Page 70 of Winterfall Destiny

"All witches have to register," says the other, as if we didn't hear his buddy.

I hate to admit that if Dorian had accompanied us, we wouldn't face any challenge at all—but then things could go wrong very quickly if he was here.

"We can't be too careful when allowing magic users into the casino." The first guy now looks at me with undisguised disgust, especially where my arm wraps protectively around Maeve, who's dwarfed between four men twice her size.

Yeah, we're a witch and shifter couple. Deal with it.

Maeve holds his gaze when he switches to her. "Sure. Where do I register?" she asks lightly.

"This way, ma'am."

That 'ma'am' couldn't sound anymore disrespectful if he tried. As the shorter of the two turns to lead us away, Ethan snatches his sleeve. "If this 'registration' involves anything that'll harm or make my friend uncomfortable, I can guarantee the same will happen to you."

The guy pushes his tongue against his teeth and looks up at Ethan. People like this shifter hate to look up to others.

"Are you threatening me, sir?" he asks.

"No. Simply informing you of the facts."

Okay, Ethan isn't much better than Dorian at diplomacy, but I knew that already. Has the security guy figured out that Ethan's a mid yet? Or is he someone who believes mids wouldn't dare show their faces in human public?

Neither man appears to recognise any of us. We dutifully follow the pair to a set of black doors, where a gold plaque pinned to the wall informs others that the area behind is private.

We're led through. Maeve looks around, fingers squeezing mine, and despite her casual stance, I'm picking up on her nerves. Even with the magic Maeve has at her disposal, this isn't an environment she's comfortable in. Me neither.

The hallway to Declan's rooms matched the dingy, low-ceilinged club. At Callum's hotel, we're in a wide and tall area, matching the lobby with its artfully placed abstract pictures and small tables with flowers along the way. The gold and red carpet muffles our footsteps as we head along.

The men pause by an elevator, requiring a key card to enter, and once inside, they use the same one to enable us to reach the top floor. The further we move from the public part of the hotel, the greater my chest tightens. At least Declan's place had less staff and an easy escape route close by.

The elevator doors open to an area with low leather chairs arranged as if a waiting room, the glass table they circled was empty. With one more swipe of the key card, we walk through doors into a room with windows that stretch floor to ceiling, offering a panorama of the London skyline.

A sharply dressed man sits behind a desk, laptop open on the table in front. He's older than Tobias, but matches a man of Declan's age and attitude—suave demeanour and confident smile, although he exudes a greater air of sophistication than Declan as he leans back in his chair, surveying us. His impeccably groomed brown hair and chiselled features take away the rough edge dragons usually have.

No visible scales but unmistakably a dragon—not only due to his aura, but he wears a ring with a symbol I recognise—the one branded on my skin.

"I wasn't aware you intended to visit this evening, Ethan," he says. "But your visits to our organisation are rather unpredictable. You should've at least made an appointment."

27

ASH

I flash Ethan a look where he stares forward. A day early for the meeting? Really? Try 'not arranged at all'. Wait until Tobias hears about this.

Callum rests elbows on the table and studies me. "You brought your apprentice? And who's this?" He lifts his face as if scenting Maeve. "Ah yes. The witch who entered the premises. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Callum," interrupts Ethan. "We're here to request some information from you."

His eyes remain on Maeve. "I asked her name."

"How involved are you in witch business?" continues Ethan and sits on a sofa, stretching both arms across the back.

Callum looks in disgust at his move. "Mostly I avoid them. We let the Confederacy play their games, and they ignore us."

"They ignore shifters regardless," says Ethan. "Mostly."

"Is that right? You're anti-Confederacy? Not pro-Dominion, I hope." He stands and opens a nearby dark wood cupboard where an array of bottles and glasses line two backlit shelves. "What do you drink, nameless witch?"

I'm aware the two security guards remain behind us, and I'm praying that nothing triggers Ethan.

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