Page 39 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

He had to go. Now.

Zarek stepped out the back door, and the moment it shut behind him, the veyll opened.

“Thank you,” he whispered over his shoulder to where she slept safe inside that house. He hoped he would never see her again, even though he wanted to. Even though she was the surprise he’d never counted on, that after so many centuries of being alive, he knew how rare surprises were to his kind. But also how dangerous they were, too.

SEVENTEEN

Angela woke with a start. Confused, she opened and closed her empty hands, spotting the rumpled sheets on her vacant bed as her heart dropped.

Zarek was gone. And with it came an emptiness that stretched seconds into hours as if she were already missing him.

Which was ridiculous. When grief and disbelief made up the overcoat she put on every day to face her own life, where the days all rolled into one. It wasn’t much, but it was hers, and it had been utterly, beautifully predictable. Get up, go to work, come home. Repeat.

But ever since the night she’d met him…

Angela sighed as she sat back in the chair as if still picturing him there, both vulnerable and half-naked on her bed. The details of the staves etched into his leathers, the boots, the blades, all of him.

Did he sneak off? Or did he run away in shame because she saw him during a weak moment? He’d probably decided she was too weird and bailed, just like every other guy who’d ghosted her in her non-existent dating life.

“Asshole,” she muttered. “What, no note? No goodbye? Where was the thank you for letting you swamp my bed with your black leather…” Okay, that bit was hot.

“Screw that.” Disgusted, she stripped the bed and shoved the sheets into the wash as if they’d personally offended her.

She liked being alone. And she had every intention of being alone. After countless rejections and sitting across empty tables from another no-show on date night, she was looking forward to becoming that old lady who locked away her heart to live alone at the end of the street with a dozen ex-street cats to not bother thinking about you-know-who.

Come on, she knew her worth. She had a house, a business, and a quality of life she liked. She didn’t have to lower her standards.

“Men,” she snapped at the empty room.

But the anger didn’t sit right. Because she felt… rested.

“Hmmm.” For the first time in a week, there had been no nightmares to plague her sleep. Maybe there was some good to come out of all this inconvenience.

In the kitchen, she put the coffee on and stared out at the backyard. Her barbecue had played its part in being a smokehouse, burning those rags last night. How long before one of her neighbors asked if she was truly burning some midnight oil, or just smoking everyone out because of mosquitos?

Then it hit her why he had been there.

How did she know where to find Zarek? How could she feel his pain like that, let alone know to kill that Black Cloak?

Where did that level of violence come from? And the things she did with kitchen salt weren’t right.

What also wasn’t right was that she was standing calmly at her kitchen counter instead of cowering in the corner like a loon, blubbering over killing evil.

Come on, this was the woman who jumped onto the kitchen table if a spider dared enter the house, shooing it back outside with a broom. And now here she was, using her scrappy athame to stab a being that turned to stone while flicking salt around like it was some kind of magical fairy dust.

She leaned both hands on the counter. “What the hell am I?”

Fear slid into irritation. Not over Zarek, but more for herself. She knew life had its battles and losses, and that it came with very few standing ovations where you could forget your flaws for just a fleeting moment. Sadly, today was not that day.

She snatched up her car keys with a need to find answers. And there was only one person she knew who talked about evil like it was real and not a metaphor, who could hopefully tell her that she wasn’t going crazy.

EIGHTEEN

Zarek materialized into the main hall of the Vanguard’s Keep, where the smell of food from the morning meal hit like a punch. His stomach growled with a hunger that almost bordered on pain.

He strode into the Great Hall, which fell silent the moment he entered. Dozens of warriors, new recruits, students, veterans, and officers looked up from their meals. As rainwater dripped from his coat onto the hardwood floors, he felt their attention like pressure against his skin. And beneath everything, a low, primal heat stirred in the depth of his chest. A presence, like a beast shifting in its cage, as every eye tracked him as he crossed the room toward the wide-open doors that led to the private dining room reserved for the Sworn Exarchs.

“Zarek!” Martar was on his feet, pushing past benches to reach him. His firm hands landed on Zarek’s shoulders, patting him down as if checking him over. “How are you?”