Page 24 of The Curse of Blood and Silenc

“It’s your handwriting,” Keir said simply, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of judgment. “There’s no mistaking it.”

My fangs dropped, darkness bleeding from my skin as my control slipped. The wolf king had taken her, lied about it, and now sat here playing innocent while Serenity was fuck-knows-where. Only Enzo’s warning hand on my arm kept me from lunging across the table and ripping out Trystan’s lying throat.

Trystan bristled, his wolf rising to the surface as it stared down my vampire darkness. “Where did you get this letter?”

“In my sister’s dresser drawer.” I held up a hand, cutting off his inevitable protest. “Gianna is not part of this war. Target her, and you’ll truly wish for death.” My voice turned to ice. “The culprit was trying to pin it on Dimitri. Care to explain that, Trystan?”

“I do not.” Trystan’s voice carried a razor’s edge. “I haven’t set eyes on your precious Nephilim since the auction. Whoever stole her, it was not the wolves.”

“That’s your handwriting,” Keir said quietly, each word falling into the silence like stones. “I suggest you take another tactic.”

Trystan pulled his upper lip back in a snarl, power rolling off him as his blue eyes dissolved to molten gold. “Handwriting can be forged. I didn’t write it, Keir.”

Dimitri went very still, the kind of stillness that preceded a massacre. “Are you seriously trying to involve my mate?” His smile was all teeth, eyes darkening with deadly intent. “Bold choice. Stupid as fuck, but bold. Shall I show you what I do when someone threatens what’s mine?”

Gage’s lips curled into a cruel smile as he studied Dimitri’s bruised face. “You don’t look like you could do much damage right now. Word is your own family doesn’t even trust you.” Thetaunt hung in the air like cigarette smoke over a late-night poker table.

“He claims his father’s behind it.” I leaned forward, each word heavy with meaning. “Says Petar’s making a move for my crown. But he needs muscle.” I let my gaze slide to Trystan. “Your muscle.”

Trystan looked at Keir, then back at me, the surprise on his face turning to darkness. “You actually think I’m fucking stupid enough to get into bed with Petar Dragan?” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “That bastard’s got a body count longer than Bourbon Street, Angelo. You brought that rabid dog into your family—not me.”

He’d hit a nerve, but I kept my face smooth as marble. Years of running New Orleans’ supernatural underworld had taught me to wear my masks well. Yes, I had made a mistake with Petar. It was a mistake I would bury him for.

“Let me be crystal clear.” My voice turned to arctic ice. “If Serenity isn’t returned safely to me, I will declare war on the wolves. I will systematically hunt down and slaughter every last cur in your pack until there’s nothing left but memories and blood-soaked earth.”

“Tell me.” Trystan traced a finger along the edge of his glass, the movement precise as a surgeon with a scalpel. “What’s the latest on those murdered girls?”

I growled, rage simmering beneath my skin. Someone had been draining young women dry, staging their bodies like macabre artwork to implicate my family. The last victim was Emily Bastion, one of my favorite girls at Simon’s Ravenwood Estates. The same damn auction house where I’d bought Serenity was now a hunting ground.

For days, I’d had my best men working every connection we had in the French Quarter to trace Emily’s movements, her history, anything that might give us a lead. The careful stagingof her body, the deliberate way all traces of her past had been erased—someone wanted me to find these bodies, wanted me to see the way they’d arranged every detail. But why Emily? What made her special enough to become a message to me?

“For example, have you been dining on them?” Trystan’s eyes glittered with accusation as his words slithered through the room like poisonous snakes. “All the intel points to you and your bloodsuckers.”

I jabbed a finger at him, power crackling between us like static electricity. “I suspect you framed me, Trystan. With Detective Louis DuPont and his son and daughter missing, the police will be circling us like vultures.” The weight of his accusation pressed on us all—humans going missing meant attention on us that could unravel everything we’d built in New Orleans.

Enzo’s growl thundered through the room at the mention of DuPont’s daughter. The sound was pure possessiveness. His connection to Joy DuPont was becoming a liability I’d need to address, dammit.

“That’s something we cannot afford,” Keir cut in, shoulders tensing as he pressed his palms against the table. His words cleaved the room like an executioner’s axe. “I refuse to have my family threatened over a trifle like a missing Nephilim.” The word trifle cut like a blade, a reminder that he could become an enemy as easily as an ally.

“You wanted her too, Keir,” Trystan snapped, his words dripping with venom. “Or tell me, has your precious Anchoring Obsidian healed itself?” The challenge in his voice brought a sudden chill to the room.

The Anchoring Obsidian was the Unseelie jewel that kept their enemies from dragging them back to the Elder Dimension like rats onto a sinking ship. I’d seen it once—a crystalline heart that pulsed with ancient magic, its surface etched with symbolsthat made even my vampire blood curdle. I’d always suspected it had been carved from some ancient being in the Elder Dimension, maybe even while it was still alive, but Keir guarded its origins like a dragon guarding his hoard.

Keir’s expression turned glacial, generations of iron discipline splintering beneath the surface for just a moment. “I’m not the one who kicked this particular hornet’s nest, Trystan.” He traced an ancient sigil in the air between them, the gesture heavy with unspoken threats and magic that made the air grow thick and cold. “The missing piece here is Petar Dragan.” He leaned forward, power radiating off him in waves. “I suggest you produce him.”

“He’s not a member of my pack,” Trystan growled, fangs flashing. “He’s on Angelo’s payroll, not mine.”

A phone’s shrill ring cut through the tension.

Keir’s expression turned to carved ice. “I specifically said all cell phones were to be put to silent during this meeting.” His tone of voice could have frozen hell.

Gage pulled out his phone with exaggerated slowness. “I have to take this. Pack business.”

Trystan didn’t stop him, and Keir’s rage crackled through the room like lightning before a storm. If looks could kill, both Trystan and Gage would have been nailed to the wall like trophies already.

Gage brushed past Dimitri, bumping his chair with practiced casualness that screamed of purpose to anyone who knew how to look.

I was done with Trystan’s bullshit. My chair scraped against wood as I stood, Enzo and Dimitri falling into position behind me like shadows of death.

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