“This can’t wait.” Kent’s tone crossed the border from demanding into confrontational territory.
Great. Isleen didn’t need to witness him and Kent going at it—and that’s what was about to happen. He gave Isleen a final glance, then walked out of her room, heading toward the waiting area they’d just left.
The pain slammed into his head so unexpectedly that he gasped and grabbed his temple. All the noises he hadn’t noticed only moments before traffic-jammed inside his ears. What was going on with his hearing? All this time, days sitting at Isleen’s bedside, the sounds hadn’t bugged him as much as they did right now. Isleen was the key to a door he hadn’t known existed.
He’s hiding something. Or protecting her. Something is going on.
Inside the still-empty waiting room, Xander pivoted to face Kent. “I don’t know what’s got your big boys in a twist, but—”
“This.” Kent shoved his phone in front of Xander’s face. “I just got this message from one of the local guys.”
Officer Decker: Female vic. Mid-twenties. Stabbed to death. Prospectus Prairie Park. Since you’re in the neighborhood, you boys want in on this?
Chapter 6
Sunshine peeked through the closed blinds of the Dragon’s hospital room, casting a divine golden glow around the space—a sign of the Lord’s approval. But still, dread weighed heavily on King’s shoulders, making each footstep to the bed a burden. He fingered the gold cross in his pants pocket, rubbing his thumb over the warm metal.
Chosen One’s words came to him: It is much the same for all who’ve been asked to complete such a task. We are here but to serve the Lord, not to question.
“Lord, wrap me in your grace, protect me with your virtue, grant me your strength.” King spoke the words at near-normal volume. Verbalizations carried more power than silent prayer. Though he’d dictated every moment of the Dragon’s captivity, he hadn’t actually seen her since he’d taken her—couldn’t risk falling victim to her devilry. Only Queen—may his sister’s soul be resting with the Lord—had been immune.
King remembered how the Dragon had looked back then, all platinum hair and big, baby-doll eyes too beautiful to be normal.
He stared down at the frail figure in the bed. Even now, her features carried a beguiling innocence. He could never allow himself to forget what he’d been taught: True evil never came with a warning; it masqueraded as beauty and grace.
“Why didn’t you just die?” It had been his responsibility to eliminate the Dragon, but he’d been weak in his faith. So weak. He hadn’t been able to bear the idea of murder. And if the Lord commanded thou shalt not kill, how was King to reconcile that with the Lord ordering him to kill? That paradox had been an infinite source of anguish. He’d spent days on his knees, praying—begging—for an answer, but the Lord had always remained silent, further testing King’s faith.
So King had just contained the Dragon, temporarily keeping the world safe from her influence.
He spoke around the sob wanting to escape the confines of his throat. He needed to make a final confession before he fulfilled his duty. “I prayed—oh, I prayed—that the wrongness inside you was separate from your soul. I prayed it would vanish under the weight of your suffering body. I had you starved to deprive the evil. I had you beaten to make your body a hostile environment. I had you drained of blood to weaken evil’s power. Nothing worked.”
He licked his thumb and pressed it to the center of her forehead. Her skin was hellfire, burning through his flesh. He hissed a breath but forced himself to trace a cross.
She didn’t move, didn’t awaken, but her power blazed underneath his finger.
Sweat burst from his pores. “If only you hadn’t left your prison…”
He slipped one hand underneath her head—and red-hot agony nearly buckled his knees. His palm smoked, and the scent of his burning flesh singed his nose. He didn’t let her go. He pulled out the pillow and, with excruciating tenderness, settled her head back against the mattress. Tears watered his vision and then spilled down his cheeks. Guilt clogged in his throat, making it difficult to speak. “I never wanted you to end this way.”
Sweat dripped from his temples and down his forehead, and mingled with his tears in a baptism of salt. He tightened his grip on the pillow, arranged it over her face. A moan slipped from his lips as he pressed the material down. “Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.” He sobbed the words, not knowing if they were for her or the Lord.