He was a simp.
“I’m coming for you, Mae,” he said loudly. “You stay alive, I’m coming for you.”
As his voice echoed around the gray-and-black concrete, he knew he was insane. But there was no getting off this train.
He turned and stalked out of the storage unit. Closing the door behind himself and the Brothers, he looked up and down the corridor as the other fighters continued to give him all kinds of no-go hairy eyeball.
When he walked away, he felt like he was peeling off his own skin. And the only way he could keep going was by promising himself . . . he was somehow going to find his female.
Not that she was his.
For fuck’s sake, he should have listened to his gut and not gotten involved—
The clanging clatter rang out in the hallway, like something metal had hit . . . something metal. Spinning around, he frowned at the nothing-happening.
“What is it?” Tohr demanded.
“Didn’t you hear that?”
“No. There was no sound.”
Butch shook his head. “There was nothing, my guy.”
Sahvage ignored them. But when there was no repeat and no . . . fucking anything at all . . . he knew he was just being an ass.
“Motherfucker.”
He turned away—and that was when he heard the weeping. Soft. As if from a distance . . . yet the sound was unmistakable.
Gripped with focus, Sahvage walked back to the steel door, even though he didn’t expect to see anything.
He was wrong.
“Mae! Holy fuck! Mae!”
The solid metal panel had somehow morphed into a screen: He could see through it now, and on the other side, Mae was sitting cross-legged on a bright white marble floor, her head in her hands, her sobs carrying through whatever kind of existential distance separated them.
“Mae!” he yelled as he dropped to his knees.
“What are you doing?” Butch said.
“She’s right there! What the hell is wrong with you? Mae!”
Sahvage touched the metal—and it gave way, his fingers somehow pushing into that which shouldn’t have had any give in it at all.
And as if she sensed him, Mae jerked her head up and looked around.
“I’m here!” He ripped his jacket off and held it out to the Brother closest to him. “Take this.”
Tohr stared down in confusion. “What are you talking about.”
“I’m going in after her. I’m going to pull her out. But I’m going to need an anchor.” He didn’t care how he knew this with such clarity. “Hold this!”
Tohr continued to look at him like he’d lost his mind—join the goddamn club—but the Brother grabbed on to the jacket’s wrist.
“I don’t know where the hell you think you’re going—”
“Your opinion is irrelevant.”
Sahvage braced his body, one foot planted behind him, the other set right on the lip of the door. Then he extended his arm into the steel panel . . .
The sensation was unpleasant, like he was pushing his hand through cold mud, but like he gave a shit. He just kept going, leaning farther and farther forward, his palm, his wrist, his forearm, penetrating through the door . . . and coming out the other side.
Mae reared back.
And then instantly, her expression changed. Sahvage!
Or at least that’s what he thought she said. He couldn’t hear her.
“Take my hand,” he yelled. “Take it—I’ll pull you through.”
Even though he didn’t know whether that was possible. He didn’t know anything other than he wasn’t leaving without her.
“I’m going in,” he said to nobody.
Moving carefully, he put his boot into the other version of reality and shifted some of his weight. That same instinct that told him to make sure to keep one foot in each plane of existence, one on each side of the door, got louder and louder, so he relied on the hold on his jacket’s sleeve as he tilted himself off-balance.
Penetrating the door with his torso gave him a bad case of the shivers, his skin goose bumping, his muscles twitching, his bones aching deep in his marrow. And as his head broke free of the resistance, he was hit with all kinds of sights and smells. Clothes. Something burning. Perfume.
Like he gave a fuck.
Mae was right in front of him. He could finally scent her tears, feel her presence—and hear her properly.
Oh, God, she was hurt. Her face was wounded and—
“Sahvage!”
As she launched herself at him, he grabbed on to her body, but couldn’t spare even a second to check her injuries. “Hold on, my female. Just hold me tight.”
Looking over her head, he had a brief, but indelible, impression of racks and racks of fancy shit. And modern furniture and a kitchen and a bed platform. There was a whole living space in the storage area, but the demon was so fucking clever, wasn’t she.
“Here we go,” Sahvage said.
The last thing he noticed, as he started to pull back, was the white vinegar bottle right next to the door. And the container of salt. And a box of birthday candles.