"Charlie? Are you there, princess? Have I lost you?"
His words felt hollow and small, seemingly unnoticed by the unyielding gaze of the demon above him. He swallowed hard, fear freezing his veins; the warmth and kindness he had seen in Charlie's eyes over the past six months were gone, now replaced by a fierce, unrecognizable blaze.
Suddenly, she released her hold on the side of the container and dropped onto him. A deep, bloodcurdling growl pierced his ears as she swooped down, and all he could do was close his eyes and brace for the worst.
He could only hope that she would eventually come to her senses before she hurt or killed anyone else. He also hoped that Cassie would help her find her way after he was gone.
Instead of claws ripping him apart, he felt her arms wrap around him in a tight embrace. Her long, flowing hair draped over them like a protective shroud.
Using her demon strength, she crouched and launched them into the air, vaulting over the tall chain-link fence dividing the warehouse from the cement factory next door. She landed with her cloven hooves clicking on the hard concrete—her cotton shoes lost somewhere during the final confrontation.
Tensing her leg muscles, she jumped again, aiming for and landing on a metal walkway between two massive concrete mixing towers just beyond the fence. Forcefully, she pushed him against one of the cylindrical towers, hiding him from the growing FBI presence at the warehouse. She then scaled the side of the round mixing tower to take a position similar to her stance on the shipping container. She turned to look back at the warehouse, a quiet growl emanating from deep within her chest.
It took him a few seconds to realize he was alive and unharmed. Once that sank in, he looked up to check on her. She was swaying slightly, radiating a strong predatory energy. It seemed she was still somewhat disconnected from reality. Grateful to be alive and that she hadn't been lost to him, he moved with great caution and hesitation.
He took a deep breath to regain his composure and spoke in a barely audible whisper. "Charlie?"
Her crimson eyes, now dimmed from their earlier blazing intensity, trailed back to him. Instead of pulsing with rage, they revealed the thick lines of tears streaming down her face, etched with sadness. She turned her head toward him but didn't move otherwise. He saw her shoulders shake in the darkness.
Concern overtook his fear. "Are you okay?"
Sniffing once, she shook her head softly. It was her human voice that answered him, revealing the source of her pain. "You killed that man to save me."
"I did," he affirmed stoically. He deeply regretted taking a life—any life denied a fair trial, but at that moment, his regret was overshadowed by the relief he felt when she appeared to be in control of herself.
His simple agreement made her whimper and sob again, and she questioned him, her voice cracking, "I know I screwed up, but why didn't you dart him?"
Letting out a slow breath, his lips curved into an apologetic smile. Pulling the dart gun from his holster, he held it up for her to see. The barrel had been damaged when it hit the warehouse floor. "It was broken when I fought the last sentry. The only way to save you was to use my gun."
Her eyes widened at the sight of the damaged weapon, realizing what she'd forced him to do to save her. "Oh, no… I… I got him killed."
He shook his head vigorously, emphasizing his words. "No—you—did—not. The situation did—his aim was true, and there was no fucking way I was going to let you die!"
She sniffled a few times, trying to suppress the tears. Yes, she'd told him at the start that she wouldn't show them any mercy, but she didn't intend for one of them to be killed. She'd wanted to scare them, drive them to panic, and the satisfaction of punching that one guard had been incredible. But this wasn't what she had wanted. Not really.
Are you sure, princess?
That nagging inner voice was back, and it reminded her of a troubling conflict that ate at her. Whoever killed the girl deserved what the sentry received, and this was the only time she might not have felt this way. Was it hypocritical to think like this? Maybe. But when it came to that poor girl, a life for a life seemed fair to her, and this made her internal conflict even worse.
He observed the emotions flickering across her face in a matter of seconds. Reaching up with his hand, he whispered gently, "Princess?"
She reached down to place her claw gently against his palm.
He brushed his thumb over the top of her knuckles in support, trying to focus her on the positive outcome. "Things like this can happen on any mission, Charlie. It comes with the territory, and we knew that at some point something like this might happen." He offered her an encouraging smile. "But you did it, Charlie! The girls are safe—all of them."
She tensed as she shook her head. "No." She bit her lip and glanced back at the warehouse. "Not all of them, Angel. I found a girl who was already dead, her throat slashed, and her body burned by magic fire."
"Jesus!" He followed her gaze toward the distant warehouse. "How?"
"One of them spoke of an evil man who can do magic. The burns on the dead girl—how frightened the others were! It was witchcraft."
He was silent at the revelation. He stared at the distant commotion, concentrating on the implications. After a moment, he looked back up at her, squeezed her hand reassuringly, then released it. "We'll talk to Cassie about it and see what she thinks, okay? But we can't stay here. We need to clear the area before they fan out and search the surrounding properties." He gave her a gentle look. "Let's go before we're seen."
He was right. They wouldn't be able to resolve this if they were caught. Nodding in agreement, she wiped her eyes to clear her vision, then released her grip on the tower.
Spreading his arms wide, he felt no fear this time, inviting her to wrap herself around him. With all her strength, she pushed off and launched them about forty yards from the tower. They landed silently between two parked semi-trucks and navigated through the darkness back to Cassie's car, parked four blocks away.
Once they reached the Prius and slipped inside, he pressed the start button, and the hybrid engine hummed to life quietly. Slowly to avoid attention, he pulled away from the curb.
As they headed back to the apartment, he looked over at her to check on her condition. She'd turned in her seat to stare out the side window, as she so often did, occasionally releasing a forlorn sigh. The tension he felt in the car made him share her sighs a few times as they drove home, for he despised what he needed to do next.
This had been a meticulously planned operation, and she had promised to follow his orders to ensure its success. But ultimately, she had not. He'd told her that shit happens, and it does, and when it happens within a structured plan, that's one thing—but she'd deviated from the strategy, and in the end, it directly contributed to the sentry's death.
They needed to talk, and he had to treat her like the soldier she'd promised to be, to dress her down, and get her assurance that she would follow protocol from here on out. Yes, he worried about her temper and whether it might trigger her demon side again, but it had to be done.
Because if she was right—if there was something out there just as powerful or more so than she was—they needed to get back on the same page.
Or what happened tonight would happen again.