He came for me.
The Heretics scattered in an instant, releasing my limbs to run for cover as the Gravewatch men descended on Broad Street Cemetery.
They didn’t make it far.
I managed to sit halfway up, my tired muscles protesting as I watched Holden chasing a cloaked figure past a tomb on my right, gun in hand. Hunter wasn’t far behind, taking down another Heretic in a full-body tackle any defensive lineman would envy. Sawyer clocked one of them over the head with the butt of his gun as Welles did a wickedly cool leg-sweep maneuver that sent another one of them sprawling ass over elbows across the grass. And then, I couldn’t see anything else, because Graham was there, his broad chest filling my whole visual field as his fingers fisted in my hair and he hauled me up against him. He was gripping me so tight it was borderline painful, but I didn’t care. Not a hoot. Not an iota. Not at all.
He was here.
I was alive.
We were together.
“Gwen.” His voice was rough, almost raw. Ragged with emotions I couldn’t put a proper name to.
“I’m okay,” I informed his leather jacket, since I was pressed too tight against him to see his expression. The words came out muffled.
He pulled back enough to look down at my face. His beautiful green eyes were narrowed as they moved back and forth, studying me.
“Graham, I’m okay,” I repeated.
His mouth was a flat line, no trace of a smile. I wanted to kiss it but I figured that wasn’t pertinent at this exact moment in time.
“Scared the shit out of me,” he gritted, jaw locked tight. “Thought I was too late.”
My hand shook with the effort, but I managed to lift it to his cheek. He had a day’s worth of stubble lining his sharp jawline and dark circles beneath his eyes. “Just in time, baby,” I whispered. “Now, are you going to kiss me, or what?”
His mouth came down and he finally claimed my mouth with his own. A burning kiss, a desperate kiss, one that said everything he wasn’t able to, encompassing all his fear and his need and his love, pouring it into me until I thought my heart might explode from the effort to contain all of it at once.
Only the muffled moan of pain from the ground beside the crypt was enough to break us apart. Graham pulled back from me, turning to glare down at Hetti, who was writhing in pain. The bullet wound to her shoulder was bleeding a lot, but not life threatening.
“He shot me,” she wailed, clutching her wound. “He freaking shot me!”
“You tried tokill me!” I snapped at her, wishing I was strong enough to do more than glare. She deserved a swift kick in the ass. “You hurt Agatha and Sally!” My eyes flew to Graham. “Oh my god! Are they—”
“They’re fine. Unconscious, but breathing steadily. I think they were clocked over the head or dosed with something.” His hand cupped my cheek, skimming over my eye socket. “Ambulance is already on its way.”
In the distance, I heard the sound of approaching sirens and a wave of relief crashed through me. The Bay Colony Coven would live to hex another day. The Gravewatch boys were tracking down the fleeing Heretics. Eliza’s murder had been solved. Hetti was incapacitated. And, best of all, I was still breathing.
My eyes shifted to Graham’s. He was staring down at Hetti with distaste but, feeling my gaze, turned his attention to me. He saw me struggling to sit fully upright and instantly moved to help me, his firm hands closing around my waist as my legs swung around to dangle off the edge of the crypt.
“Did you call the police?” I asked, brows lifting.
He nodded. “Hightower is on his way with the full cavalry.”
“How did you know? How did you find me?”
“Babe.” His lips twitched. “Map in your purse. You led me right to you. Short of using a bat-signal in the sky, couldn’t have been better.”
I blinked, stunned. (Though, I shouldn’t have been. This was Graham, after all. He knew everything.) “Oh.”
His lips twitched again. “I was almost back to town when all this went down. Soon as the twins shook the O'Banions, they went to the store. No sign of you, but security cameras picked up your barista here—” He nudged Hetti’s side with his steel-toed boot, making her moan. “—dragging you out the back exit, into a van. Doesn’t take a PI license to put two and two together. Welles saw what was going on, ran a quick background check. Turns out, your barista isn’t who she claims to be. Henrietta Charles is no goth from the Pacific Northwest. She’s a local girl with deep ties to a few dark Wiccan groups — so dark, they’ve been flagged by the Feds for their strange practices in the past. Pose a threat to human life.” His eyes moved back to the writhing woman at his feet. “I should’ve checked her out sooner. That’s on me.”
“Baby, you couldn’t have known.”
“It’s my job to know, Gwen.”
“I hired her — I worked alongside her for six freakingmonths— and I never had a clue who she really was.” I sighed, shaking my head. “If you’re going to blame yourself, you have to blame me too.”