“How did they get in her head?” Zane asked.
Paxton felt dizzy, but he remained upright, facing the recrimination he deserved. “One of the nights I was home a few years ago, we watched movies at my uncle’s. I don’t know what happened. We were drinking some wine and watching the movie, and we both kind of fell asleep. We woke up when the movie was over and that was it. I didn’t sense anything. I didn’t feel anything at all.” He frowned, having gone over the night in his mind a million times as he painstakingly wrote that note.
“I’ve brought your uncle and his cronies in for questioning,” Zane said quietly.
In Paxton’s world, questioning meant interrogating, probably torturing. “My uncle was out of town,” he said evenly. “He was in the Baltics at that time, hunting down a seer who supposedly had information about the Seven ritual. I think Henric operated on us. It wasn’t Fralep. He doesn’t have the hands for it. It was definitely Henric.”
“I’ve brought them in as well.”
Paxton stood, the floor chilly beneath his feet. It was nice to feel anything right now. He figured he’d be dead. “You have to know that the Defenders have many cells in different locations throughout the world, and even after all this time, I don’t have a line on any of them. They’re traditionalists, autonomous, and each has a different mission. Mine was concerned with the Seven. For now, I want a shot at Henric.”
“I’m sure you do,” Zane said. “I’ll give you a go after I’m done.”
“I’m really sorry about this,” Pax said. “I got word to you as soon as I could. I had to be careful because I really do believe Henric wants Hope dead.”
Zane straightened, coming off the wall. “Why is that?”
“Because she’s the Lock. If she’s not around, the Seven can’t perform the final ritual,” Paxton admitted. “I have them convinced that if something happens to her, another Lock will show up. That they can’t just end this by taking her out.”
“It’s a good strategy,” Zane admitted.
He’d been plotting for so long. “Yeah,” Paxton said. “So now their grand goal is to kill everyone. The Seven, the Keys, the Lock, and even the Keeper of the circle. I think. I’m not privy to what they’re really planning, but that’s been my fear.”
Zane’s gaze narrowed. “Paxton, I’ve seen some of the missions you went on. You know there are cameras or satellites everywhere. You could have killed all of them and not built up a sweat.”
“I know,” Paxton said, the constant ache in his chest starting to unravel now that Hope’s brain was clear. “But they have safeguards, or at least they did. Henric has somebody out there I’ve never been able to find. If he doesn’t check in with that person on a regular schedule I’ve never figured out, then Hope dies. I couldn’t take that chance.”
Zane scrutinized him. “I need you to tell me everything you know about the Seven, the ritual, and the leader of the Kurjan nation.”
“Gladly,” Paxton said. “Unfortunately, even after all the research we’ve done, the fights we’ve encountered, and the training I’ve undergone, all we know is that the Seven, many of them being your relatives, are planning a ritual that will somehow kill Ulric. They need the blood of the three Keys, and Hope has something to do with it—my guess is it’ll take her sacrifice. Something like this requires a price. Nobody knows anything more than that, which means it’s all probably bullshit.”
Zane snorted. “No, there’s always truth with the bullshit. We just don’t know what it is. Hope wants to meet Drake in the real world. She thinks she can broker some kind of peace. What do you think?”
“I think the Kurjans want war,” Paxton said honestly. “If there’s to be any peace, as far as they’re concerned, it means they’re the only ones left standing.” He knew that to his soul.
When Zane spoke next, his eyes darkened, going from green to greenish black. That could be mesmerizing to some, but it was a warning to Paxton. “Hope believes there is a fight within the Kurjan nation, and our source inside confirms that.”
“Maybe,” Paxton allowed. “But that doesn’t mean Drake wants peace with us. He may just want to get his people under control. If I were you, I wouldn’t let Hope get within a foot of him. You know she saw him the other night in a dreamworld.” He hated reporting her activities, but the more people protecting her, the better.
“Did she now?” Zane asked. “She’s an adult, and she’s a strategic genius.”
Paxton sighed. “I’m aware of that. However, she’s always had a blind spot for Drake, and she believes she’s got to follow her fate and find peace. She’ll sacrifice herself to do it, and while that may be okay with you, I’m not going to let it happen.”
He pivoted slightly, putting himself toe to toe, chest to chest, against one of the most powerful immortals ever to walk the planet. Zane was born and bred to lead the demons, and he was as deadly as they came.
Instead of lashing out, Zane just regarded him. “As much as I would like to encourage you on that, you have a bigger problem to worry about, Paxton.”
“What is that?” Pax asked.
“The concentration of that drug in your blood has increased. It’s not disappearing in you as it is in Hope. She should be clear of it by tomorrow. So obviously it was made just for you.”
“Great,” Pax muttered, even as he relaxed at the news that Hope would be safe from the drug. It wasn’t a surprise. There was no doubt in his mind that Drake had been planning to get rid of him for years. “Why am I not dead, then?”
“We don’t know,” Zane said. “Emma’s researching around the clock, trying to figure out what it is and why it’s interacting with your system differently. There’s something in your genetic makeup that has reacted oddly with the drug, and obviously the Kurjans had a sample to work with to create a weapon specifically designed to injure you. There’s one avenue we might have to pursue.”
Paxton remained still and stoic, but inside, for just a second, he flashed back to that terrified little kid living alone with his father. When he thought he had himself under control, he forced himself to go cold. “I guess it’s time to see good old Dad.”
Paxton stood outside the jail bars and surveyed Henric and Fralep as well as his uncle. His uncle looked relatively unscathed, but the other two men were bleeding, wounded, and damaged. The interrogators had not gone easy on either of them.
His phone buzzed, and he lifted it to his ear. “Phoenix.”
“Hey, it’s Oscar. I’m still in San Diego—no luck with your father. He was here a month ago.”
“Thanks.” Pax ended the call and sent off a series of texts to other sources around the world. It was time to call in a few of the favors he’d earned in the last few years. Then he concentrated again on the occupants of the cell.
As he watched, Henric turned to the side and spat out a couple of teeth.