Kalina ~ Book Four

Rowan arrived home soon after Kerensa left the following morning, and he headed straight for the shower, not saying a word to Sylvie or her other mates, who still lay in bed in the spare room on either side of her.

Despite not sensing his emotions, she could tell he was mad, and she dragged herself to the bathroom door.

“Stay there,” she said to Kian and Elias. One touch of the knob and she knew it was locked. Her heart ached. She sent every emotion of guilt she could towards him through the matebond as she pulled a bobby pin from her chest of drawers and stuck it in the privacy lock, popping it open with a light jiggle.

After tiptoeing inside and closing the door behind her, Rowan’s gritty voice made her jump. “It was locked.”

She shimmied out of her pyjamas and leaned against the side of the shower wall. “I know.”

He said nothing, washing the leaves from his hair and letting the warm spray douse his rippling muscles. Only once she shivered did he stick out a hand and pull her under the showerhead, not looking at her.

“Rowan. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologise to.”

She blinked up at him through the water. “Then why are you mad at me?”

“I’m disappointed.”

Great. Even worse. She leaned against the shower wall and lowered her gaze. “Kerensa was here.”

“I know.”

“She exorcised a demon out of me.”

Rowan’s nostrils flared. “What?”

So she told him, the water beating down on them until her fingers pruned, every detail from her night driving a scowl onto his face or ticking in his jaw.

“I’ll make it up to the kids, Ro. I promise. I’m really sorry I ditched. I didn't want to make their moment about my bullshit. Please don’t hate me.”

He buried his fingers in her hair and pulled her towards him, kissing her lips until they were swollen.

“I could never hate you. I know you’ll fix what happened with Delilah.” He breathed against her and pulled her in tight. “Fucking Demons. I thought we had enough things to worry about, now this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“It is. Whatever is going on here has to do with me, and I wish I didn't drag you into it.”

Rowan turned off the shower and grabbed a towel to wrap around them both. “I’d follow you to Hel and back, sweetheart. Dragged or not.” She stifled a smile and smothered him with kisses.

“Alright, let's get dry. I need to get ready.”

“For what?”

Rowan flicked her a famous smirk. “The tournament, of course.”

After a day of preparing the squares and laying out the training weapons for the children, Sylvie couldn’t sleep. Insomnia wasn’t something she was used to, and her mates didn’t stir as she tiptoed out of bed and perched in front of her laptop.

Since Penny’s disappearance, she’d been diving into every missing person's website she could, and after Bea died, it slowly became a compulsion.

She widened the search radius to over one hundred kilometres and was mindlessly scrolling through the twenty-third page when a large pair of doe eyes froze her finger on the mouse.

Her skin was even and tan; a small dimple created a divot in her crooked smile, and there was a light in her eyes. Beatrice Herring. Fourteen and a half. Five foot four. Blonde hair. Missing for three weeks. Sylvie pressed her palm to her mouth as her eyes filled with tears.

The beloved daughter of Jane and Morgan Herring went missing while walking home from school—a monetary reward for any information.

As Sylvie scanned the page again and again, she sobbed, the sound smothered in her palm. She googled Beatrice’s name, and it came up with dozens of interviews with her parents and the police. There were tribute pages and shared missing posters all over social media. So many people loved her and wanted her home. She was just a child.

And Sylvie killed her.

She stood abruptly and ran to the ensuite bathroom of her old bedroom, vomiting until her stomach cramped. She bit back more sobs as she sat on the cool tiles and wiped her face on a towel.

It was her fault. Whether Vampires compelled Bea or not. She should have listened to the warnings of her mates and kept a closer eye on her. Locked her doors. Been more wary. If only she had asked Bea her name sooner, she could've sent her home to her desperate family. Now, they would never know what happened to her.

Sylvie dragged herself to her feet and tiptoed to the door. There were no stains on the floor where Bea died, nor any traces of her in the bedroom. Elias had taken care of that, but she still wouldn't sleep in there. Not anymore.

The memory of what she had done— the sickening thud of metal slicing through bone and sinew—was a permanent echo. She darted from the room and back to the laptop. Maybe she could give a tip. Or give something that would bring the family closure. She hovered the mouse above the tip hotline number and bit her lip.

What was better, closure or hope? After minutes or maybe hours, she copied the file number into her phone and flicked over to unsolved crime cases within the search radius. As expected, Bea’s flyer was high on the list, her sweet smile staring accusingly through the screen.

Sylvie scrolled past quickly until a familiar face stared back yet again. She peered over the details but couldn't quite place them. Janet Fyne. Fifty-eight. Murdered. She scrolled further, and another familiar face appeared. Murdered too. Her heart sped up rapidly.

Two more people she could recognise by face alone came up. Murdered. Same way. The news reports all linked back to a suspected serial killer.

“Who are you people, and why do I know you?” she mumbled, tugging at the skin slowly fraying from her upper lip.

Again and again. There were more faces until, finally, one stuck out. One woman she’d wished death upon every year after her husband assaulted her and had a stroke on top of her.

Florence Hamlin.

Everything clicked into place, and she swallowed. Every person she recognised was someone who was once tasked with caring for her through the system but failed her in some way.

They hurt her, cursed her and gave up on her. All of which should never have been allowed within ten feet of a child. Dead. Murdered. But how? One or two, a coincidence, sure.

But twelve?

Someone had to have planned it. They would have to have known her. But who-

“Oh my god.”

She pulled out her phone and dialled a number. Despite the hour, she knew he’d be awake.

“Kalina.”

“Where is she, Magnus.”

“Out.”

Fucking accomplice.

“You’re okay with her out there killing people? What if she gets caught? Human law enforcement isn’t stupid, you know. There's such thing as DNA!” she hissed, letting the frustration override any other emotion.

Magnus shuffled on the line. “She found your file. They all received a just punishment, Kalina.”

“I don’t need anyone to fight my battles. I left that life a long time ago, and those people would’ve gotten their karma.”

“And so they did. Your mother needed to do this, and if she chose not to, I would have.”

“But I don’t need you to-”

“Sometimes parents do things that their children will never understand. This is one of those things. It’s not up to you what your mother decides to do with her time, Kalina. Both she and I would destroy anyone that harmed you. Anyone.”

Her eyes filled with bitter tears that she wiped away with the back of her hand.

He continued, “We missed so much of your life, Kalina. And that fact is unforgivable. Don’t cut us out of the rest of it.”

“Magnus-” her voice hitched, and she dug her nails into her palm. There was so much to say and also nothing. She was so bitter, so hurt, but this was an olive branch in a crazy, twisted way. She wouldn’t hurt him again. Not tonight.

“I- I have to go now.”

“Alright, Kalina. Good night.”

She could hear the strain in his voice as she pulled the phone away from her ear with shaking hands. “Night.”

With a shaking breath, she shuffled back to the spare room and crawled between her soundly sleeping mates before burying her splotchy face into the mattress.

“It’s been a week, princess. Don’t you think it’s time to resume classes now?”

Kian pushed a bowl of fruit into Sylvie's hands before she could dart from the house and train until her bones ached. That’s what she had been doing while her children had a holiday post-shift. It was the only thing that brought her joy besides her mates and the only thing that kept her strong. Exactly what Kerensa said she needed to be to stay clear of demons.

“They’re all still bonding with their shifter forms. Rowan said it was fine to give them more time off.”

“Sounds like excuses to me.”

“Kian,” she groaned.

“What?”

“It’s too early in the morning for this.”

“It’s eleven.”

Exactly.” She tipped back the bowl and munched the last few grapes before popping the dish into the sink. “Thanks for the snack, but I really need to train now.”

Rowan was already out there, helping the new pack members who left Fraser's pack learn basic skills, and she didn’t want to miss it.

“I can’t help but think you’re running from your problems by burying yourself in something.”

She huffed. “At least I’m not hurting anyone.” Without another word from her mate, she jogged out of the house and away from her problems.

“Kitten?”

Goddamit.

“Yes?”

Elias matched pace with her easily, but she kept her gaze ahead. He was supposed to be working, organising his company from afar, but now he was bothering her.

“Someone is coming to see you.”

That made her pause. “Who?”

“Come with me.”

She gritted her teeth together as her jogging slowed to an amble. “Who, Elias?”

“Tone,” he reprimanded, jerking his head to the main driveway.

The driveway that led to the road out of the pack lands.

The driveway that now had a car driving up it towards them, windows tinted black.

Fucking hell.

If it were Magnus, she’d have Elias’ head. Dominant or not. She crossed her arms as the midnight blue Mercedes parked at the curb, and the driver's door opened wide.

Her heart thudded in her chest as the driver stepped out, kitted in an expensive pair of shades, hair perfectly styled in auburn waves.

Fuck. This was so much worse than Magnus. So much worse. She didn't know where to look as her visitor approached, heeled boots digging into the grass from a strut with more badassery than she could ever muster.

Finally, they stood toe to toe, silent and uncomfortable. At least Sylvie was.

“I think it’s time we talked.”

Elias disappeared from her side, and she clenched her teeth. Wimp.

“Sure. Come on in… Kora.”

“Oh no, child, you’re coming with me.”