Cole's Redemption (Alpha Pack #5)(57)

Jax shifted on his feet. “I can try for a reading, but I can’t do it from a video or a photograph of him. It has to be an object he owned, or something he touched. It doesn’t have to be of particular monetary value, either. I just need his essence, if you will.”

Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Tarron got a strange look on his face. Quickly, he strode to his bookcase. “I may have something.”

After searching through a few shelves of old books, the prince withdrew one carefully and studied the cover. Turning to face the group, he held it out to Jax.

“A vintage copy of The Count of Monte Cristo,” Jax said, running a hand over the lettering in appreciation. “A man is wronged, is tossed into a cell, and bides his time for years to bring down his enemy and exact vengeance. One of my favorite stories ever.”

“Mine too,” the prince agreed. There was something wistful in his expression. A bit sad. “The book was a birthday gift from Darrow more than twenty years ago, when he was still among my coven. I always wondered if the gift was symbolic on his part.”

“Maybe.” Jax opened the cover. “He inscribed it to you. His writing will definitely help with a reading.”

“Is there anything special you need to accomplish it?” Tarron asked him.

“No. Just a few minutes of quiet.”

Moving back, they gave the RetroCog silence and space as he settled on the sofa and placed the book in his lap. As he traced the handwriting with his fingers, his expression became distant. His mind was no longer in the room with them, but in a different time, perhaps a different place. Zan tried to imagine how tough it would be to pull together the threads of the past, form them into a vision or series of snapshots. How disturbing.

He knew sometimes the memories were horrid. That went with the territory; Jax had little reason to handle an object unless the person who’d touched it had either done something terrible, or been subjected to it.

Slowly Jax’s eyelids drifted shut. His breathing grew faster, more ragged. His face became drawn and he mouthed the word no. A bad one, then. A glance at Nick told Zan that the commander knew it, too, and was dreading what would be revealed.

When Jax slumped back and the book slipped from his grasp, Zan jumped forward and rescued the volume, setting it on Tarron’s desk. Then he hurried to sit beside his best friend and placed a palm on his forehead.

“Don’t,” Jax croaked, grabbing his wrist. “You can’t afford to spend any healing energy on me.”

“Dammit, Jax—”

“No. I just need some water and some rest; then I’ll be fine.” His gaze found Nick’s, and he paused. “You might want everyone to leave.”

The commander shook his head. “They all know anyway. Just tell me if Darrow is the one responsible for murdering my mate.”

A heartbeat passed. “Yes.”

“There’s no doubt?”

“None,” Jax said gently. “I saw.”

Nick’s knees seemed to buckle as he grabbed the corner of his desk. Zan was ready to catch his boss if need be, but it proved unnecessary. Nick straightened his spine, and the devastation in his dark blue eyes was replaced by steel.

“I want Darrow dead. And I want to kill him myself.”

Those cold words sent a shudder through Zan. He’d heard the commander talk about taking out their enemies before. Hell, they all said stuff like that. But this was the first time he’d heard Nick speak personally about killing. It brought home how dangerous their world was, how tenuous.

“We’re going to get him, I assure you,” the prince vowed. He looked to Jax. “The vision you got . . . does this mean Darrow had already committed that atrocity when he gave me the book?”

“Unfortunately, yes. That’s how my visions work—I can’t see an event if it hasn’t happened when the object was handled. I’m sorry.”

The weight of knowing for certain that he’d had a rogue living under his rule, right under his nose, was hard for Tarron to bear. The news that Darrow had killed someone’s mate was no doubt even worse. The vampire closed his eyes and clenched his fists, obviously battling his anger and frustration.

“We’ll get Darrow, but it won’t be easy,” Tarron finally said, opening his eyes. “I’ll bring as many of my men as I can spare to tip the odds in our favor.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you. When’s the best time to strike?”

“I would say daylight, but only my oldest soldiers can handle the sun’s rays. The younger ones will suffer nasty burns if exposed too long.”

“A nighttime offensive, then. Tomorrow night?”

“The timing should work. The question is, how the hell are we going to attack a coven of rogue vampires at a Motel 6 without alerting every human in the area?”

Micah grinned at the prince. “That’s why it rocks that we come equipped with our very own Sorcerer. Wait until you see him in action.”

Tarron’s smile transformed his face. “I’ve seen him performing his magic for the members of my coven. He’s quite good.”

“Good? A few parlor tricks are nothing compared to what Kalen can do.” Micah laughed. “You should see him turn a horde of rogues into dried-up raisins. He’s seriously badass.”

“Excellent. We’re going to need every advantage we can muster.”