Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)

“So we just let her die?” I said.

“She is dead, Damien. There is nothing we can do.”

The words were too real, sinking into me like a lead weight, carrying me under until I could barely breathe. Never to see her smile, feel her touch, hear her laughter. No, she couldn’t be gone.

I inched closer to the bed, needing to feel her, to hear her voice, feel her hand resting on my chest like she did while we sat together every day. Once more. That was all I needed. Just one more time.

Waleron grabbed my arm and jerked me back. “No, Damien. Leave here. I will take her back to the coven.”

I pulled out of his grip and glared at him. I felt the heat of my Ink tingling on my shoulder. It was moving within me, needing vengeance—freedom. My Ink had a mind of its own, and I never called to it because it had more control over me than I had of it.

Waleron knew it too by the way his eyes swirled with power. “Unleash it and I will retaliate with its demise.”

“Then give me this. Give me time to say goodbye.”

“No. I feel your emotions. You will do anything to see her live. I cannot risk it. Walk away, Damien,” Waleron warned.

My eyes blazed with fury and my Ink burned. Everything in me said to fight for her, but everything sane said to walk away and live another day.

A sudden intake of breath had both of us turning to the bed.

“Abby?” I ran to the bed, fell to my knees, and took her hand. “Sweet Jesus, Abbs, I thought I’d—”

“Get away from her!” Waleron shouted. He nodded to the glass of water that had been on the nightstand and now lay empty next to her on the bed. Abby’s face was covered in water. “She’s Transitioned.”





AFTER WALERON’S ABRUPT DEPARTURE and Jedrik going after Trinity, which had Kilter and Keir diving for him before he reached her, the Scars discussed what to do next. Kilter would go to Liam’s club, and Delara and Jedrik would Track the woman from the compound. Balen was to hunt CWOs and vampires and try to obtain answers from them.

I’d mentioned calling Roarke to see if he could tell us more, but Kilter had gone deadly quiet. So had everyone else. They blamed Roarke for Hannah and the other Scars’ deaths and for what happened to Ryker, and they were right to blame him. He was partially responsible.

That was when Kilter grabbed my hand and we went downstairs to his bedroom. And that was when he kissed me until my knees weakened then told me to stay here and he’d be back later.

That was two hours ago.

I took out the crinkled piece of paper from the side pocket of my purse. I’d debated for hours whether to call him, and I couldn’t wait any longer. I tapped the numbers on my cell.

“Yeah?”

“Roarke? It’s Rayne.”

Silence, then, “You okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay. But the woman from the compound, we need to know about her. Who is she and why—” I jerked when there was a crash upstairs.

“Rayne? What wrong?”

A loud thump.

Oh, God, it was like a body hit the floor. “I don’t know. Someone is here.” The sounds became louder, like furniture being overturned. Kilter. I had to call Kilter.

“Get out of there,” Roarke ordered. “Where are you? I’ll meet you.”

“I’m at the Scars’ house.”

“Rayne, we can’t hold them off much longer. You need to get out. Go to the gallery. Delara will meet you.” It was Keir speaking telepathically to me. He was upstairs fighting with whoever was after me.

“Talk to me,” Roarke shouted into the phone.

I shoved on my shoes. “They want me to go the gallery. It’s on—”

“I know where it is,” he interrupted. He did? “I’ll meet you in the park a block away. Do not go inside the gallery without someone with you. Got it?”

“Keir said Delara will meet me.” There was a loud roar and then glass shattering.

“Meet me at the park gates. Now, get out of there. Use your Ink, Rayne. She’ll protect you.”

My Ink. My Ink no longer rose to my calls. I ran to the window and shoved it open just as I heard footsteps thump down the stairs. “Oh, God. They’re coming.”

“Rayne. Get out of the house and call your fuckin’ Ink. Anton didn’t kill it. He’d never do that, he was a scientist and that’s the last thing he’d do. It lives.”

I hung up the phone, slid it in my pocket, and then climbed up and out the window. I turned and shut it before crawling on my hands and knees between the house and the bushes. Then I peered around the corner. There were two SUVs in the driveway and two men standing beside them—men who looked scary and I didn’t recognize.