Queen of Death

Hunter

Dean isn't with them. We knew it the moment the elevator doors opened.

He hasn't checked in — and even though I know I did everything I was supposed to, followed protocol, it doesn't do anything to abate the feeling that it's my fault.

I don't know what happened. He was right behind me. I thought I saw him flying up with Sol and Tate...I wouldn't have left if I thought he wasn't with them. I feel the need to explain myself to Ace in between breathing in Solana's earthy, vetiver scent.

Don't do that, Hunt. You and I both know you did everything right. Ace assures me through our link.

If Solana wasn't in my arms right now I think I'd crumble from the weight of Ace's aura. His wolf's alpha genes are pressing me to stop obsessing over the details of our departure and to accept his comfort.

He grows progressively more impatient as my obsession spreads from cell to cell like some reason-resistant virus. Luckily he eagerly accepts Solana's affection which is enough to distract him from me.

Eli catches my eye over Ace's shoulder, when should we tell Tate?

It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when. Death has no secrets, and, while we all consider him family, Dean is Tate's flesh and blood. I want to be the one to tell Tate. The sooner the better.

I've barely disconnected myself from Solana when Ace's command hits me like a countdown halt. Stay here with her. I think everyone could use a minute, including you.

Powerless to disobey him any further, I fit myself in behind Solana where I can rub her shoulders and her arms and feel her warmth charging me like a battery from the inside out.

But while Ace and I are centered around Solana, Eli evidently decides to take the lead on updating Tate. And judging by the sound of glass shattering violently, I'd wager that Tate is not taking the news too well.

Solana pops her head up like a prairie dog, honing in on the source of the sound. "Tate, you good?" She calls out to him.

Her body noticeably tenses when Tate shadows himself out of view of anyone, like she's recoiling from a slap to the face. She looks between the rest of us, searching our eyes for answers. "What's going on?"

"Dean hasn't checked in. He was last seen by Hunter right behind you and Tate, but he hasn't made any kind of contact. He's missing." Ace says gently.

Sol curses softly under her breath and pushes herself up and out of our embrace. "How many exits are there in here?" She asks Ace with urgency.

"The elevator is the only physical way in or out. I can teleport us in and out if and when needed."

Sol flies across the apartment into the kitchen. She grabs one of the glass containers on the counter and hurls it at the elevator door with impressive speed and precision. It combusts on impact leaving behind a flour dust-cloud in its wake and before it can fully settle on the ground she erects a wall of green flames in front of the elevator door.

What the fuck is she doing? Eli asks Ace and me, intrigued as much as he is horrified. She's trapping Dean out!

No she's not. Ace all but purrs. She's trapping Tate in. Even if he could somehow find a way to avoid making footprints in the flour, his way is blocked by her flames.

"I'm going to give him a minute and then I'll go find him. But before I do that I want details," she walks around the kitchen island, shedding weapons and gear onto the counter.

"After I left you I ended up running into Dean —"

"He was alone?" She cuts me off to ask.

Ace and Eli nod their heads. "We were attacked from both ends of the hallway and somewhere in our move to take cover Dean slipped away."

"Dean said as much when he found me," I add, running my fingers through my hair and gripping the ends in frustration. "He came back for me in case I needed a lift."

Sol rolls her eyes, and though she doesn't say a word we all read her body language loud and clear — Dean's an idiot.

She and I grew up training together so I know firsthand how much she loves to improv during missions, or as she calls it 'winging it,' — get it?

But, and this is a crucial but, it's never done at the expense of underestimating your partner. I know she'd say that Dean should have bunkered down and waited for the heat to cool before joining back up with Ace and Eli. Or better yet just carry on alone and get out.

Dean going off on his own to find us isn't going to impress her. Though, on the opposite side of that coin exists Dean's practically all-consuming need to take care of everyone. I'm not surprised at all that he came looking for us.

"We saw you blow the window and we followed you out. He was right behind me the whole time. As soon as I cleared the window I took off for the woods and that was when I looked up to see if you all had made it out. I saw black wings and figured that they must have been Dean's since Tate would have shadowed."

"Okay," she blows out a shaky breath and nods to herself. "Okay." She says, more firmly this time. "I'm going to be honest, I am my mother's child and everything in me is screaming to fly back for him. But," she stops to smirk at me, "I've also spent nearly a century with Hunter having patience and reason painstakingly beaten into me."

"And there's a reasonable chance that Dean got tripped up in the exit and is slowly making his way back home as we speak," I tack on.

Ace grunts his agreement. "Let's pin it there, then. We have the crew keep their ears to the ground and, for now, we wait."

— — —

Solana

Behind his quiet complexity, Tate is a fairly simple creature who operates on a handful of principles. He's not overly fond of crowds and when faced with one he will hide in plain sight. His shadows are saved for times when he wants to listen in on a conversation without actually being present for said conversation.

Tate works hard to be independent and self-sufficient, and for the most part he truly is. But everyone has a breaking point. I fear that the loss of his big brother, his flesh and blood, the guy who took care of them when their mom abandoned them at a tender age, might be what pushes Tate permanently into the shadows.

I feel — obligated isn't the right word...

I feel...called? Like a marrow deep, soul deep, compulsion to make sure that does not fucking happen.

I can't lose Tate on top of Dean. I can't let the guys lose half their pack.

Realizing that I could be what keeps them together as opposed to being what breaks them apart invigorates me. There are few things I've ever felt as sharply and as clearly as this.

I'm a woman of my word, I'll give him a minute to isolate and do whatever he's used to doing before I talk to him. But at some point tonight he will come to me. Not the other way around. He needs to fight that battle within himself and rage against every reflex that is twitching for him to stay in the shadows.

He'll come to me. Because as much safety as the shadows provide, they're also very fucking cold. Fire seeks fire. He'll come to me.

I move about the apartment with no hidden agenda. I take a fast shower and change into whatever comically large sweatpants and tee I find in the drawers of a room I picked at random. Ace pretended to read something on his phone as I showered and changed, citing something under his breath about not letting me out of his sight.

He tails me on my way back downstairs where Hunter and Eli are reclining on the couches, each with a guitar in hand, strumming out an unfamiliar tune in harmony.

Satisfied that I'm back within the confines of the large living area of the first floor, Ace hunkers down with Hunter and Eli on the couch.

Moving into the kitchen, I find a large pot and a few boxes of spaghetti. The fridge and pantries have been stocked with enough veggies and ingredients that I can make an unimpressive, but nevertheless tasty, bolognese sauce.

My fathers tout that my kitchen know-how comes from them. But when the prerequisite skills for cooking are fundamentally being able to read and being able to follow sequential steps, I remind them that they're giving themselves far too much credit.

I sense Tate getting closer throughout the night. I can't see him but I can smell him, I can feel him. The way the steam from the shower coiled and curved as if it had met a barrier, the faint swish of his jeans as he follows us downstairs to the living room.

Even the way the ingredients and utensils I was looking for would suddenly appear on the counter after my back had been turned. He was close, and getting closer.

At last, after the guys helped themselves to both first and second helpings of dinner, I excused myself.

Seeking to retire early after a physically, mentally, and emotionally taxing day, I dragged myself upstairs into the bedroom I happened upon earlier. My head had scarcely touched the pillow when the bed dipped behind me and Tate's strong arms snaked around my midsection, crushing me against his chest.