Chapter Sixteen

Ophelia stripped off her dress, careful of her throbbing arm. Keeping her weight off the leg that Gaston had pummeled, she swayed as she shrugged into Bastian’s shirt. Its warmth encompassed her. His scent surrounded her, doing nothing but remind her that his blood could quench her thirst. It could heal her within minutes.

But he was gone, as he should be. Without Antonia to worry about, Ophelia could dismantle this place to get to Quentin Segal.

Her stomach heaved as she threaded her broken arm through the shirt. Agony made sparks dance in her vision. Her femur was fractured at the very least and her arm likely sported more breaks than it had several minutes ago.

Master Gaston had noticed her favoring her limb and he’d concentrated his attack on her left side. But she’d come out on top and he’d come out in a billion pieces of dust.

At least she hadn’t had to do it in front of Antonia. And Bastian had ashed Marcus. Bonus.

She managed to wrestle herself into Bastian’s holster. It hung off her frame as badly as her shirt, but like the cozy material, it provided more protection than that damn dress.

With knife in hand, she trotted back the way she came. She clamped her teeth together and gritted through the storm of pain assaulting her body. If they heard the noise and came to check on her and Antonia, she wanted to be there to greet them—with a few rounds of lead.

The way she hobbled, a mixture of hopping and running, she worried she’d alert them to her location. She needed to get the jump on them if she was to have a decent chance with her injuries.

The thought of shooting a kid stalled her. He’d heal, but she’d have to stop him while killing Roberts and then wait for her team to arrive with the spell to oust the demon from him.

Then what, she didn’t know. The boy would need a watchful eye and a lot of therapy. And Lora was still alive, but Ophelia was sure the Synod would take care of that. Hopefully before they went public with the underworld interference.

They needed to go public, though. How many more teens had to go missing, or even younger children, before the Synod realized Bastian was correct? They could get ahead of this issue by having more eyes and ears knowing what to watch and listen for.

Yes, there might be those who would choose to dabble in things best left alone. But that was happening anyway.

She limped down the stairs and flitted through the kitchen. She smelled them before she got to the dining hall.

“Where the hell could they have gone?” Finneus roared.

“You said these bolts would hold,” grated Spectre.

“Dammit, yes! They should’ve. Ophelia’s not that strong.”

Fucker. She had to hurry. As plastered in blood as she was, they’d smell her presence.

“Look at me, Roberts.”

“Fuck you, demon.”

She tiptoed to the entrance, slipping the gun out as she went. The motion wasn’t enough to distract her from the pain. She stumbled, hissing in a breath when she caught herself with her bad leg. They went silent.

Dammit! She spun into the entrance. As soon as they were in sight, she opened fire. She emptied the clip, switching to aim at Quentin only once. They were so stunned from the first round searing into them that they didn’t move. Quentin dropped from the gunshot to his leg.

She swallowed her bile. Had to be done. Had to be done. It was the only way to save him.

The gun clicked. Empty. She tossed it and sprinted forward, knife clenched in her good hand. A real blade, not cutlery. It felt good; it felt right. Much more like her than the heels and the dress.

She charged toward her targets, ignoring the fire in the soles of her bare feet and the howls from her thigh muscles.

Finneus recovered first, though that may not be the correct word. He noticed her and lurched forward. The hands that had been clutching his chest rose into a defensive position. Blood dripped from them.

Now Finneus, she hadn’t spared. She’d aimed for organs—major ones.

She closed the distance between them. When she was several feet away, she planted her right foot and jumped. Using her good elbow, she plowed it into his face. It connected and bone crunched. His head flung backward and his body followed. She landed next to him and collapsed in a heap. Her leg refused to support her.

She crawled on her good side to Quentin. He spun, his mouth open in a silent scream.

Ah hell. The demon had retreated. The coward was leaving the kid to deal with the pain.

She had no supplies at her disposal, but she had the harness and the rag around her thigh. Yanking Quentin’s legs out from under him, she dropped her knife to drag him closer to her.

He hollered and wiggled. The pain tormented him too much to put up a solid fight. The poor kid should still be oblivious that a body could hurt that badly.

Flipping him to his back, she crawled on top of him, and between her usable knee and right hand, she hog-tied him with the holster.

It wouldn’t be enough. He’d get his wits back and realize he was strong enough to just walk out of his restraints.

“Come on, come on, come on.” She pleaded for her team to show up as she dragged a protesting Quentin to the table.

“What are you doing? Ah—fuck. What the hell are you doing with me?”

Did the kid even know he was possessed? Had Lora tricked him into it and the boy went into la-la land when Spectre took over?

All of them had been out of the prime network for so long, none of the others had probably ever been here. They’d have to drive.

How long had it been since Bastian left?

She hopped around to look for any chains that weren’t attached. Locating two, she balanced well enough to pick them up. She used those to tie his hands together.

Stepping back to monitor her work, she glanced over her shoulder. Damn. Finneus was whimpering and twitching. He’d come to and, like her, be able to work around his injuries. Then they’d be two broke-down fuckers fighting each other. He had useable limbs, but his torso was full of bullet holes. Half her limbs were broken, but her torso was only full of bruises.

Quentin turned his head and blinked. So young. She sighed and met his gaze.

A smug smile curled his lips and black infused his gaze.

She couldn’t look away. Her world dimmed, like she was going underwater and didn’t want to surface. So peaceful.

She’d stand here and watch Quentin until her team came. Yeah, that was a good plan. She heard the whisper of clothing and grunts of pain behind her, but they didn’t concern her. She just had to keep watching Quentin.