Kristie Cook: Wrath

Glory first to God Almighty and Jesus Christ, my Savior. He has blessed me in countless ways, including giving me this book and the story of Alexis and Tristan.

Shawn, Nathan, Austin, and Zakary, once again, your patience, support, and understanding do not go unnoticed. You are my rock and my foundation. Mom, Dad, and Keena, of course I wouldn’t be here without you, but I mean “here” in a variety of ways.

Chrissi, you are my pillar of strength that I’ve needed to lean on entirely too much during the creation of this book. I’m so thankful to have you working by my side, doing everything from arranging our travel to ensuring my family and I eat while I’m in the cave. Here’s to continued success for our little venture. And lots of laughs. We deserve them.

Brenda, my talented friend, I love you hard. And your covers. And your feedback. Julie, Stacey, Debbie, Kate, Inga, Jessie, Rissa, Christina, Heather, Mindy, and Rebecca—aka, my betas who are the bomb—thank you for your valuable insight. I sincerely appreciate everything else you do, as well as the rest of Kristie’s Crew: Claire, Kath, and Lisa. Thank you also to Kristie’s Warriors. We might be new and small right now, but we’re also mighty. I look forward to all of the fun we have ahead of us. Also a thank you to Team #KnightRiders who provide immense support to Tristan (and the rest of the gang) when needed.

Jen and Kristen, because of you, this story shines like a polished gem. Lesley, I’m so lucky to have friends who are beautiful inside and out, but especially fortunate to have one who also looks as good in leathers as you do.

Finally, a GINORMOUS shout-out to my readers. You have come so far with me, and with Alexis and Tristan, and I am actually pretty overwhelmed that you’re still here. I would have written this story anyway, but I’m amazed at how people around the world love these characters as much as I do and are dying to know what happens next. Well, without further ado, I’ll let you find out. I hope you enjoy this installment. But be prepared—you’ll need tissues.

He was gone. Really gone.

My little boy, my baby, the light of my life. Gone.

No matter how hard I tried, how far I pushed the boundaries of my mind to feel across the sea of mind signatures, I couldn’t find his. Of course I couldn’t. But I knew where I could.

My fingers curled into Sasha’s white and gray striped fur, trying to soothe her, though I had no soothing vibes within me. I sat on my knees in the bedroom part of the safe house suite where I had left Dorian, where I thought he’d be safe when I couldn’t be there to protect him myself. Barely bigger than my hand, the lykora lay on her side in her natural form, her silver blood staining the blue-and-cream Oriental rug under her and coagulating on her back where one of her wings had been severed. Who could be so cruel? Stupid question. I knew that answer, too. He’d left my dagger under her to ensure I knew.

Heavy arms hung over my shoulders, arms that usually gave me comfort but now trembled with sobs.

“Can you heal her?” I asked, my voice sounding rough and distant. When I received no answer, I asked again, each word discrete and deliberate. “Tristan. Can you heal her?”

He lifted his head from my shoulder, but Blossom answered first.

“She’s an Angelic being, Alexis,” she said from behind me. “She’ll heal on her own.”

“Good,” I said. I picked up my dagger, wiped her blood off of it and onto my leather pants, put it back where it belonged on my hip, and flashed.

Tampa. Gainesville. Tallahassee. Rural Alabama and Mississippi. From here, I followed the path Vanessa and I had taken only two days before, barely seeing the landscape of each place before flashing to the next one. Tristan finally caught up to me outside of Kansas City, where the March air was significantly cooler than at home.

He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight against his chest, preventing me from flashing again.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his lovely voice distorted with the two primary emotions roiling within me—anger and grief. Mostly anger. The kind that didn’t dissipate but built with each passing moment.

“To Hades,” I answered flatly.

“Alone?”

“Unless you’re coming with me, yes.”

“Alexis, we can’t just waltz into Hades—”

“Not waltz. Storm.” Like the raging storm building inside me.

“Still. We can’t—”

“I guess that’s your answer then.” I pushed a spark of electricity into him and used the moment of surprise to flip my way out of his hold. Then I flashed.

Again and again.

But my power was waning. After flashing halfway across the world once already in the last two days, fighting my way out of Hades and escaping Lucas, the sperm donor, I hadn’t been able to truly regenerate. I had to pause longer between each flash, but each time I did, I envisioned what I would do when I got to Hades. The throats I would slash. The Demons I would fry to a crisp. Lucas’s life I would take, but only after slicing the smirk off his face, and carving his eyeballs out with my silver dagger and stuffing them into his lipless mouth.

The thoughts should have terrified me, but they only pushed me on.

Until Tristan stopped me once again in Wyoming.

“Alexis, you can’t—”

I ignored him and flashed.

“Take them on by yourself,” he finished in Idaho.

“Watch me.” I flashed again.

“But we can’t—” he started again in Washington.

“Damn it, Tristan. I don’t want to hear ‘can’t’!” I yelled, and I flashed again.

And slammed into a wall.

At least, that’s what it felt like. An invisible wall that blocked my flash, causing me to materialize in an empty field somewhere near the Canadian border. I tried again and appeared by a stream, the lights of Seattle not far off. I screamed with frustration.

“The border’s been shielded,” Tristan said from behind me. “And not a normal shield, either, but like an invisible fence we can’t flash through. No one can pass through at all, even Normans, except at guarded border crossings.”

I didn’t reply before I flashed again, farther inland. No mage could have possibly shielded the entire border between the United States and Canada. I would find a way through. Focusing on the nearest state highway, I flashed to about two hundred yards outside a border crossing.

Several armed soldiers guarded a barbed-wire-topped steel gate that stretched across the two-lane highway, blocking anyone from simply crossing. Lines of cars waited from both directions. More guards surrounded the first car, pulling the driver and passengers out and training their flashlights on their eyes and hands. Others were searching the car and its contents. I absorbed all of this in a few seconds and knew that gate provided my way into Canada, and then I could resume flashing to Siberia. A steel gate and a few soldiers weren’t about to stop me.

I sprinted for the crossing, planning to blur past them all, hurdle it, and be on my way without anyone noticing. But someone did. Perhaps those soldiers weren’t all Norman. Gunfire tore through the night. Bullets flew at me. You’ve got to be kidding me. I flicked my fingers, and the bullets fell to the ground. As I ran, I lifted my left hand, a blue current already sparking. More gunfire erupted. I shot electricity, not aiming for any particular guard, but simply shooting bolts wildly as a warning. People screamed. More soldiers shot at me, but I was almost there. Almost to the gate.