Page 111 of In Prey We Trust

“You can’t possibly be serious. They won’t agree to—”

“Oh, I think they will. Exiled offspring are rarely financially viable and their errant children have value now. Partnership with the Council will only strengthen their kingdoms, and I intend to make the best out of an unpleasant situation. That’s something none of you seem capable of comprehending.”

“Since you’re so cozy with the Khan thugs,” Seamus O’Leary drawls in his whimsical brogue, “perhaps you can arrange for some of their stateside enforcers to patrol the campus. It would prevent more incidents without involving the S.B.E. Morrigan knows we don’t want them writing reports that might get to the human liaison’s desk.”

Turning away from the spineless wastes on my conference call, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I hate to admit Seamus is correct for once in his whiskey soaked life, but we don’t want anyone to panic and go to the fat-footed clods our sham government in D.C. pretends to police shifters with. Part of the Treaty involved keeping the humans informed of all pertinent shifter related developments via a liaison whose family has served that purpose secretly for centuries. The Council avoids giving their dull-eyed representative anything useful, but if the Sibbies get involved, no one will control the flow of information that could escape to our less evolved cousins.

I’ll have to bargain with that randy old bastard on Bloodstone so my colleagues on the Council will shut up about their precious heirs’ safety.

“Fine, Seamus. I’ll work with the Raj to have the borders guarded, but…” I spin back to them all, half-shifted so they know I mean what I say. “I am warning every one of you: keep your mouths shut. Do not speak to your staff, your children, your spouses, your fuck toys—no one—about our theories about the magical riff-raff re-emerging. There is no need for leaks to cause a panic. We will handle this if I have to contract every bounty hunter in North America to slay anyone with a whiff of magic in their family lines—human and shifter alike. Understood?”

They don’t speak and I didn’t expect them to. When I show what a true Rostoff is capable of, they remember what will happen when I am displeased quickly. I make no bones about my willingness to cause a transfer of power in any of their families for any reason. Showing them the claws often brings that threat back in vivid color.

“Now go back to making us money and making the public think everything is fine.” I motion at Matilda and the screen cuts out when she ends the call. Irritated beyond measure, I look over at my useless spouse. “Leave me. I will debrief you about your travels tomorrow. I have no patience left for stupidity today.”

Bruno looks like he’s going to argue, but Bruiser is already holding the door to my office open. “I’ll have your car waiting, boss. You should visit the club.”

As if I didn’t figure out ‘the club’ was code for whatever mistress he’s banging long ago.

“Yes, go relax at your club. I’m sure your swing won’t be too short for a hole in one.” I smirk at my humor, enjoying the angry stomping of my husband as he leaves the room. I sink into my expensive chair, leaning back as I contemplate how I will approach the churlish leader of Death Island. “Matilda!”

She practically leaps to bring me a fresh drink, her small features creased in concern. “Madame…”

Before she can sputter some nonsense about my daughter, a loud ring comes from the video screen and the face of my father appears. My gaze cuts to the hawk, promising pain for forgetting to disconnect that function when she ended my Council conference. Now Dmitri is three feet tall on my wall, glaring at me from under his thick brows as he did when I was a child and I can’t stop him.

“Dobryy den'1, papa,” I say dutifully.

His gaze intensifies, and I can almost feel the fury radiating through the feed. “I will be in Cambridge in three days’ time. Bud'te gotovy ob"yasnit'sya2.”

To say this is not optimal would be like calling Mount Everest a hill.

“Why are you troubling yourself with travel, papa? You hate to—”

“What did I say, razocharovyvayushchaya doch'3? Make ready for me.”

The screen goes black without another word and fury fills my veins. A loud feline roar of frustration echoes off the marble as I throw my glass, smashing it against the fireplace below my conference screen.

This is most unfortuitous and I need to find someone to slake my anger on before I can focus on strategizing.

“Matilda, get me my daughter on the phone. Now.”

Her look of horror almost makes me feel better, but I know talking to Delores will be even better.

Do svidaniya4, papa.

1 Good afternoon

2 Be prepared to explain yourself.

3 disappointing daughter

4 until next time

Sanctuary

Delores

After a week and a half of being locked on campus, the tension has amped up considerably. This past Sunday, a bunch of enormous skeevy looking men and women showed up in Cappie security uniforms to patrol the perimeter and gates. Rufus and Cori almost had panic attacks because they might have to move back into their dorms, but Fitz pulled up videos of the typical routes of the old guards to study so they’d have a vague idea of when they could come and go. The additional guards are definitely not law enforcement nor are they Capital Prep employees, so I can only assume the Council has sent them.

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