Page 38 of The Curse of Blood and Silenc

I nodded, curious to see how the wolf king would handle hearing about the rats in his court.

“Gage slipped it into my pocket as an early Christmas present.” Dimitri delivered the line with theatrical flair, but hiseyes were sharp, watching for a reaction. “I’d have preferred a gift card, but hey?—”

The words hadn’t even finished leaving his mouth before rage transformed Trystan’s face. His aristocratic blue eyes blazed molten gold, the wolf beneath his skin clawing to get out. “Get. Gage.” The words came out midway between human speech and animal growl.

Stalker bolted from the study like Death itself was on his heels. Given the fury radiating off Trystan, maybe it was.

The change rippled through Trystan and the careful facade of civility peeled away as he emerged from behind his desk—hair sprouting thick and wild down his head and arms, fingernails extending into curved daggers, his canines lengthening into razors and splitting his perfect politician’s smile into something savage.

Stalker burst back in, twisting a third man’s arm behind his back.

“Let me go,” the man gasped—Ivan, I presumed. Perfect. Almost all the players were finally on stage. But Gage’s absence nagged at me. Trystan had sent him to retrieve Ivan, yet here was Stalker instead.

I sat quietly, waiting for the real show to begin.

Clearly, it nagged at Trystan too. His glare shifted from Stalker to the empty doorway. “Where’s Gage? I sent him to get Ivan.”

Stalker shoved Ivan at Trystan’s feet. “Dunno. I found Ivan scaling down the wall. No sign of Gage.”

“Ivan.” Trystan’s voice dropped low. “Did Gage tell you to come down here?”

Ivan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his face draining of color. “No.”

A lie. Fear rolled off him in waves—if I could smell it, Trystan certainly could.

I watched Trystan’s rage was a tangible force as he snatched Ivan off the floor and slammed him against the wall. The plaster cracked, sending a spiderweb of fissures racing up to the ceiling. “You. Betrayed. Me.”

“What?” Ivan’s feet kicked uselessly against the wall, his hands scrabbling at Trystan’s grip like a mouse caught in a trap. “No, I didn’t—I swear. I—” His protests devolved into a choked gurgle.

The wolf king’s control was slipping. I could smell it. His eyes flared with unholy yellow light as he hurled Ivan across the room. The desk splintered under the impact, papers scattering like confetti. I didn’t move to help either of them. Let them tear each other apart; it would save me the trouble.

“Why did Gage give Dimitri Dragan your phone?” Trystan’s voice had dropped to that register that made small animals freeze.

Blood painted Ivan’s lips as he crumpled to his knees. Each word came out between desperate gasps. “Gage...forced me. He wants... He wants to be king.” His head bowed in submission—too late for that now. “If I didn’t do what he said… he would kill my mate.”

My fingers tightened on Moonfall’s hilt. Gage. The pieces were falling into place.

Trystan’s hand shot out, taking Ivan’s head back by the hair. “They have Shannon?”

“He gave…” Ivan’s voice broke like shattered glass. “He gave her to the demon.”

I caught Dimitri’s eye. Balthazar. Of course the demon would be involved in this coup.

“Where are they?” Trystan twisted harder, and I heard tendons creak as his control finally snapped. His fangs sank deep into Ivan’s shoulder, eliciting a scream that could havewakened the dead. The scent of fresh blood filled the air, sweet and metallic.

“Shadowmoon,” Ivan sobbed. “Your grandfather’s old place.”

Blood dripped from Trystan’s mouth as he released his bite. I smiled. His grandfather’s abandoned den. I knew the abandoned den—every vampire in New Orleans kept tabs on old wolf territory. It was the perfect hole for traitors to hide.

And now we knew exactly where to find them.

Chapter

Twenty

Serenity

Balthazar leftto get Shannon and me food, as if we were guests at some twisted dinner party rather than his prisoners. I sat on the floor next to Shannon and leaned back against the wall. I doubted she would even be able to eat. My own stomach churned like a storm-tossed sea, each revelation making me sicker. He was methodically dismantling my world piece by precious piece, stripping everything away with surgical precision.

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