Nika had been missing for three days, and Ren Romanovich felt like he'd explode. Despite the scouting parties and his own relentless hunt, there had been no sign of her. Not even a clue.
If not for Misha's discouragement, he would have already sent keepers scouring through Volkari territory. But that was a dangerous method, not to mention stupid.
And after all this time, their resources were dwindling. There was only so much a small group of keepers could do. Soon, Ren would need to inform the Vigil of her disappearance and his theory that she'd been kidnapped like Luiza.
Once the High Keeper knew about it, the news would quickly spread to the Ministry, including Nika's father. The thought gave Ren a headache.
"When was the last time you slept?" Misha asked.
They'd been trekking through the woods around headquarters for over an hour. Not that Ren expected to find anything, as they'd searched here before. But he needed to put his mind and body to work, lest he crumble under the weight of his failure.
He didn't bother glancing at his friend when he answered, "Last night."
"For more than an hour?"
The only sound was the crunching of leaves and twigs underfoot. At this point, Ren was beyond conversation. He increased his speed, disappointed when Misha managed to match the pace.
"You know you can't do your job properly if you don't sleep."
At that, Ren looked up from the ground. A wave of uncontrollable emotion swept through him. "I can't sleep, Misha! I tried. But I won't be able to rest until we find her."
"Why?" Misha said. Ren tore his gaze away. "Do you blame yourself?"
"I promised Markos that I'd protect her."
"We don't even know if this is the Volkari. Maybe she ran off again."
"Without money? A cell phone? Her bloodydamned shoes? Nika is too smart to leave a pair of keepers unconscious on the patio for us to find. And this"—he removed the piece of red fabric that had found a home in his pocket these three days—"suggests she was taken by force."
Misha was frowning. He'd heard the argument before, but Ren knew he was still too eager to accuse Nika of conspiracy and treason. He wanted her to be guilty, and Ren hated him for it.
"Why?" was all Misha said.
His composure was astounding. Ren remembered a time, not too long ago, when he'd been able to control every aspect of himself. He blamed the lack of sleep for his unkempt state.
"I don't know. Maybe they want the pendant back."
He'd been praying it was something else. If they wanted the necklace, then an interrogation was necessary. And if Nika had been harmed, he was going to rip those wolfbloods apart.
Images flooded into his mind. How they might have tied her up, maimed her to extract information. He banished those foul thoughts and focused on his hunt, observing the trees, the afternoon sky, begging to be given a sign.
"Can we stop for a moment?"
"No."
"Let's take a break, Ren."
Misha grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to stop. Ren's breath came out in huffs, his pulse fluttered rapidly. As Misha leaned against a nearby tree, studying him, he strode back and forth, a fist clenched around the torn piece of Nika's hoodie.
"It's not just guilt, is it?"
Ren scowled. "What are you talking about?"
"This is personal. You care about her."
"Of course. I'm her keeper."
Misha shook his head in disapproval. "You're lying to yourself as much as you're lying to me."
"You think I'm attracted to her?"
"That's the part I'm hung up on. She's not exactly your type."
"I don't have a type."
A pointed look.
"I don't."
"Tall, sexy, experienced." Misha added a wink. "Oh, and she has to be a loyal, upstanding citizen."
"Your break is over." He speared through the woods again, brushing Misha's shoulder with no small amount of hostility.
"But now that I think about it," Misha called after him, "you've never had a real relationship in the time I've known you."
"That was by design."
"Then a tiny, feral delinquent struts into your life and, suddenly, you're in love?"
"Shut up."
"I won't judge."
Ren whirled around, baring his fangs. They came out without his consent, a product of instinct. The ghost of the monster within.
He regained his composure—or whatever semblance that remained—and took a deep breath. "There's nothing to judge. And I'm offended that you think I'd be so unprofessional."
"So it's just guilt, then?"
"I had a job to do, and I gave Markos my word. Both of those things mean nothing now. I have to make it right."
As Misha scrutinized him, a soft wind curled around them, bringing scents of rain, musk, a distant campfire. Ren stiffened, whipping his head in the direction of the breeze. He inhaled it so deeply, it dropped like an anchor inside his gut.
Hair standing on end, he whispered, "Do you smell that?"
Misha, who had been talking, fell silent. "Huh?"
"Blood—Nika's blood."
He was sure of it. And as he focused his hearing beyond the rustling of leaves and scurrying of rodents, he caught it. A soft, pained moan.
As he sprinted toward the origin of the sound and the scent, Misha mumbled, "How the hell do you know what her blood smells like?"
Ren didn't deign to respond. He ripped through the forest like a tornado, then came to a hissing halt at a small, trembling form lying in the grass beneath a sturdy tree.
Terror, pure and cold, lashed through him as he collapsed to his knees beside her.
Infected cuts, burn marks, and bruises stained nearly every inch of exposed skin. Her red hoodie had been shredded, along with the t-shirt and jeans. She reeked of belabane and something he couldn't detect.
"Nika?"
A breathy moan escaped her bleeding lips.
With soft caution, Ren brushed back her hair, revealing a face that was clear of wounds but dirty and pale.
Misha crashed onto the scene, firing obscenities. "Get a medic," Ren told him, voice shaky. "Bring them to the manor." When Misha hesitated, he bellowed, "Now!"
Misha darted through the trees. It was a few miles until he would reach headquarters, and finding a medic would take a while since most Daemonstri were occupied by REM sleep at the moment. Ren prayed his friend would look past his dislike of Nika and work as quickly as possible.
As he carefully slid his arms beneath her, she murmured, "Ren?"
He froze, knowing he should have ignored her, but he couldn't move before saying, "I'm sorry."
Her gaze locked on him, irises green as a jungle amid the bloodshot whites. She seemed confused at first, then a faint smile curled her lips.
"You're always saving me. That's what counts."
Save her. That was exactly what Ren would do. So he gathered her into his arms, trying to be both swift and gentle.
Nika winced. "It hurts."
"It will be over soon. Lock your hands around my neck."
"Can't move. Just . . . " She drew a ragged breath. "Just leave me."
Ren could have sworn he heard his heart crack. "I won't do that."
"Please. Go. I want to be al—"
"Look at me," he said, taking her face in both hands. "You're Nika Dimitrovich, remember? And you're too bloodydamned defiant to give up. Not now. Not ever."
She clenched her jaw, closed her eyes. "I can't. I just can't."
"You can. If not for yourself, then for Markos. For Lu."
For me, he almost added.
This is personal, Misha's words echoed. You care about her.
Ren stuffed those thoughts into a dark room deep inside his mind and locked the door. He needed to focus, to get her to a medic.
So he said, "Do I have to beg?"
She huffed a laugh. "Only in the bedroom."
He gaped at her, at the spark of amusement in her eyes, and half-wondered if she was just being stubborn to piss him off. But the moment passed, and her face twisted with pain.
"Lean closer," she said through gritted teeth.
Ren obeyed, once again lifting her weight off the ground. As he bowed forward, Nika clasped her fingers around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. By the time he stood up, she was panting and groaning from the exertion.
He tightened his arms around her. Small—she was so, so small. Now more than ever.
Save her. At the moment, it was the only function he seemed capable of. "Hold on tight," he said. Then his supernatural speed swept them away.