Page 141 of The Donor’s Dilemma

He took the microphone, ignoring Stella’s frown when his hand shook.

Just read the speech. Get it over with. Find her.

The steps felt impossibly tall as he climbed them. The stage impossibly high, crowd impossibly wide. He looked out over smiling faces, humans living in blissful ignorance, who, if Vivienne had her way, would be running for their lives within weeks as the predators among them turned.

“Good evening,” he said, raising the microphone to his lips, frowning when nothing came through.

“The button,” Stella mouthed from the wings, miming the switch on its side. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd as he found it and forced a smile.

“Good evening, everybody.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to thank everyone for...”

He looked down at the page. Whatever was written wasn’t what came out of his mouth. He stumbled, thanked vendors, thanked the community, lost his thread entirely, and then, scanning the crowd for some kind of anchor, he saw him.

Nose ring. Freckles. The man Jesse had searched for all night. The one no one could find, pushing through the crowd not thirty feet away.

He flipped to the last page, skipping ahead, reading fast, something about unity, about humans and vampires building something together, about his love for his partner. He paused at the word. Partner. That was what she was. He looked up.

“As I’m sure many of you are aware, Verity has been the driving force behind this festival. None of it would have been possible without her, without her vision. A community united and a celebration of the new start Ostara brings. Her dedication, her love for her city. She inspires me everyday, and I’d like to thank her from the bottom of my heart.”

He thrust the microphone at Stella before the applause even started, already moving, cutting through the crowd.

If there was one thing Vivienne had been right about, it was that vampires were predators, and once the singular focus of the hunt locked into place, nothing got in the way. He wove through the crowd, water finding the path of least resistance, ignoring people who called his name, instinct overriding every shred of decorum.

The man turned down an alley. Theo followed.

Her scent hung in the air behind him. Verity’s hair, the trace of her perfume, and underneath it, blood. Vivienne said she wouldn’t be hurt, but she already had been.

He rounded the corner and Theo nearly lost him until he came face to face with a small group of men.

The one at the front smiled. Theo knew him. Loitering outside the Exchange. Handcuffed at a protest. In a narrow street, silver in his hand. Kane. He pulled a familiar shining blade from his pocket, and Theo remembered his voice the instant he spoke.

“We meet again, Lord Chapel.” He turned the knife, catching the light. The others fanned out beside him, weapons drawn. “Guess we didn’t do a good enough job last time.”

“No,” Theo said. “I’m afraid not.” His eyes didn’t leave Kane’s. “At least this time you’ve got the balls to face me, instead of stabbing me in the back like a coward.”

Kane grinned. “We’ll see how talkative you are once you’ve had a taste of silver.”

Between the adrenaline, the hatred, the fury burning unchecked through his veins, he didn’t wait another second. Didn’t hold back. Didn’t care if these men lived or died, and he didn’t care what they’d done to him before.

They stood between him and Verity. Nothing else mattered.

This time, Theo didn’t wait for them to make the first move.

Chapter Forty-One

Each breath came small and wheezing. Verity tried to stay still but the ache in her ribs wouldn’t ease. Her hands were tied, one to each arm of the wooden chair. It was uncomfortable, padded once, but long since flattened. The only light spilled in from street lamps through tall windows, illuminating the storage room and Chloe’s emotionless face.

The sounds were muffled through the walls. For a moment she thought she heard Theo’s voice, but maybe she’d imagined it. Maybe it was the pain, or the knock to her head when she’d fought her captor and he’d shoved her into a door frame. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe people weren’t laughing outside. Maybe the choir hadn’t started.

No. The choir was singing and Verity almost smiled. How many years had they practised at that pub without ever being asked to perform? She’d invited them. Even locked away, hurting and hidden, she was glad she could hear them.

The only other sound in the room was the soft hiss of fabric, Chloe running the curtain between her fingers, over and over, staring out the window. Her face was blank, a girl who had taught herself, a long time ago, how to stop looking afraid. She wouldn’t meet Verity’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” Verity asked. “Did he hurt you?”

Chloe didn’t move.

“If Vivienne hurt you...”