Thirteen
Ronan
“I was attacked,” Darius explained, sipping Elena’s concoction. He’d yet to move from the couch, but he was awake and sitting up now, and whatever she’d brewed up seemed to be doing the trick. His blisters had all but healed, the normal color returning to his face, and his eyes had regained their sharp focus.
His hands still trembled around the mug, though, and his voice was weak and watery.
“Hunters,” he went on.
He told us the story of his ambush, then pointed to his inner arm. “Both had brands that matched one of the runes I’d seen on the witches’ bodies in the morgue.”
“What did it look like?” Emilio asked. As Darius described it, Emilio tapped out a text, presumably to Elena. She’d gone to the station to regroup with her team, and we’d promised to keep her in the
