarely lived past a few hundred years, but now that I’ve hit my five-hundredth, I’m starting to see why.