IGNITE

CHAPTER THIRTY

EZRA

To say I’ve become hyper-focused on the idea of murdering one man would be an understatement. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep a full night again until my abuser is buried six feet under.

Sex with Cain has been a solid distraction, but he’s not always able to fuck this destructive energy out of me.

The gun range isn’t doing the trick, even after upgrading to rifles, and Rev can’t seem to work me hard enough in the gym. No matter how long I run or how many reps I knock out with weights, my mind is still haunted.

So it’s no surprise I end up outside Isaac’s office two days earlier than our scheduled appointment, leaned up against the wall as I wait for him to return from lunch.

He freezes when he sees me, a paper bag of greasy food clutched in one hand and a giant milkshake in the other. His eyes dip to my fingers, twitching restlessly against my thighs.

“Hi, Ezra. What can I do for you?”

“I think I have panic attacks,” I blurt out. “Possibly anxiety, too.”

Isaac’s dark brows touch the ends of his hair curling out from under a slouchy hat. He recovers with an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you come in, and we can talk about it. Here, you look like you need this more than me.”

He hands over the chocolate milkshake, and I can’t not consume it. Only after my belly is sluggish from the ice cream treat, do I get up from the chair in his office and begin to pace.

“I don’t want this to be about me,” I start off. “I want to do this job. I want to help hunt down bad people. But my head doesn’t want to cooperate, and I need it to cooperate because this is about other people who need help, not about what happened to me fucking centuries ago.”

Isaac doesn’t seem phased by my sudden aggression, almost like he could see down into the core of my pain the first time he met me.

We spend three hours talking, and after I’ve unloaded most of my fucked up past—I can’t give him all of it—I find that the disgusting feelings in my chest ease up just enough to take the edge off. I think it’s just Isaac’s ability to take everything I say in stride. He might be a wizard.

“I can come back tomorrow, right?” I ask, hesitating in the doorway.

“Of course you can. And just know, it doesn’t always have to be to talk about things. I want to be friends with you, Ezra. Our lunches have been immensely enjoyable.”

His words strike me in the chest, deflating my lungs. I force a shy smile, and then I’m on to my next mission. I’d made so many plans last night while lying awake in bed and counting Cain’s breaths.

The lower levels are empty, with the exception of Alaric. He’s browsing through files on his computer at alarming speeds, a fresh cup of black coffee perched atop old pizza boxes on his desk.

“Hey,” I greet softly.

He startles, spinning around in his chair. “Shit, what? Oh. Hi, Ezra. What are you doing down here?”

My fingers run over the scars on my arms. “I was hoping you could research someone for me.”

“Um. Yeah, sure thing.” He rubs his hand up and down his cheek. “You, uh… wanna pull up a chair?”