Jessica Shirvington - Empower

What I did know was that dressing up in a priest’s outfit and betraying people’s faith and trust that way was very, very wrong. No way was I about to miss this hunt.

‘They think he’s in London and asked us to follow up.’

‘Paying?’ Carter asked.

Gray sniffed. ‘Not a lot. If anything.’

Normally, Carter would argue to go back and settle terms before agreeing to take on the job but one look at my fingers drumming on the table told him it wouldn’t work. If he wanted in on the fight, he’d have to get in on the ground level. So he settled for glaring at me and said nothing.

Ryan finished his drink. Karen had already delivered the final round to everyone.

‘Taxi and I can start checking in with the London churches,’ Ryan offered. ‘See if there are any new clergy around or, you know, if there have been any massacres lately.’

Gray nodded. ‘Okay. Let’s start with that.’

Ryan looked at me and motioned to my empty glass. ‘What’re you having?’ he asked, standing up.

I shook my head. ‘A hot shower and bed,’ I said, standing up as well.

He smiled, showing his dimples. ‘I can work with that.’

Gray was suddenly beside me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close. I fought the instinctive urge to throw him into the far wall and kept breathing.

‘Won’t be any room for you, mate.’ He glanced at the rest of the guys briefly. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow.’

With that, Gray walked me through the back door and up the narrow staircase to my tiny apartment.

‘Thanks,’ I said once we were inside.

He shrugged. ‘Not a problem.’

Rogues had a tendency to get a little handsy after a few drinks, and in our mix I was the only girl. I didn’t think any of them seriously liked me, but alcohol often meant heavy flirting and a little too much presumption. Neither of which I handled well. But no one would tread on Gray’s territory, so to keep me from having to explain things I couldn’t, every now and then Gray would leave the bar with me to make the guys think we had something going on.

I knew we’d have to do the same thing again in a couple of months, and sometimes it annoyed me that it had to be done at all. But I didn’t want to have to move on again. Not yet. So, this was the easiest and most peaceful way to deal with it.

‘You gonna tell me what that was tonight?’ Gray asked from behind me as I switched on my tiny espresso machine.

I knew he’d have something to say. He’d seen my reaction to the bald man, and he’d covered for me when I’d told the other Grigori I hadn’t got a good look at the exile who had taken out their leaders.

Waiting for the machine to heat up, I kept busy, pulling out my blade and cleaning it. ‘I’ve seen him before.’

‘Who is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ I answered honestly. ‘But he’s strong, powerful and …’ I closed my eyes, knowing that this last quality was the most frightening. ‘He’s smart.’

I let the information sink in with Gray. Exiles aren’t often smart – it’s hard to be when you’re completely insane and ruled by emotions you can’t control. But very rarely, an old exile comes along who can control the madness. Like Lilith.

‘And he wanted to put on a show for you,’ Gray said. It wasn’t a question.

I gripped the hilt of my dagger tightly, guilt burning my conscience. He might as well have said that Clive and Annette were killed because of me. I pushed my emotions down, bit my lips and nodded jerkily.

‘Is this only the beginning?’ he asked.

I had a bad feeling we both already knew the answer to that so threw out a different question. ‘Have you noticed how the tournaments are becoming less random?’

‘Like they’re gearing towards something? Yeah. You think he’s behind them?’

I shrugged. We’d been hearing rumours from Rogues who passed through. Organised battlegrounds like the one tonight were popping up all around the world. Something was brewing. And seeing the bald exile gave me an all-round bad feeling.

‘You hanging out here for a while or heading home?’ I asked, turning back to the espresso machine to make my coffee and dodging the questions I couldn’t answer. Sometimes Gray stayed a while and then went back down to drink with the guys. It didn’t bother me either way. I knew he never once spoke to any of them about what was – or wasn’t – going on between us. He just wasn’t the type to use our situation to boast.

I could feel his eyes on me but I didn’t turn. Eventually, I heard him moving about and I knew he was putting on his jacket. ‘Nah. I’ll slip down the outside stairs and head home.’

‘Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at five, then,’ I said, noting Gray’s usual groan in response.

‘Come on, princess. Surely I just earned myself a week’s reprieve?’

I shook my head. ‘No way.’

‘Damn it, can’t you find someone else? We’ve been going at this for almost a year now. I’m starting to grow girl parts.’

I bit back my smile and headed for the bathroom. Before I closed the door, I glanced back at Gray, who was opening the window to the fire escape that led down to the back alley. ‘5 p.m. Don’t be late.’

‘For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.’

Matthew 7:14

Winding down after a hunting night always took time. After my shower, I dressed in a pair of leggings, singlet and sneakers, then jumped on my treadmill.

I ran. A lot.

So much so that I’d had to get the life-warranty tread on my running machine replaced. Twice.

I used to run along the streets, working my way towards and around the parks. But more and more I preferred the solitude of my apartment. It might have been what most people would classify as a shit-box, but it was my shit-box. And I’d happily forgone most of my savings and floor space for my treadmill.

I started my workout, knowing that after seeing that baldheaded exile tonight and everything he’d stirred up, I’d be running for hours. Gray had asked me once why I ran towards the exposed-brick wall so my back was to the window. I hadn’t bothered with an answer.

He knew I had nothing to run to.

And the world to run from.

Yeah, I still had my rules. No running, no quitting, and no believing in fairytales. And even though I had broken rule numero uno in the biggest way possible, I’d reasoned that it was a survival decision and so that made it okay. So, the rules stood.

Somewhere around 1 a.m. I had another shower and got into bed, hoping I’d run off enough energy and tension to get a few hours’ sleep. I slept less and less these days, some nights barely managing an hour. If I was lucky, I was able to negotiate three or four. Apart from the dreams I’d started to have, eerily similar to the scene I’d imagined at the warehouse earlier in the night, sleep always left me unprotected. Tonight was no different.

When sleep was almost within reach, dream-like images filled my mind. I was moving, or rather, jumping from one distorted scene to the next, as if sifting through them.

The vision suddenly halted. I was looking over a courtyard. It was evening. The courtyard was lit with small lights climbing up the trunks of the delicate trees that bordered it. In a corner sat a man. He was wearing a charcoal-coloured suit, his jacket slung over the empty chair beside him. His crisp white shirtsleeves were rolled up revealing silver wristbands and bronzed forearms. He was alone and looked like he’d had a long night. He ran his hand through his golden hair, which I noticed was fractionally shorter and darker at the roots than it used to be. I inched closer, despite my desire to move away. His hand paused and he exhaled shakily.