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Izetta clenched her fists to hide the rage-filled tremor in her hands. “They still have my friend.”

Rafe had risked his life so she could escape. She had made him a promise.

“I’m sorry,” Malatest replied.

“You’re going to abandon him?”

Malatest spread his hands in an empty gesture. “He’s your friend, not mine.”

Izetta sucked in air, taking a breath she didn’t need to ease the pressure in her chest. Disgust and disappointment crowded in. She’d seen her brethren fed to the lions of Rome. This felt the same.

Izetta leaned over the desk, locking eyes with Malatest. He was powerful, but she was older, far older, and that made them equals. His smooth, pretty features seemed a shallow mask she longed to crush. Dark thoughts flitted through her mind, mostly involving knives and teeth. But ending Malatest’s existence wouldn’t defeat the fae. The fallout would just complicate her future plans.

She picked up the stapler and crushed it in one hand. When she dropped it back to the desk, it was twisted scrap. The skin around the vampire king’s eyes tightened, but his only response was a soundless chuckle.

“You’ve got nothing else to say?” she demanded in a soft snarl.

“No.” His tone was ice. “I’ve made my decision. I’m sorry it doesn’t meet with your approval.”

She cursed under her breath.

Malatest drew a laptop toward him and opened it, logging in with a quick flurry of keystrokes. It was as good as a dismissal. “Go get cleaned up. You look a mess.”

Izetta heard Errata’s stifled gasp but didn’t turn her way. Instead, she spun and walked out without closing the door in her wake. Pushing the few remaining patrons out of her path, she stalked by the janitor sweeping blood-soaked sawdust from the floor. With a quick wave to Henry, she stiff-armed the door and burst onto the street.

She got half a block before she came to a stop and wondered where to go next. This wasn’t her town. At least the bastard had paid her so she could get a hotel room and grab someone to drink. Then she’d plan her next move.

Izetta picked a direction at random and began scanning for hotel signs. A few places still had neon letters glowing over their facades, as if the street had been caught in a time warp. She started walking again just as she heard someone call her name.

“Izetta.” It was Errata, sprinting after her despite the high-heeled boots. “Wait.”

She turned. “What do you want?”

“He’s not the only game in town.”

Monumental weariness swept over her. “He’s the local boss. He has the clout.” And he’s afraid.

“Malatest is the boss of his nest,” Errata replied. “But don’t forget the shifters. There’s a large pack in town.”

Rafe’s pack. She’d have to explain how one more wolf got swallowed up by the forest. That made her stomach hurt. “What’s your point?”

“I want answers.” Errata smiled, and this time it showed sharp, feline teeth. “And shifters don’t quit.”

CHAPTER 12

Lila ran her hand down the tendril of ivy, finding the joint where a cut would do the least damage to the plant. The woods were fragrant with new growth, and the early afternoon sun was a warm blanket across her shoulders.

She’d changed from her city clothes to a pale green dress that fell to the ground and swished around her ankles. Like all fae garments, it was softly tailored to fit without restricting natural movement. With warm earth beneath her bare feet, such creature comforts should have added up to a perfect outing. She ached with tension nonetheless.

Rafe stood a few feet away, a wide basket of the greenery she had gathered at his feet. He was dressed in fae garments—a loose tunic and slim fitting pants—since his own clothes were beyond repair after the last fight. The simple garments only emphasized his stature. The sun was behind him, turning his broad-shouldered form into a looming silhouette.

She didn’t need to see his features to gauge his mood. The bracelets kept him obedient, but they couldn’t change his nature. Her mother had said shifters were, by definition, mere beasts. Rafe was anything but mere. He radiated wild energy as if the primal force of his wolf had been distilled into flesh.

Angry flesh. The angular lines of his form broadcast outrage louder than any words. He had a right to his fury, but it made Lila acutely uncomfortable. Fae rarely allowed themselves so much emotion. Not before a stranger, and not when magic was in the mix. That path led to chaos.

Lila drew her knife. It had a silver handle and curved blade so sharp that the woodiest stems cut like silk. She looped the ivy into a bundle and dropped it into the basket, the variegated leaves pale against the blooms and branches already there. She might be overdoing the greenery, but the stark house needed a lot of help before it would feel welcoming.

It was probably a lost cause. There were too many uncomfortable undercurrents in the place. Lila had gone back to the dungeon to look for Captain Teegar—she had questions for the man who’d arrested her father—but found the cells empty. There had been one filled with packing crates, another that still had traces of vampire blood, but none with prisoners. Wherever her mother had put the captain, she didn’t want him easily found. Lila had thought about questioning her, but then decided she’d find out more on her own. She’d try again later when her mother was busy with the influx of guests.

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