Page 17 of Heimlock

Adrenaline pulses in my veins as we approach the house. Next to me, Surnelia hugs herself, her steps tentative.

I brush a hand over her elbow. “It’ll be okay. I’m here. He won’t be able to do anything. We’ll get in, grab your things, and get out.”

She looks at me, almond-shaped blue eyes full of doubt. As a siren, she already has it tough in the city. Grabbing her belongings with her abusive Seraphim ex-boyfriend hovering is a terrifying prospect. For her.

Not me.

I’ll crisp up those feathers without blinking.

Their house is of typical Gondoran style, made of pale stone and metal, with domed ceilings over the main spaces. The yard’s a mess, and the shutter’s blue paint is peeling. There are no signs of life, but that doesn’t mean anything. She thinks Bael is here, so I need to be prepared for anything.

Surnelia stops at the front door, wiping her hands against her shirt. Casting me a nervous glance, she says, “You sure we don’t need anyone else here?”

What she’s really asking is, do we need a man here?

Flashing a grin, I lift my hair. Fire crackles above my palm. “I’m positive.”

I also have thousands of hours in the arena at this point, but there’s no need to brag.

She still looks doubtful, but opens the door anyway. The hallway’s darkened from the shuttered windows. The lone light comes from the domed ceiling.

We exchange a look; I raise my hand of flame, signalling for her to wait. While she presses against the wall, I take quiet steps into the house.

It’s eerily quiet here. Enough to raise the hair on my arms. “Hello?”

My voice echoes. Maybe there’s no one actually here. She’s confident Bael’s here, but it wouldn’t be the first time one of my girls was wrong.

Turning to Surnelia, I whisper, “Where’s your room?”

She points to a hallway on my left. “Down at the end, to the right.”

“Wait here.”

Surnelia curls into herself, fear plastered all over her features. From the reports, I know the beatings were nasty. Broken bones, permanent scars … not unlike Orliana.

Thinking about my best friend’s hidden wounds pisses me the fuck off. Mikan is beyond lucky that I found out too late. He would’ve been cremated on the spot.

Keeping my steps light, hoping my combat boots don’t catch a squeaky floorboard, I creep down the hallway. Power sings through my veins, aching to burn everything down. It’s a destructive instinct, one I haven’t fully entertained since the night I left my mother’s house in ashes.

As the room draws closer, sounds appear. Scuffling and muttering. Clenching my jaw, I pause at the bedroom doorway; peer around the edge of the doorframe.

Bael’s digging through drawers, throwing items around. Searching for something. Probably a clue to where Surnelia went. He’s so busy muttering to himself, he didn’t hear me call out.

He’s big, with nine-foot tall blue wings, pale blue skin, and midnight blue hair. Like most Seraphim, he’s naturally buff. Those muscles aren’t for show either. Physically, I’m outmatched … if I didn’t know what I was doing.

Stepping fully into the doorway, I clear my throat. Bael stands, whirling around, his blue eyes manic. They narrow on me with suspicion, then widen when he sees my fire. I add a second fireball to my other hand.

His voice is full of threats when he growls, “Who are you?”

“I’m here to help Surnelia collect what she needs. Stay out of our way and there won’t be any issues.”

He takes a menacing step forward. “Is she here?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I give the balcony doors a pointed look. “You’re going to stand outside until I say you can come back in. Or I’ll be having a barbecue for lunch.”

He sneers. “A tiny thing like yourself is going to stop me?”

“I’ve kicked the asses of bigger,” I say blandly.