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Chapter Text

My first, uncharitable thought was that Ellen Burton reminded me of a chihuahua, or equally as small and prone to piddle when it got excited. The girl was painfully young in a way that had nothing to do with the year on her driver's license. It was the eager shine in her eyes, the fidgety way she held herself in my office chair, the impatient tapping of her pencil against the college-ruled paper of her notebook. No one who'd seen and done the things I had could ever be termed perky.

The blonde hair didn't help the impression. It was a lie that blondes had more fun, but they certainly had a better PR firm than the rest of us. I was betting the color was an expensive dye job, not her natural hair color. Call me crazy, but she just didn't have the right complexion for it.

The shell pink blouse stretched tight across her chest and she'd come perilously close to spilling out of her top more than once. She was leaning so far forward in her chair that a stiff breeze would knock her into my desk.

Ellen thrust a hand at first me, and then Ari. Ariana Snyder was Animator's Inc.'s first official intern. She was also the youngest necromancer in the world that we knew of, and we kept that secret under wraps. There were people who'd kill us both for being what we were.

The handshake tingled, just a bit. Ellen had a talent, subtle but there. I wondered if she knew. Most people with a mild gift could go a lifetime without tapping into their power.

"I'm Ellen," she enthused. "But you probably already knew that. Mr. Vaughn explained your consultancy system. It's fascinating what you all do."

I struggled to keep the annoyance off my face. I had a bad feeling that my boss, Bert Vaughn, had let in a preternatural groupie into my office because her cash spent as well as anyone else's. Never mind that animating was a serious business and dead bodies weren't meant to be used as sideshow attractions.

"I'm sorry to be pushy, Ms. Burton, but I only have a half hour left on my shift and I have another appointment after this one. Perhaps we can get to the point of your visit. Your case was marked preternatural advice. Are you having a problem we can help you with?"

I'd been tempted to send Ari home for the night. I wasn't meant to be in the office at all, but Bert had pressured me to come to the office anyway. He was still bent out of shape by the departure of one of his most powerful animators, Dr. Georgia Hale. I was filling in on her cases now that she was returning to her 'anthropology' work halfway across the world. The truth was actually more exciting. But I couldn't tell Bert I'd encouraged Georgia to strap on a pair of short shorts and LARP as Lara Croft in her own version of Tomb Raider.

Still, preternatural advice could be a learning opportunity for my teenage apprentice. Ari was incredibly intelligent, but she rarely showed it. Too shy and awkward to meet the eyes of the person she was talking to and speak with authority. I could empathize. I'd been that girl, once upon a time.

Ellen deflated a little. Her blouse gaped a little, giving me a glimpse of a Celtic knot tattoo spanning her right shoulder. So, she wasn't as straight-laced and cheerful as she appeared. I rarely met bubbly cheerleaders who went in for large tattoos. So, she was using a facade. But to what point and purpose?

"Ah, right. Sorry. I'm just thrilled to meet you. I mean, you're an awfully private person, and the tabloids never have much to say about you. The partners of celebrities never get the coverage they're due."

Oh, crap. It was going to be one of those visits. I thought I'd made myself clear to Bert the last time someone had come in here looking to interview me for a tell-all piece. Talk zombies, or get out. I was not spilling the sordid details of my love life, no matter how much they paid to talk to me. I could stonewall with the best of them. If that's what she'd come for, she'd leave disappointed. I only had to give Ellen the silent treatment for another ten minutes, and then I could kick her out. At least Tony Bennington was here for a raising.

I glanced sideways at Ari. She also looked young, though in a different way than Ellen. Actual youth, instead of the shiny persona. She'd just turned seventeen a month ago, and she'd shot up another half foot. Her springy curls had been bound into braids, and she'd finger them from time to time, smiling vaguely.

Her adoptive mother meant well, but Kylee was as white as a jar of mayonnaise and had no idea how to handle her hair. She and Jamil had spent most of our movie night braiding each other's hair. It had done my heart some good to see it. Ari was thrilled and Jamil's hair had finally gotten long enough for cornrows. I missed the long box braids, but those were going to take a lot longer to grow.

"Would you mind getting Ellen and me a coffee?" I asked.

Ari frowned at me. "You're just trying to get me out of the room."

"Yeah, I am. If I'm not mistaken, Ms. Burton is going to ask me about my sex life. Is that something you want to hear about?"

Ari pulled a face, looking appropriately horrified. All teenagers seemed repulsed by the idea of the adults in their lives having sex, and Ari was no exception. She fled the room quickly when I opened my mouth as if I might just give Ellen the answer she was looking for. I turned back to Ellen with a cool stare when the door closed behind my apprentice. She had the decency to look abashed.

"I wasn't going to-"

I held up a hand. "Yes, you were. If you're here for an interview, you can forget it. I don't talk to reporters unless it's related to my work as an animator or my consultancy with the local police. If you're looking for personal details about Jeanette, you're out of luck."

Ellen chewed her lip. "It's not about Jeanette."

"Bull."

"It isn't," she insisted. "Not exactly. It is about where you'll be tomorrow, though."

I shuddered. Jeanette and I would be boarding a plane in a few hours, bound for New York. We'd all been dreading the visit for months, but the day had finally arrived. We were heading into the lion's den, and the beasts were hungry. It was going to take a minor miracle to get all of our people out alive.

Ellen took note of my reaction with interest. "You're not looking forward to New York Fashion Week, I take it?"

"I don't like crowds and clothes aren't really my thing. I love my girlfriend so I'm going to support Jeanette. End of story. You can quote that if you want. Now, if you're through-"

"I'm not," Ellen said, cutting across me. "Because I'm not writing a puff piece. I'm actually doing an investigative piece about Belle Morte. About the rumors of unsafe practices in her factories, and some mysterious deaths in the cities she's visited. That sort of thing. I think there's a dark side to Belle Morte that the public hasn't been allowed to see. And since I'm being put on a plane to cover it, I thought I'd shoot my shot. Would you mind being an anonymous source?"

Oh boy. Things just kept going from bad to worse. Ellen of the pink blouse and bouncy demeanor was stepping into a world of monsters that would happily twist her head off and drink whatever came out.

"I'm afraid not. I'm just going as moral support," I lied. "Good luck with your article, though."

I knew I couldn't dissuade her from investigating. She had that look about her. But I could tip someone off. I knew a few people who worked at the local paper. If I had time, I'd see if I could head them off and convince them this wasn't a story worth printing. I didn't want to bring vampire mind games into it, but if I had to, I would. Belle would kill anyone who even thought about tainting her reputation.

I hustled Ellen out of the room. She didn't go quietly, but she did eventually go. It left me with a rare moment to breathe. These past few months had been hellish. Everything had to be negotiated, down to the color of clothes we were allowed to wear. As if that mattered, in the long run. The beauties in Belle's court were going to show almost all of us up, no matter what we wore.

So of course, the moment was broken by my office phone. The shrill ring made me jump, and I fumbled the receiver twice before I could lift the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Anita, I'm so sorry," Mary began. And she did sound like it. She knew how stressful the last few weeks especially had been. "But there's an agent on line two for you. She says it's urgent. Tony Bennington says he's happy to wait until you're finished."

Generous of him, but I couldn't bring myself to be happy about it. If an agent called me at work, things had to be bad. I'd made my semi-retirement known to RPIT and the FBSA regional command center. If they were calling me now, the consultation must be needed urgently. I just couldn't think of any female agents I knew that would want to get in contact with me this badly.

"I'll take the call."

I punched a few buttons, steeling myself for what was to come, and said, "This is Animator's Inc., Anita Blake speaking. How may I help you?"

"In any way I wish," a lovely female voice purred from the other line. It sounded like silk dragged over a bleeding wound. Sensual, with a bite of pain, just like the woman herself. "You do owe me one more favor, after all."

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, but my voice was calm when I said, "Hello again, Queen Andias."

Chapter Text

Andais' laugh poured into my ear like dark chocolate, warm and prone to sticking.

There was power in her voice, whether or not she wanted to put it there. That kind of spillover was to be expected sometimes when you were the monarch of all the wicked faeries. There were so few Unseelie left that she had to be on guard at all times, lest someone try to take her head off. There were only a handful of people who could ascend to the throne, the chief among them her niece. So far as I knew Meredith wasn't pregnant yet and, due to complicated familial faerie magic, it meant her claim to the throne was unstable until she had an heir.

"You have no idea how refreshing it is to be spoken to plainly, Anita. Are you quite sure you don't want a night in my bed?"

I made a face, trying desperately to figure out a graceful way to demur. Faeries didn't have the same sexual hangups that humans did and used to have a nasty habit of kidnapping the ones they found attractive. I'd already shared an (admittedly hot) liplock or two with the wicked queen while striking bargains with her. It wasn't that I didn't think it would be fun while it lasted. I was just worried about surviving to morning.

"I'm seeing someone," I said at last.

"Several someones, last I heard. Balancing more than four is impressive. I'm a fan of a solid threesome, myself. You're polyamorous, or did my reports have that wrong?"

My mouth felt suddenly arid. Andias had someone watching me and not only did they know I was dating more than one person, they knew a ballpark figure of how many people I was actually serious about. I needed to ferret out the mole in Jeanette's Kiss and give them a swift kick in the ass for spilling secrets to the Queen of Air and Darkness.

"They're not wrong, but I have a mostly closed polycule. We're good with the number we have, thanks."

She let out another one of those touchable laughs before she spoke again. "Oh, you take all the fun out of flirting, Anita. If I can't watch a sweet young thing squirm it hasn't been a successful evening."

"Sorry to disappoint you. Did you have a reason for calling or is this a really long-distance sex line call?"

I expected that she'd laugh again, but there was silence on the other end of the line. I was beginning to think I'd fucked up, stuck my foot so far into my mouth that I gagged on it, and had earned a little faerie retribution into the bargain. But when she continued, her voice was subdued, not angry.

"I need you to find someone for me and return them whole to the Unseelie Sithen. There's an entrance near Cahokia, Illinois. I'll instruct Frost and Doyle to expect you by the end of the week."

My pulse sped. The end of the week? She expected me to have this errand done by the end of the week? Had she looked at a calendar or a news outlet recently? The celebrity gossip rags were all a-twitter about Jeanette's trip to New York. Belle Morte had insisted she reprise her role as a model for old time's sake, and Jeanette didn't have enough leverage in this situation to refuse. The only consolation was that her security would have a very good idea of her schedule and how to defend her against threats. The downside? Belle controlled our schedule with an iron fist. It was a lot like the pair had grabbed each other's hair and were white-knuckling their way through a stalemate, waiting for the other person to blink.

"This week isn't going to work. I'm boarding a plane for New York tonight and I won't be home until next week."

"I'm aware. The person I seek is a prisoner of Belle Morte's. I want him freed and brought safely to me."

The sides of my throat stuck together. Great. This conversation had just gone from bad to worse. My sphincter had already been at its limit after receiving a call from the queen of the Unseelie Faerie. This favor might cause it catastrophic failure. She wanted me to go into Belle Morte's territory and swipe a captive from under her nose during one of the most politically dicey missions I'd ever been on.

"If you want me dead there are easier ways, you know."

That earned me another laugh, though there was no life in it now. The sound somehow managed to evoke the inside of a condemned house. Something that should have been full and thriving was empty, and there was an immense sadness that accompanied that.

"I have watched you muddle your way through situations more difficult than this one. I'm confident that you will bring him to me as promised."

Because I had no choice. Reneging on a bargain with one of the faeries could cost you your life. I had too many people depending on me for their essential spark to fail, and I'd been known to go to truly insane lengths to preserve those I was responsible for in the past. Losing my own life didn't faze me. Watching people die when I could have saved them was something else entirely.

I sucked in a deep breath, counted to three, and then let it out. I repeated that for a minute until I was sure that I could speak without screaming obscenities. I hadn't ordered a heaping helping of trouble, but I'd have to make room for it on my plate. Andias could make this week very unpleasant for me if I didn't.

"I need details. Who am I supposed to be rescuing? Another changeling?"

"Of a sort. He calls himself Xavier, and you are not rescuing him. Think of it as a bounty-hunting operation. You are allowed to go where I cannot, and you'll be collecting a fugitive for me. Xavier used to be one of my courtiers and I thought I'd killed him a century ago. I'll be correcting the oversight when you return him to me at the end of the week."

Great. Just great. Not only was I supposed to smuggle out a changeling underneath Belle's nose and deliver it to her, but I was supposed to do so knowing what she planned to do to him. There wasn't a universe in which Andias understood mercy or a clean death. The Queen of Air and Darkness looked at the Geneva Convention as a set of challenges, instead of a code of conduct.

"I'm supposed to help you settle an old political score? Are you sure that's what you want to spend your last favor on?"

"Quite," she said, biting the word off at the end. "Rest assured this isn't a petty political vendetta. Xavier is a monster and one that jeopardizes our chances at re-integrating with mortals. The humans guard their children so zealously these days, after all. If we emerge he will be pointed to as an example of why we are all unsafe."

The implications of that sank in and my stomach churned. "Are you saying he's a pedophile?"

"Among other things. An agent with the Child Exploitation and Human Trafficking Unit reached out with concerns. She has informants in Belle's court that alerted me he was still alive. They want him gone, no matter how it happens. They'd also like your input on a case of theirs since you ran off their favorite animating consultant."

I winced. I'd sent Georgia away for damn good reasons, but that didn't change the fact she'd be missed. I'd almost forgotten that she used to consult for government agencies when they had a magical issue she could weigh in.

"Tell them I'll take a look," I said. "But I can't guarantee anything for the same reasons that fulfilling your request will be difficult."

"I'll pass the word along. And Anita?"

"Yes?"

"Tell your Master to change her color palate to black during the visit. She can thank me later."

And then she hung up without saying goodbye. I stared at the receiver for a moment before shaking my head.

"Fucking faeries..."

I took a deep breath, centered myself, and then sent out a quick text to Jeanette before reaching for my office phone.

"Send Mr. Bennington in, Mary, and apologize for the delay. I'm ready now."

Chapter Text

I was going to kill Bert. Bludgeon him to death in his office with a stapler and cart his limp body out in his beige area rug. My girlfriend had dated more than one mob boss in her day. She knew how to make a heartless executive disappear without a trace.

My smile felt brittle and a touch too wide when I turned it on Tony Bennington. It was the politest expression I could manage after learning what Bert had pulled this time. He knew my answer before ever sending the client into my office. He was gouging out an exorbitant consultation fee from a grieving widower because he could. And he was setting me up to be the bad guy in the process, ensuring he could book another consult with a different animator if Tony wanted a second opinion.

Sometimes the depths of Bert's greed scared me. There was knowing that a good portion of CEOs were sociopaths, and quite another to realize you worked for one.

Tony Bennington reeked of old money and refined taste. I didn't have to spy the Rolex on his wrist to know an obscenely wealthy man when I saw one. The perfectly coiffed hair, immaculately groomed nails, and pressed suit told me a hell of a lot about him before he uttered a single syllable. He was a man of means, with the sort of entitlement that came with it.

I'd gotten very familiar with the type after meeting my late fiance's family. And a few hours from now, I was planning to board a plane and attend a week-long party with more of the same.

Tony held himself upright, posture stiff, bordering on uncomfortable. I was familiar with that too. I'd been the person teetering on the brink and still trying to look respectable. It wasn't a fence you could sit on indefinitely. Either you got better or you took an opioid-induced dirt nap. I'd done a mix of both, coming back to sanity after an attempt on my own life failed. Now I saw Gwen Hayes at the newly constructed Sublime twice a week and took my medicine as directed. It helped. For the most part.

I extended a hand toward Tony Bennington and he took it, unable to help himself. His fingertips were cold and the squeeze was brief. His smile was tremulous, but genuine.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm no good at this. I thought I'd be able to keep my head. It's just the circumstances I'd wager. I never thought I'd need to visit this place. I'd heard of it, of course. In my circles, who hasn't? A friend of mine from Fidelus Insurance was furious when a zombie you raised confirmed an accidental death and not a suicide. It cost him a bundle, but it convinced me you were honest and you'd tell me the truth, even if it isn't what I want to hear."

I sat back and let Bennington ramble while rubbing warmth back into my fingertips underneath my desk. This was also something I'd grown used to. Idle chit-chat would fill the air until the real request was through buffering. Some people just weren't comfortable talking about zombies as what they were. Reanimated corpses. Even my zombies, as lifelike as they could be, were just shells.

Save one. But Julian was a special case and not something I could repeat for every person who strolled in my office. The implications of revealing Dominga's secret could have world-altering repercussions.

"I remember the Fidelus case," I said with a practiced smile. I offered him a box of tissues and he took one, dabbing the corners of his eyes discreetly. "And thank you for the compliment, Mr. Bennington, but I'm afraid I can't make the dead lie. The post-mortem brain can do a very convincing approximation of who they were in life, but their souls aren't really in there. The dead have to tell the truth. Lying is a soul's prerogative."

And I could say that with more certainly than almost any other animator in history. I could compare and contrast. I'd raised Asher's greatest love from the grave as a zombie. With the help of Dr. Georgia Hale, we'd wrestled his soul from the hereafter and stuffed it into his zombified body. He couldn't age, didn't rot, and he could lie. It made him very uncomfortable to do it, but if necessary, he could tell whoppers just like the rest of us.

Tony leaned forward. "I've heard of that, you know."

"Souls?" I repeated, unsure where he was going with this.

"Yes, souls. I've researched the Vodu most animators use to bring bodies back from the dead. There's a chance that the soul can be caught in a bottle, right?"

My stomach sank. And now we'd finally come to it. Bert had put a simple note in Bennington's file that simply read: Resurrection? Bert was going to force me to tell a grieving widower that what he wanted was impossible to accomplish for most to accomplish without very dark magic. Magic that the law prohibited. He knew that I'd have to tell Bennington no or RPIT would be on our asses faster than you could say 'magical malfeasance.' This could have been solved if he'd pointed Bennington toward the company reading materials. But why do that when he could charge thousands of dollars for me to tell Bennington instead?

I let my breath out slowly and nodded. "Technically."

"So you could do that with my Ilsa? Bring her back to me in a jar? I'd prefer to have her in her body, but I'll take what I can get. The other animators I've spoken to don't think they can raise the body. But hearing her voice again would be enough for me now."

I was going to throttle Bert. He'd let me walk into this emotional mire blindfolded and now I was in it tits deep. There was no graceful way to handle a man like this. He was irrational, bargaining with God, the Devil, or whoever would listen to bring back the person he'd lost. He wasn't going to listen when I told him it was impossible. This could get ugly fast.

"Why did they tell you it was impossible to raise the body? I'm afraid Bert didn't give me the particulars of your case before I arrived for work today. It's been a hectic time. Third quarter, you know."

Tony's eyes were fever bright. "My wife Ilsa was a philanthropist. She was flying from Chicago to Nashville to make an appearance at a charity gala when the private plane went down. It took them months to determine which charred remains belonged to my wife, her friends, or the pilot. There isn't enough there to raise. Even if she'd been intact, some of them believe that she still couldn't be raised. Fire is a universal cleanser."

That was the theory among most metaphysical scholars. Fire was a purifying agent and worked as a psychic shield against animating powers. That was why burning witches at the stake was so popular back in the day. You purged the evil with the flesh. I took a more scientific approach to the problem. I believed magic interacted with biology in ways that we didn't expect, and that charred bodies had most of their cellular structure irreversibly destroyed. No regular animator could undo that.

Necromancers could. Our powers broke the rules because they didn't come from an inborn gift. It was a shard of Marmee Noir, a bit of primordial night woven into us from the moment we'd been conceived. I might be able to raise Ilsa Bennington from the grave with a large sacrifice, but I didn't dare try. The more I leaned on that power, the more of a foothold the Mother of All Darkness could gain in my life.

I cared about Tony's grief, I really did. Just not enough to doom the entire planet to eternal night.

"There are several problems with your wife's case, Mr. Bennington," I began, lifting a hand so I could tick down the reasons. "One. While it's true that the soul can be captured in a bottle, it has to be done at the moment of death. Even if I'd been at the crash site with all the necessary ingredients, I doubt I could have captured her soul. Not every soul lingers with their body, and the more violent the death, the more likely it is the soul will be catapulted to wherever they go after the end. Two, govis aren't meant to hold a soul forever. Souls need bodies while on earth. It's been theorized being non-corporeal in a jar could have similar side effects to solitary confinement. And third, we're so far into theoretical metaphysics that my eyes are about to cross. What you're asking could be illegal, and Animators Inc. is beholden to federal and state laws. It can't be done, Mr. Bennington. I'm very sorry for your loss, but I don't think there's much more I can do for you."

"Theory," he repeated. "I heard you were a preternatural biologist. Doesn't scientific curiosity compel you to at least try?"

Anxiety made my scalp prickle. Tony Bennington hadn't just done his research about Vodu. He'd done more research on me than a casual Wikipedia search. I had a small but zealously edited entry on the page and my education was mentioned only once in the article. It didn't mean that Bennington had been trying to dig up my life's story, but it gave me pause nonetheless.

"I don't do human experimentation," I said quietly. "I don't believe in disturbing the dead without a very good reason. Bringing her back to live in a jar is not living, Mr. Bennington. If you weren't grieving, you'd see that you were condemning her to a short, torturous existence to no point and purpose. I'm sorry, sir, but that's my final answer."

Bennington's gray eyes burned with an earnest hate for just a second. He wasn't disappointed, he was furious. He schooled his expression, but I'd still seen it. There was something wrong with this man.

"I'll find someone to do it," he said, more to himself than to me. "I will. It's possible and someone out there will do it. I just have to keep looking."

I was sure he could. Animating was a rare psychic gift, but there were enough of us worldwide that he could find someone unscrupulous enough to do what he wanted. I'd have to quietly tip off Zerbrowski, just in case Ilsa's graveyard plot was disturbed. They'd need to exhume what was left of her for the ritual Bennington wanted done.

"You do that," I said quietly. "Now leave, Mr. Bennington, or I will be forced to call building security."

I was perfectly capable of throwing Bennington out on his ass by my lonesome, but HR had all but begged me to call security first. Less chance of a lawsuit that way. I'd only agreed when Jeanette pointed out that it was another layer of protection on top of my personal guard. The safer I was, the safer everyone connected to me would be. I was willing to risk my own ass, but not the collective asses of the ones I loved.

Tony stood, brushing wrinkles out of his slacks as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. He almost sounded disinterested when he said, "That won't be necessary, Ms. Blake. I can see myself out."

He turned and walked to the door, back stiff with the effort it took to restrain his anger. The door shook in its frame for a few seconds after he slammed it. I forced myself to close my eyes, breathe, and calm my racing heart. I hadn't realized I'd been leaning forward, ready to launch myself at Bennington if he took a swing.

There was a soft knock on my door a few minutes later. My hands were still shaking, but I felt calmer than I'd been. Complex PTSD could be a real bitch sometimes. I never knew what would trigger an episode.

"Come in," I called.

I expected Mary to poke her head through the gap and start asking questions. I was actually hoping for Bert to barge in and scold me on professional behavior, just so I'd have an excuse to deck him. But it wasn't Mary or Bert. The man waiting just beyond my door was short for a man, built of lean muscle, and had a face that belonged in a Renaissance painting.

He was also a zombie wandering around the largest pool of animators in the state. Julian stepped inside my office after a second of stunned silence from me.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed. "You're supposed to be with Jeanette and Asher prepping for our flight out!"

"I would be, but something came up. He arrived at the Circus and demanded to see you. I was the only one who could be spared at that moment to warn you."

"He?" I asked. "Who's he?"

"Death," Julian said quietly. "The Horseman. He arrived an hour ago and he's demanding to accompany you to New York."

My mouth went dry. Edward was here. That never heralded good news.

"Did he say why?" I asked, sounding calmer than I felt.

Julian hesitated and mumbled something in French. His accent was hard to parse most days, and it only got worse when he was upset.

"Repeat that, Julian. You know my French is shaky."

Julian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Death believes you are in danger. Someone put out a hit on you. Two million to capture you alive and bring you into the buyer in one piece by the end of the week. Someone's already accepted the job."

Chapter Text

I pulled Julian into the crying room at Animator's Inc. and locked the door behind us. This room was built for a few breastfeeding mothers on staff to use to pump, but it also doubled as a private place to go to pieces for grieving family members. The lock on the door would indicate the room was occupied. I'd just have to make this quick, just in case it was needed.

Julian stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden course reversal. He recovered quickly, as only the undead could, but I'd caught the slip.

"You're going to have to be smoother than that if you want to pose as a vampire," I said. "Even newbies are smoother than that."

Julian cursed under his breath before collapsing into one of the armchairs pushed against the wall. He cradled his head in his hands, still muttering when I approached, taking the chair next to him.

"It's okay, Julian. We've already told you that you don't have to go with us."

Julian just kept muttering and I had to prompt him to speak English more than once. He looked careworn, though there was no physical evidence of stress on his face. He was a zombie. As long as the soul remained in residence, he was as immortal as any vampire or human servant. Still, the expression he was wearing should have been accompanied by deep, omnipresent worry lines on his brow. Between his overlong dark hair and youthful face, he looked more like a broody boy bad member than one of the undead.

"I'm coming. I need to be there for Asher."

"But you won't be able to come with us into court. Are you sure you want to hang out in a hotel room worrying about us the whole time? Cardinal could probably use your help running the Branson Kiss."

Julian shook his head again. "If Asher leaves leadership to me it looks to his followers that I'm being unfairly favored. I haven't earned that yet. I won't undermine his authority like that."

Well...damn. I hadn't thought of it that way. But if Asher gave Julian free reign over his Kiss in his absence, he'd come back to a mutiny. The vampires he'd passed over for the position would make it his problem. Julian was posing as a newly turned heartthrob that Asher was completely taken with. It would look like he'd literally slept his way to the top, and that would piss a certain kind of vampire off.

"Okay," I said with a sigh, leaning my head back against the drywall. Bert had selected some truly hideous wallpaper for the crying room. Most likely to pressure people to spend less time in it and more time making him money. "I think I understand that. Is that why you look so unhappy?"

Julian sat up a little straighter. "Pardon?"

"You look miserable, and I think I know you well enough by now to know that it isn't just Edward's arrival that upset you. Every time I've seen you over the last week or so you look distracted. Is there something going on that I should know about?"

If it was between him and Asher, I'd butt out. They were each other's primary relationship and I didn't want to come between them now that they'd found each other again. But if this was a problem I could fix, I would. Jeanette had enough on her plate without worrying about Julian.

"Am I that obvious?"

I shrugged. "I might not be the most social butterfly in the enclosure, but I do see a lot of grieving people. You could say I'm primed to spot problems."

Julian shook. "It's stupid. I should just take you out to the car. Death is waiting for you. He took the liberty of packing up your things and is insisting on driving you to the airport."

"Of course he is," I sighed. "But you're wrong about one thing. Your feelings aren't stupid. Unreasonable, maybe, but not stupid. Talk to me. Maybe I can help."

Julian remained hunched over in his seat cradling his head for a few more minutes. I was convinced he hadn't heard me until he said, "It's cruel."

"What is?"

"This...this attitude. I know better."

"What attitude?"

Okay, I'd clearly missed some context for this conversation. Julian had launched into an explanation without giving me any of the relevant details.

Julian finally let his hands drop. "Toward Narcissa. I know better. She needs him. I shouldn't be jealous that she's monopolizing his time and attention. But I am. I understand what she went through. I don't sleep. I hear her scream herself awake on bad nights. I've seen the scars and held her when she cried. I don't mind that part it's..."

He trailed off with a shake of his head. I scooted a little closer to him, leaning over the arm of my chair to take his hand. He let me do it, but he didn't even twitch a finger to acknowledge the touch. I had a moment to wonder if Narcissa would be offended that he'd shared her personal struggles but dismissed the notion. She'd stayed at my home for a few weeks while waiting for her miscarriage to complete. I hadn't known how long and painful that kind of thing could be, just from the physical side of things, let alone the emotional turmoil that came with it.

Though he hadn't opened up about what was really bothering him, he'd shared enough to let me guess.

"This is about the media push surrounding Asher, isn't it?" I asked.

The tendons in Julian's neck went taut and he turned his face away from me so I couldn't read his expression. It was as good as a yes.

Earlier in the year Belle Morte had sent her agents in to covertly fuck with Jeanette and her people. It hadn't panned out for her, but the victory had cost us. We'd lost a lot of good people to Chimera's madness. Julian had been tortured and had his body mutilated. I'd been able to use the technique I'd learned from Dominga's journals to shape flesh into suitable replacements. It had all been too Frankenstein for my taste.

It took some persuading, but I'd convinced Asher to let me try the same technique on his scars. It had worked, up to a point. I could probably do away with all the damage if we worked on it for a few years, but just diminishing the appearance of the scars on his face had done wonders for his confidence. He exuded more authority in the bedroom too. As if the demanding dom hadn't been sexy enough before.

Not that I'd been sleeping with Asher much in the past few months. Asher and Jeanette had been seeing each other almost exclusively for months now, making public appearances, and performing for the cameras. The tabloids were going nuts, especially with our impending visit to New York.

But the very dramatic and well-publicized affair had a political point too. Jeanette was flaunting what I'd done to Belle. Since she was my master, she got to claim credit for things I did. Asher's diminished scars were a jab at Belle Morte. For all her power, she hadn't been able to undo the damage. But I had and now she got to flaunt Asher in front of the entire court. It was more calculated than I liked, but I couldn't argue the theory.

"If you're feeling deprived, there are other people in our poly group who would love to be with you."

Julian smiled sadly. "I know that, but I only sleep with Jeanette or Asher and I'm at a loss with this...'dating' thing you modern people do."

I laughed. "Yeah, I had trouble navigating that minefield and I'm from this time period. Did you tell Jeanette how you're feeling? I'm sure she can set aside a day or two to spend time with you. And you shouldn't feel rotten for having hangups about this."

"Rotten," he said with a laugh, and this time the sound was caustic. He was mad. Mad at Asher, mad at Jeanette, and mad at himself. "That's a good word for it."

"Feelings are just feelings and they pass. It's what you do with it that matters. You're new to all this and it's overwhelming. By all rights, you should have never had to enter the political arena again. And I don't think you're jealous of Narcissa because she needs time and attention too. You're too compassionate for that."

"Then why do I feel this way?"

I chewed my lip, considering how much I should psychoanalyze. In his current mood, it might make things worse. Besides, I couldn't launch into a therapy session with departure only a few hours away. There wasn't enough time to make any real progress."

"Has it occurred to you that you're jealous of her position in Asher's life, not necessarily the time he's spending with her?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"You were Asher's human servant for decades. Now you can't be. That was okay when he didn't have a servant. But now that he has Narcissa, she's bound closer to him than you are. And now he's paying attention to other people. It's bound to make you feel...ah..."

"Disposable," Julian said quietly. "And I think you're right. I don't hate Narcissa. She's an excellent friend and I suspect she'd be a good lover, but I'd never dream of pressing her for anything. I miss being Asher's servant."

I squeezed his hand. "If it makes you feel any better, you are someone's servant."

His lips quirked but there wasn't a lot of life in the expression. "But I'm not your servant either, Anita. You cut me out too. I understood that when you were traveling as War. You couldn't afford the distraction. But now you're back and haven't used me even once. I'm here for Asher, oui, but I'm also here for you. I love you, Anita Blake, no matter how uncomfortable that makes you feel."

My stomach performed an anxious little flip. Shit. I hadn't predicted the conversation would go quite this far afield this quickly. Julian predicted my attempt to draw my hand free and held me tightly so that I either had to twist and pull hard or remain still.

"I know you can't feel it back. Not yet, anyway. We don't know each other well enough. But I do love you."

"But you shouldn't," I whispered. "It's just metaphysics influencing your feelings."

"No, it's not. I see you with Jeanette. You make her happier than I've ever seen her. How could I not love the woman who brought mon ange such joy? She's had precious little of it in her life, you know."

I could feel the blush heating my cheeks and hated it. I wanted to turn away or deny it. Surely I couldn't make her happier than she'd been in the last six hundred years? She'd had countless lovers, lived hundreds of lives, and she chose to love me? Chose to make me the linchpin to her happiness? How? Why?

"I don't want to use you against your will. You might not be able to tell me no if I give you a direct order. There's no guarantee of consent and I hate that. I'm not sure that I can ignore it. You'll want to sleep with me."

He smirked then. "Being able to order me to do things could be fun in a BDSM context. I literally couldn't finish until you told me to."

Oh God, was the room melting, or was it just me? The statement was said so casually that it could have been office chit-chat. Though if any of my co-workers had actually heard that I might have to pack up and leave the country out of sheer mortification.

I wasn't sure what look he saw on my face, but it melted the smirk into an impish smile. He leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine with infinite care, stilling my singing bass impression. It was there and gone, over so quickly that I almost didn't believe it had happened.

"Oh, Anita, that look makes me feel like a dirty old man."

"I mean technically..."

Julian threw his head back and laughed. It transformed his boyish features, and I couldn't help but stare. God, he wasn't just handsome. In the right light, he was beautiful. And even this man was insecure. It actually made me feel better. All of us were faking it to make it, apparently.

"What I mean is, there are ways of doing this," he said at last. "A safe word, perhaps, like Narcissa uses with Asher. If I don't want to do something I will use the safe word and you'll know not to push."

That...could work. I'd have to be diligent never to forbid him from speaking during arguments. We'd eventually have fights, and he deserved to have a voice. The fact he had a soul meant his will could defy mine, even if his body couldn't. Clear communication could be the key.

"I could try," I said quietly. "But I can't guarantee you anything. You're used to the sauveness of the Wonder Twins and I am so not that."

"Wonder Twins?" he echoed, brow furrowing.

"Never mind. The point is, I'm not a relationship guru like Jeanette or a sex magnet like Asher. I'm going to fuck up spectacularly sometimes and you need to be sure you want to be in the middle of all that."

"I do."

I sucked in a breath. "Okay then. I'll try. I'll visit the hotel sometime during our trip to New York and we can see where things go."

"Thank you, Anita."

I laughed, and it sounded a little hysterical even to my ears. "Don't thank me yet. We still have a long week ahead of us. No guarantee we'll survive it."

"True. Which is why I plan to do this as often as I can before we arrive."

Then he tipped my face up and sealed his mouth over mine.

Chapter Text

After a brief disagreement with Bert over the fifteen minutes I still had left on the clock, I emerged victorious and left. I might have implied to Bert that I could let slip the reason I turned up late to a red carpet event was because of my unreasonable work schedule. Bert vowed to give me overtime for a month after my return, and I told him to try it. He left the room red-faced and fuming and I left vindicated.

My elation took a sharp downturn when I spotted Edward's Hummer parked illegally in one of the reserved parking spots. He hadn't run over Manny's old jalopy, though the hummer looked more than capable of working out that kind of vehicular aggression. Manny was prepping for a week-long vacation in Hawaii with his family. Since Manny had seniority, Bert wanted to cancel my leave so I could cover Manny's shift. He knew it was a long shot. His best client just so happened to be my girlfriend. She'd never confirm or deny whether or not she owned most of the company's shares, but Bert had been deferential to me since expanding his operation. I wasn't above tweaking that nepotism in my favor in emergencies like this one.

Edward didn't react when we climbed into the hummer, except to motion for me to be quiet when I opened my mouth to ask a question. He didn't speak until the three of us were out of the lot and moving toward the Circus of the Damned. When he was satisfied with the distance, he let out a breath I hadn't realized he'd been holding. It was as good as a swear word, as far as Edward was concerned. He'd been sniping targets more dangerous than me since I was school-aged. If something rattled him, it scared the living shit out of me.

"Go ahead and ask," he said quietly, voice barely audible over the hush of the air conditioning. "You're going to burst otherwise."

"What the hell is going on?" I demanded. "You can't just roll up in your hummer, essentially say, 'Come with me if you want to live' and then give me the silent treatment for the next fifteen minutes. That's the sort of thing that leads to a true crime documentary when the irritated woman pops a cap in the infuriating man."

That earned me the ghost of a smile. "You're assuming you can reach your Browning to do it before I draw down. I have some surprises in this car that you don't know about. I don't need to lift a finger if you try to kill me."

I glanced out the window. Jesus. I forgot how scary Edward could be if he wanted to be. He hadn't gotten the title Death of the Four Horsemen by collecting pop tabs. He was one of the most combat-ready people I'd ever met in my life, including the servants of the primordial night. At least they had a reason to kill me. Edward was a sociopath, and if I pushed him, he could and would take me out. He wouldn't like doing it, but he would. There was something a hell of a lot more disturbing knowing that your ally could kill you as easily as an enemy.

"I wasn't aware we were going back to threatening each other. Golly, is my face red. I didn't come with anything good prepared. Hope you don't mind if I resort to clichés. "

The smile grew and finally touched his eyes. "Sorry. I'm tense."

"I noticed. What's got your boxer briefs in a twist? The last time I saw you this laser focused we were hunting down a god in New Mexico."

We'd been up against some of the most capable mortal assassins in the world then. Every one of them was a reject from the Order or Lyonesse, the order of monster hunters Edward had joined as an unwary young man. They were good. We'd been better. I'd never know where he'd stashed the bodies, but there hadn't been a lot left of them by the time Edward was through.

"Funny you should bring up New Mexico," he said acidly. "Because I think this is connected."

"Someone from Van Cleef's people is pissed with the way we dealt with the serial flayer? They can kiss my ass."

"No, Van Cleef was pleased with how you handled the junior god. He wishes you could have kept the seal intact, but he understands the concept of collateral damage. It's the other monster we were hunting in New Mexico I'm worried about."

He paused to let that sink in. It started as a quaver of fear in my belly and graduated to nausea when I realized what he meant. Julian leaned forward, taking my hand from the backseat, alarmed by the shift in my mood. As my zombie servant, he could sense it. Only then did I realize I'd started trembling, despite the Hummer's excellent heating system.

"Olaf?" I asked. My voice cracked on the second syllable, strangling into something only the ungenerous would term a squeak. I was War, another of the Horsemen. Horsemen didn't squeak. They certainly didn't feel the urge to throw themselves out of a moving car to avoid hearing what came next.

Edward nodded. "His body was never found. The FBI is willing to write him off as dead, but I'm not. That rat bastard snuck up on me once. Never again. He's going to pay for what he did to Donna and what he tried to do to you."

"You think he's alive?" I asked, though truthfully, I thought the same thing. A man as evil as Olaf didn't die peacefully by drowning. They went down in a hail of gunfire resisting arrest.

"I do. I've been keeping in touch with some of my more obscure contacts. There are a handful of countries without extradition to the United States where he might lay low for a while and lick his wounds. I made sure they were aware of his appearance and preferred killing methods just in case he struck inside their borders."

"And you found it?"

Edward's brow creased, deep lines drawing his face down into a rictus of frustration. "Not a smoking gun. I'm calling it a hunch. If I'm wrong, you have one more guard accompanying you on this trip. If I'm not..."

If he was right, I'd be grateful to have him there. Olaf didn't respect much, but he respected the threat a man like Edward posed. He wouldn't come directly for me with Death nearby.

"What did you find?" I asked, half-hoping he wouldn't answer. It was a vain hope. Edward didn't believe in coddling people, especially not the people he respected.

"There's definitely a serial killer in Moscow, but I can't confirm it's him. The M.O. has changed too, but that could be a countermeasure he's using specifically to throw me off. These girls are being kept for a lot longer. There was evidence that the most recent victim, twenty-nine-year-old Nadya Bulova, had a miscarriage while in captivity. The killer rapes them, but the strangulation element is missing. He tortures them with tourniquets and eventual limb removal. There was no evidence of escape attempts. The sadism comes from the anticipation of amputation."

"Jesus," I muttered, swallowing back the desire to be sick. "That's..."

"Just sadistic enough to be something Otto likes. But as I said, it's not definitive. Nadya looks a lot like you, and a few hours after my contact in Moscow emailed me the latest police report, the hit was placed on you. I wondered if he was getting tired of killing in former Soviet territories and wanted to take a crack at killing his real target."

"Farming out the labor doesn't seem like his style," I said.

"Doing things his way earned him a bullet in the neck last time. I know you don't have your weretiger girlfriend waiting to snipe him, but he doesn't. He's a predator, and he'll be more cautious on his approach next time."

I couldn't argue with that logic, so I decided on a different but still relevant question. "Where'd he get the two million to hire a contractor?"

Edward gave me a droll look. "You know how well mercenaries are paid. Olaf probably has enough cash hidden in offshore accounts to last him a lifetime. The money isn't an issue. I wouldn't have stepped in at all if the person ordering the hit wanted you dead. I've taken care of the bastards who posted those hits on you before."

I turned to stare at the side of his face. He wasn't looking at me now, probably sensing that I was about to rip him a new one.

"You what?"

"Anita-"

"You just killed them? Without telling me about it? Without even alerting me to the fact I was in danger?"

"Anita," he tried again.

"You paternalistic asshole!"

"I know, but-"

"No buts. How many times has this happened?"

"Four. People got the idea after I poisoned the mogul who founded the Resurrection Company. Alexander Landry wanted you quietly bumped off once your boss started expanding his organization. You're Bert's top talent, and you have a dangerous job. It would be easy to frame someone else for your death, and he'd get away with it. I left the son that took over for him a note, explaining what would happen if he tried a similar stunt. This is the first contract someone has put on you in years. I'm here to make my displeasure known in express terms."

I couldn't restrain a shudder this time. Edward was one of my best friends. What did it say about me that I cared so much for a man who could calmly and logically talk shop about murder?

"How many people are you going to kill on this trip?" I asked quietly.

Edward smiled, his teeth a joyful slash of white in the darkness of the hummer's cab. "That depends. How many are going to get in my way?"

Chapter Text

"So," Edward began, falling into step beside me. "What's going on between you and Kirkland?"

My steps faltered, and I was nearly flattened by a family of four racing for the next terminal. Edward seized me by the elbow and fished me out of the press of bodies with ease, flashing me a beatific smile when I scowled up at him. The terminal was loud. I doubted even a therian could pick our voices out of the din. Still, I wasn't sure it was my story to tell.

"Nothing," I muttered, smoothing down the black silk blouse I wore. The material felt almost liquid to the touch. I hadn't allowed myself to look at the price tags attached to the outfits Jeanette purchased in months. If I could paste a dollar amount onto this ensemble, I'd be too intimidated to move in it, let alone fight when the inevitable fuckery occurred.

"Bullshit. The last time I was in a room this frosty, Donna was getting her diagnosis."

The reminder felt like a well-executed gut punch. I wanted to bend double and throw up. I'd let down a lot of people in my life. There were so many victims I'd failed to save. But Donna had gotten fucked over, even by my standards. Trouble from our side of the street had spilled over into her nice, suburban life, and she'd lost her humanity because of it.

In February, a therian serial killer and rapist kidnapped Edward's wife, demanding my surrender in exchange for her life. We'd made the exchange, but the antiviral cocktail she'd gotten at the hospital hadn't been enough to stop her from contracting the same strain as her attacker. It was difficult to accept the change, even when it happened under ideal circumstances. So much of people's identity is rooted in their bodies. When that can turn on a dime and betray you, it's devastating. Adding in Donna's past history with wereanimals, you had a gourmet recipe for self-loathing.

"It's nothing that can be talked about here," I amended.

"This place seems as good as any. It's going to be difficult to escape Belle Morte's surveillance once we land in New York. Expect most public and private venues to be bugged, possibly even wired with cameras. I've heard rumors."

My eyes narrowed. "What rumors?"

Edward shrugged. "It's dark web shit. Supposedly wealthy fucks who can't get their rocks off to anything less graphic than hardcore sadomasochism pay for sessions watching different rooms. Think what Raina was doing but on crack. They detail every single aspect of the scenario and Belle forces the perfect sexual fantasy for her client."

My stomach performed a painful flop before dropping into my toes. Bile shimmied up my throat as the implications sunk in.

"Porn. She's using them like puppets for porn. She fucking roofies her victims and plays with their bodies like Ken dolls!"

I didn't realize that my voice had risen to a shout until heads began to turn. I seized Edward by his necktie, ignoring the choked sound he made when it cinched tight. I stalked away from the steady stream of traffic and shoved Edward bodily into a nook. My expression must have been something to behold because he let me do it. His head bobbed once when I seized him by the lapels and shook him.

"How long?" I demanded.

"How long what?"

I shook him again. Harder. His teeth actually clacked together. "How long have rumors been circulating about this? Years? Decades?"

"Since the invention of the VHS, I think," he said quietly. "And before you ask, yes. There are allegedly tapes of Jeanette. She was the second most requested actress after Belle herself."

I released my hold on his shirt and staggered back a step, raising a hand to my mouth. I was going to be sick.

"I'm sorry, Anita," he said.

And funnily enough, I believed him. Edward was a sociopath, which meant that he didn't experience the emotional spectrum in the same vibrancy as I did, but he could at least understand the concept of possession. My girlfriend's body had been exploited for Belle's financial gain. She'd gotten off on raping my girlfriend over and over again. Edward had already declared open season on the last person who'd tried that with Donna. He understood what it was like to need the excised heart of the person who'd hurt what was yours.

"I need you to ask questions of your contacts," I said after a moment.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Why?"

"Because I need to know whether I need to send some of our people back to Saint Louis. I don't think that Belle Morte will settle for just punishing us. I think there's a chance she'll try to assert her dominance over us by making us the star attractions in her latest dark web feature."

Edward's face darkened as he considered that. "Even if I do find out this place exists, what then? You'll be hard-pressed to stop her if that's what she has in mind."

I knew that. Goddamnit, but I knew that. Belle's court was a hall of thrill-seeking and vice. There was no satiation in the presence of a succubus, just lust and the relentless grinding hunger for that next high. To look at her was to want. If she decided to unleash the ardeur on me, I couldn't stop her. I couldn't stop her from taking another piece of me. I was Jeanette's human servant. That made my torture mandatory. But I could exclude anyone else, sending them home for 'petty' reasons, as befitted my station.

Another thought occurred to me, and I spat. God fucking damnit. Edward was right. I was going to have to talk to Larry. As a human servant, that made his torture mandatory too. He deserved a heads-up if Meng Die hadn't already given him one. Friends didn't let friends walk into potential sexual assault blind.

He was still my friend, whether or not the feeling was mutual. He deserved the truth.

I turned my back on Edward. "I need the answer before dawn if possible."

And then I waded back into the crowd, heart near my toes, about to give Larry some truly nightmarish news.

Again.

Chapter Text

"Larry-"

I had to duck a Japanese businessman strolling past with an oversized briefcase. It nearly sent me tumbling into a waiting man holding a sign that said, 'Ellen.' He was a huge motherfucker, at least a head taller than I was, and built like a Mr. Universe contestant. His blond hair fell over his face in a would-be casual style. The one blue eye I could see glowered at me as I bounced off his pecs. I mumbled an apology and rushed to catch up to Larry.

He was going as fast as he could without breaking into a jog, rolling his carry-on suitcase behind him while determinedly not looking at me. Someone, probably Meng Die, had slicked his ginger hair back, transforming him from a Howdy Doodey lookalike to an almost urbane-looking man. If he'd been taller, women would probably have flocked to him. He never really put more effort into his appearance than necessary for his job. The dearth of fucks he gave for fashion was one of the reasons we'd gotten along so well in the beginning and stayed friends even after he'd settled down and started a family.

Except...I'd managed to ruin that for him too. Larry still wasn't speaking to me, but animators were a nosy bunch. We couldn't leave the dead alone, how the hell were we supposed to act any better around the living? News of the divorce proceedings had traveled fast. There were also rumors that Tammy wasn't allowing him back into the house. I had no idea where he'd been staying for the last few months, and he'd pointedly ignored the suggestion to move in with me when I dropped it casually during a raising.

"Larry, slow down."

I wasn't actually concerned about keeping up with him. I'd been training with elite assassins for months, and I could maintain a faster pace than this without effort. It was the eyes of Chigaco O'Hare's security that bothered me. If Larry started sprinting across the terminal like he was escaping from a slasher villain, we'd get pulled aside for questioning, and we couldn't afford that kind of delay. He either didn't seem to notice or care.

So the next time I caught up with Larry I leaned in and whispered a word into his ear. Just one that I knew he couldn't help but react to.

"Pornography."

As I'd anticipated, Larry's steps staggered to a halt. The wheels of his suitcase made a strident squeal against the tile floor as he whirled to face me, eyes wide and nostrils flared.

"What?" he hissed.

"There he is. I was starting to think you'd lost your voice."

"Shut the fuck up, Anita," he said quietly. "You know damn well why I'm not talking to you. Why did you say...thatword?"

I hid a wince. I deserved the contempt dripping from every syllable. My actions had condemned him to an eternity with a vampire he didn't know and a set of problems he didn't need. He had every right to hate me. I hated myself for what I'd forced on him. After all the grief I'd given Jeanette, I'd turned out to be a massive hypocrite in the end.

I glanced pointedly at the people streaming past us. Some people were casting us curious looks, but most carried on, too busy to entertain our little melodrama for more than a second or two. Larry crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest.

"Why can't we talk about it out here?"

If I'd had any leg to stand on, I might have shaken him for being difficult. But I'd been where he was right now. People around me had shown grace and put up with my bullshit. I could do the same for Larry.

"Because it's about her," I said.

Larry's expression hardened. He might not have been up to speed on the entirety of Jeanette's history with Belle Morte, but he knew enough to understand there was only one her that mattered where we were going. He considered it for a few more seconds before turning and gesturing for me to follow.

In the end, Larry didn't have to fight for a quiet space to talk. The businessman who'd been waiting in one of the lounges scampered when Larry flashed a federal badge. When the door had clicked safely shut behind us he took a seat and stared at me expectantly. I took one next to him and wondered where to begin.

"Porn?" Larry prompted.

"Yeah. I wanted to make sure Meng Die was shooting straight with you. Belle Morte has a lot of links to sex work, both legal and illegal. There are rumors that a lot of the rooms in her home are wired for visual and audio."

Larry didn't exactly blanch, but he looked paler and more nauseated than he'd been a moment before. "Would she really do that?"

"In a heartbeat. Belle's whole schtick is hedonism. If there's a sexual trend going on she either invented it or is improving on it. Jeanette has some real horror stories. I just wanted you to know that there's a potential danger. I have a friend looking into it."

Larry's eyes dropped to his hands. He wrung his fingers several times as he thought. He finally sighed. "Thanks. That actually explains a lot."

I raised an eyebrow. "It does?"

Larry sank a little further in his chair, still refusing to look at me. "She's not exactly a talker. She pretty much lays down the law and expects me to follow it. We fight when I don't, which pretty much means we're yelling constantly. I thought that was why she was putting me up in a hostel like some backpacking college kid. She doesn't want to have to risk having sex with me."

"Raping you," I corrected him. "If Belle sets the ardeur loose on you both, it would be mutual rape. Trust me. I know."

That succeeded in drawing his eyes up. They were wide, almost stricken. I realized, belatedly, that I hadn't told Larry about that chapter in Stillwater. Doucette knew, or at least guessed, what had happened. Hard to fool someone who's worked so closely with victims in the past.

"You...?"

I shrugged, wiping nonexistent lint from my slacks, rather than meet his gaze. If I saw pity there, I'd punch him. If I saw condemnation or disgust, I'd punch him twice.

"It happened the first time the ardeur came online. It hit a group of us. I don't really remember what happened, but I know that I didn't consent to it."

Larry sat with that for a little while. I waited. We couldn't stay here for long, but he deserved a minute to absorb what he'd heard.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know. That has to have been horrible. Is that why you went to work on the West Coast for a while?"

"That's part of the reason. Jeanette was in the mix during my first feeding. I needed to figure out how or if it changed things between us. I came back when I thought I could be trusted not to lash out at everyone."

"Jesus," he muttered.

"I know. And I don't think she finds you repulsive, Larry. She wouldn't have made you her servant if she didn't think she could stand looking at your face for the rest of eternity. She does have a heart....somewhere deep, deep down. I think she's smart enough to know this isn't the time to introduce that dynamic. It isn't a given though. You don't ever have to be her bed warmer."

Larry's mouth set in a sullen line. "You wouldn't think so, the way Tammy tells it. She seems to think I'm some kind of gigolo now. Did you know she's planning to have her congregation baptize Angel the second she's born? She's that afraid of me now. She thinks even a tenuous spiritual link to my daughter will corrupt her."

He had to squeeze the last few sentences out. I pretended I hadn't seen him dab at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. As stupid as the guy code could be, there were some times where pushing the emotional intimacy shit just wasn't wise.

"I'm sorry. I keep trying to say it, even though you don't want to hear it. And I'll keep saying it until you believe me. I know I fucked up. I just...I kept seeing Dolph on the ground."

It was my turn to dab at my eyes. I used the backs of my hands. Jeanette would never forgive me if I stained the silk before our arrival.

"I couldn't lose another friend," I finished lamely.

"You should have asked."

"I know," I said.

"Tammy knows judges through her work. If she finds one who shares her beliefs, I won't see my daughter until she's eighteen. I can't miss her entire life, Anita."

"Then you fight for her," I said. "I know good lawyers. And Tammy isn't the only one who knows judges. I will do whatever I can to un-fuck the situation for you. I mean, worst comes to worst, Jeanette has money. There's always bribery. That's how she got me out of the doghouse with Bert."

Larry let out a watery snort. "Really? That's where he got the money to take us national?"

"Yep. Jeanette flashed a lot of his favorite color with promises of more if he laid off."

"Gimme the green," Larry finished wryly.

"Exactly." I patted his leg. "If we manage to get you joint custody of Angel, will you forgive me?"

"Get my daughter back, and I'll think about it."

That was fair. I nodded and offered him a hand up. He considered it critically for a few seconds before taking it.

"We should get going," he said, checking the clock over the door. "I think Jeanette is meeting with Augustine before we board our next flight."

I sighed. I'd protested the involvement of a mob boss and his lackeys, but I'd been overruled. Augustine was one of the few people from Belle's court whom she trusted to protect her people. His connections to organized crime were secondary to her. But they bothered the hell out of me. You could take the girl out of the FBSA but not the FBSA out of the girl. My first instinct was to slap everyone in cuffs and let the law sort everything later.

"Midnight brunch with a mob boss," I muttered. "Goodie. My favorite."

Chapter Text

Most people would scoff if I told them I'd met Al Capone in person not once, but three times. That's not the name he wrote on the taxes he did pay, but it was an open secret among the supernatural set that the gangster hadn't died, just moved shop to San Francisco. By the time that he'd been sprung from prison and turned, someone else had the brass balls to move on his old stomping grounds.

Augustine Agostinelli, the possessor of said balls, was a thousand-plus-year-old vampire originally from Italy. Almost everyone I'd talked to was absolutely terrified of him. Jeanette spoke highly of her old friend, but I had a feeling that had more to do with their past sexual history than anything else. It was hard to stay hostile when you had your hands on her boobs. I knew that from experience. She probably hadn't seen the ugliest sides of the mob boss.

Though, on the other hand, I could have been off the mark on that count. As much as I loved Jeanette, even I could admit she wasn't a paragon of ethics and virtue. She hid it well, but behind the crooked finger and come-hither eyes lay the mind of a Roman Senator. She'd stick the knife in before you realized she was there and would crush your larynx before you could gasp out your last, rattling, "Et tu, Brute?" She had enough steel in her to compliment a mafioso.

I supposed I must have formed some kind of vision of what I thought he'd look like. Tall and built like an old-school refrigerator. Square-jawed and covered in stubble. Ham hands and scarred knuckles. Or, failing that, someone ordinary-looking enough to blend with the crowd. Augustine wasn't either.

He was gorgeous.

Augustine's bone structure made even the most finely chiseled sculpture look like a novice's first attempt. The line of his nose was so graceful that you could have written poetry about it. The full, generous proportions of his mouth made even Jeanette's pout look thin. I had the sudden and insistent urge to trace the perfect curve of his Cupid's bow with the tip of my finger.

And his eyes. At first glance, they appeared a sooty gray, but as I watched, the color shifted swiftly to a bleak, winter sky blue, and plunged steeply into a sea-foam green without warning. The effect was breathtaking, like watching the sun rise over water.

The bronze of his skin had dimmed to a light golden shimmer after so long out of the sun. When the lights hit him at just the right angle, I swore he twinkled like the sun on the sea.

I wanted to fall to my knees and weep at the sheer, unparalleled beauty of him. But as usual, my mouth beat my brain to the ideal social response and I blurted, "Oh. So you're the reason we have Twilight."

Every head in the group swiveled toward me, questioning my sanity. Except, oddly, Augustine's. His face stayed largely in profile, which was devastating enough. I was actually afraid of what I'd do if he met my gaze squarely. Jeanette looked mildly amused but only spared me a glance before turning back to her conversation with the genetically blessed mafioso.

"What are you talking about?" Larry asked, coming abreast of me. Like everyone else, he was staring at me like I'd lost my mind.

I gestured helplessly at Augustine. "Him. He sparkles in the right light. Don't blame me for reporting the facts."

Larry's eyebrows hoisted themselves to his hairline. "I don't think I've seen anyone who sparkles less. He's...ah...kind of short and round and he's not even luminous."

It was my turn to stare at him. "He is not. If he's anything less than six feet four I will eat my purse."

"Six two," Augustine said, voice as rich and decadent as chocolate. Again, no one around me reacted correctly. I shouldn't be the only one melting into my socks. "And there are far more entertaining things to eat than your handbag, Ms. Blake."

The insinuation in his voice made warmth rocket up my neck and flush almost violently into my cheeks. My skin felt absolutely incandescent as if the sun had run a fingertip over my face with enough heat to blister. A dozen, increasingly lurid scenarios spun out in an instant, etched into being by the power in just his voice. When he turned the full force of his eyes on me, my breath caught in my throat.

If Jeanette's eyes could be night on a stormy sea, then Augustine's eyes were a riptide a mile out from shore. There was light enough nearby, but it wouldn't save you. You'd die, suspended on all sides by something vast and unforgiving.

My heart kicked violently into gear, throwing itself against my ribs as though it could beat a path through. Every part of me felt drawn tight with need. But it was so much worse than that. Staring into those eyes I knew with utter certainty that I loved him. The kind of wild, insane love that launched ships and burned cities to the ground. If he asked for my heart, I'd carve it from my chest and give it to him.

And if this was how I felt with a moment of true eye contact, how much worse would it get if I saw him day in and day out? No wonder London had refused to come with us when she realized he'd be there. One second in his presence and I wanted to run in the opposite direction. Because this man could own me, and I was helpless to stop him.

"Augustine," a reproving female voice said.

Augustine's eyes held me for a nanosecond that felt like a small eternity before he turned his attention back to Jeanette. A choked exhale escaped me and I might have dropped to my knees at his feet if his bodyguard hadn't shot out a hand to catch me. The jolt of pure warmth that jumped from his fingers to the skin of my arm was like a static shock, stirring my beasts.

The large, golden shape that padded up the path inside me wasn't the one I'd expected. I hadn't associated with many werelions since my fight with Chimera. While we were encouraging interspecies cooperation, it was habit for each animal group to take care of their issues in-house. I hadn't seen much of Arnet or the new Rex and Regina. I hadn't realized just how violently the lioness would surge to the fore, pouring energy back at the male holding us upright.

If I hadn't just met his boss, I would have said that this guy was the best-looking in the bunch. Teenage Anita would certainly have approved the short, spiked blue hair, and the liner around his pale blue eyes. He made the earring flashing from one lobe look like an incredibly trendy fashion choice, instead of an edgy phase that had probably prompted it. Ripped jeans and a band t-shirt would have suited him better than the three-piece suit. He looked like a skater kid, not a bodyguard.

The 9mm holstered at his waist disagreed with my assessment. I could get a feel for the make and model from the brief point of contact.

"Is that a P365 in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" I asked, happy when my voice came out on a strained exhale instead of a scream.

The man's lips stretched into an utterly roguish smile. "I like a girl who knows her guns. I think you've got a..." His hand skimmed down my back, as though he'd grab my ass, but stopped shy when he reached the grip of my weapon. "Browning BDM."

"Hi-Power," I corrected.

"Ah."

"Stop flirting, Haven," Augustine said in an offhand tone. "You're on the clock."

"Damn," he said, but the smile didn't budge.

Haven set me on my feet, releasing me with palpable reluctance a second later. I felt a little bereft when he stopped touching me. What the hell was that all about? Why the hell had my lioness reacted like that?

Jeanette's hand slid into mine, easing the ache in my chest. When I glanced up at her, I found her staring down at me, face scrunched in concern.

"Are you alright, ma petite?"

I took stock of myself and nodded slowly. "I think so."

"Good," Augustine said. "I would have hated to start this meeting off on the wrong foot. It's quite rude to roll another's servant, whether or not that was my intent. I just wasn't aware anyone in Jean's Kiss possessed truesight."

"Jean?" I echoed.

A small, amused smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. "For safety reasons, it was often easier for Asher, Julian, and I to travel as a group of three men, instead of a husband, wife, and brother-in-law. I went by Jean-Claude then."

Augustine smiled at her and reached out to toy with one of her curls fondly. "You were the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Of course I wanted a taste."

"And besotted as I was, I still kept trying to dissuade you away from my trousers. I was afraid you'd get upset when you discovered the truth."

"Nothing you do could upset me, Jean. I owe you too much for that."

Jeanette let out that warm, delighted laugh that she usually reserved only for Asher, Julian, and me. It struck me like a sour note in a piano piece, jarring me from the perfection of him. The true loves of Jeanette's life were few and far between, and I resented having to share the room with this immoral asshole.

"We may test that theory this visit," she said with a dry smile. "Belle can stretch any promise to its breaking point." Jeanette paused, turned to me, and said, "Lower your shields, ma petite."

"Fuck no," I blurted before I could think better of it. I tacked on a 'Master' afterward, but it made the interjection sound worse, not better.

The amused gleam in her eye didn't dim. "I know it runs counter to your instincts, but it is for the best. You are keeping his illusion from performing its purpose. Augustine does not have to make himself appear more beautiful. He has to appear more plain. It's part of his gift."

I'd been holding out a hope as slim as spider silk that what I'd seen was an incredibly well-done mind trick. If that was how his face looked normally, he had to be expending power all the time to keep himself hidden. A man that beautiful walking down main street would cause traffic accidents.

With manifest reluctance, I let down a layer of shielding, and Augustine simply...changed. He shrank by about six inches and filled out the suit like the slack-jawed thug I'd feared and expected when we agreed to this meeting. He looked intimidating, not fucking terrifying. What did it say about me that the otherworldy beauty made me twitchier than the mobster?

"That's part of his flavor of the ardeur?"

"Oui, it is part of it. Some of it is his own charm."

Augustine smiled and leaned in to whisper something into her ear. Whatever he'd said made her throw her head back and laugh again, a sound so musical it drew the eyes of most passersby. If she kept it up, there'd be a ring of paparazzi and well-meaning fans crowding us.

"Let's get food and go," I urged, using her grip on my hand to tug her away from the beautiful monster in front of us.

"Hear, hear," Haven said, falling in just behind me. "Want me to buy you a pretzel at the food court? Chicks dig that kind of thing."

"Haven," Augustine said, a warning edge to his tone.

"Sorry, Boss," Haven said without a hint of remorse. That sharp-toothed smile promised more quips and innuendos to come.

And after the sheer cliff drop into insane, do-anything-for-you love that Augustine could inspire, that kind of skeevy normalcy was refreshing.

"Sure," I said easily. "And don't forget the cheese."

Chapter Text

Even First Class accommodations and a two-liter of Ginger Ale couldn't argue with a sour stomach. I'd never been comfortable flying, and mishaps in my past had solidified that mistrust into an outright phobia over the years. I'd take a long road trip over a short flight. When I had to fly, I used to pop an Ambien and sleep through the flight.

Only a month into my tenure as War, that habit had almost gotten me killed. If the assassin had struck during the daytime, Verity would have been dead to the world, unable to help me. As it was, she only caught them seconds before they could make the attempt. I didn't take pills on flights anymore, though it was hell on my stomach.

It was the only reason Jeanette didn't question me when I pulled her from her seat and dragged her toward the restrooms. Jason shot me a sympathetic glance as I lurched past, pale and clammy. I pitied every wereanimal on the flight if I was actually sick.

I looked pathetic enough that no one questioned that I needed someone to hold my hair and rub my back. In other circumstances, letting so many predators see me in a weakened state would have made my anxiety shoot through the roof. But honestly, after what Augustine had pulled, I didn't give a rat's ass what he thought of me. There was more at stake than my pride.

Jeanette's eyes widened when her back hit the far wall seconds after the lock clicked shut behind us. The surprise gave way to a heat that almost melted me into my socks. The unadulterated pleasure she took in feeling wanted by me made my knees wobble. Her excitement thrummed like the wings of a hummingbird, speeding my pulse and snatching the breath from my throat. The sheer force of her need almost rolled my eyes back into my skull.

And I realized, with a little shock, that Julian wasn't the only one who'd felt neglected for the last few months. I'd bricked the hurt feelings behind a wall of firm logic. Pragmatism was my stone and spite was my mortar. But in this naked instant, she felt the desperation that gnawed at my bones.

I felt an answering hunger in her. I'd assumed, wrongly, that the sex with Asher would fill the Anita-shaped void in her life. Without the ardeur, I wasn't the perfect lover. I was a clumsy human in the presence of something ethereal. They were a King and a Queen and I was a slimy frog watching their life from the window sill. It seemed impossible that the Queen could see anything worthwhile in the frog, let alone find it worthy enough to kiss. She wanted me. She wanted me with an intensity that frankly scared me a little.

I wasn't sure when she'd spun, faster than my eye could track, reversing our positions. One moment I was holding her, and the next she'd caged me in, bracketing one arm across my throat in an almost violent motion. The pressure was just enough to cut off my voice but allow me to suck in shallow, gasping breaths. It tightened things low in my body so violently that I let out a choking gasp.

Jeanette was usually a gentle lover, which made the juxtaposition almost dizzying. Asher and I had negotiated breathplay occasionally, but Jeanette had never given me more than an edge of teeth or a gentle slap during foreplay. Her interests didn't run to sadism or dominance. But I was a submissive and a masochist. If we weren't poly, that difference could have spelled a schism in our relationship.

I realized, in a flash of insight, that she'd asked for lessons from Asher. What I liked. What I needed. How she could fill more of my needs in bed. And I needed domination and pain. Asher was often in Branson, too far away to play. Meng Die was supposed to step in and take over, but she was now busy with Larry, which was my own damn fault. The tremors running through me had nothing to do with motion sickness.

Jeanette moved her arm a fraction when I dug my nails into her palm, the signal I had with Asher that I wanted to talk. Her arm was still close, still trapping me in place, but I could breathe enough to speak.

"I didn't bring you in here for a booty call," I whispered. "We need to talk."

Jeanette didn't pout. If anything, her expression became even more sultry than it had been a moment before. She reached down with her free hands and began to undo the buttons on my blouse one by one. The casual confidence, the easy glide of her fingers over my skin, and the surety that she could have me anytime and in any way were almost enough to send me over the edge.

She gave her forehead a tap. "In your mind, ma Cherie. It's safest until we touch down."

"I thought you trusted Auggie," I said dryly.

"Insomuch as I can. We are friendly."

"You love him."

I didn't mean the words to sound so...accusatory, but there it was. I felt stupid for letting that sting my pride. She was centuries older than I was. It wasn't realistic for her to have only had one love in all that time. But the ardeur was a cheat. I didn't like that he was powerful enough to be online at all times. It made him a more substantial threat than I'd faced in a long time. Free will barely existed within a mile of him.

"He cannot always control it. Sometimes, despite all your preparations, bad things happen. You inherited the truesight from me, ma petite. I saw him for what he was from the moment we met. To see him is to love him. It slipped my mind, and for that, I am truly sorry. I didn't realize your power level had risen to a point where you could access it reflexively."

So Augustine hadn't meant to scare the shit out of me. I'd walked into my worst nightmare because my girlfriend had been so stressed and overworked that she forgot one of her own damn powers.

"Edward told me Belle Morte could have our quarters wired for video and audio. That she sells that shit on the dark web. Is that true?"

The silence that met the question was all the answer I needed. The quivering tension in my belly died.

"If she unleashes the ardeur on our people, we'll all be starring in one of her films. She wants to put us in our place. It's revenge porn."

Jeanette sighed. "Oui, ma petite. That is one way to label it. You needn't fear for your involvement. We have deals that protect the business side of each other's domain. I hired you to perform raisings at the Circus of the Damned, therefore you are an employee as well as my Servant. It is not a foolproof shield against rape, but it was the best I could do."

And here I thought it was a subtle hint at how she wanted Georgia at her post. I didn't have nearly the same pomp and pizzazz as the brilliant redhead. I'd also wondered if it had been done out of pity. No. She'd rules lawyered me out of harm's way at her own expense.

"But she can still hurt you."

"Oui. I expect a masterclass in treachery. At least one of her machinations will work as she plans. She will try to bring me low. But I don't fear being on camera. The file will be deleted seconds after it is received."

I frowned. "I don't understand."

"I do not amass a fortune simply for the luxury it offers. Any time I am called home, Augustine uses a dummy corporation to purchase my performance. He plans the encounter to my specifications. I sleep with whichever lover I like and only perform acts I am comfortable with. I don't mind if Augustine wants to watch. Everything done is consensual. I do the same for him when he is called back to Court. It is only a small mercy, but Belle has not been able to hurt me with this ploy for many years."

The relief drove the breath from my lungs. The helplessness I felt watching her at the mercy of someone I couldn't beat was almost too much to bear.

"You'll be okay?"

"On that front, oui. I was planning a night with Augustine. It drives Belle absolutely mad when someone purchases him. For many years she allowed no one near him. Belle was never meant to love, but his power is enough to even snare her blackened heart. It isn't any wonder that she seeks to destroy anything that threatens his fealty to her. Only her greed wars with her petty need to keep him from all other women. She prefers to see him with men if she must part with him."

I searched her face, trying to read something from her expression. She was as serene and unreadable as a statue. She was hiding her thoughts from me. But why?

"I know this sounds rich coming from me, but are you sure we should be tweaking Belle's nose on her home turf? We did it indirectly twice and it almost got us killed both times. This seems like we're playing chicken with a semi."

"If I told you I had a plan, would you trust me?"

I hated that I had to think about it. I wasn't used to trusting anyone but myself. Everyone else had failed me at some point. But that was what made them human. I wasn't a saint. I'd failed people too. I knew with a bone-deep certainty that she wouldn't put me in danger without a damn good reason. It was a simple question with a simple answer, even if it was hard to admit.

"I trust you to tell me what I need to know. Is there something I should know?"

Jeanette's eyes were achingly soft when she leaned her weight into me, once more restricting my air. The tenderness, paired with the force drew a moan from my throat. Because she understood. Actions were what mattered. I put my life in her hands because I trusted that she would only take me as far as I wanted to go.

"Non," she purred. "Though I must say I find the thought of an interrogation quite..." Her hand skimmed down the bare contours of my stomach. I wasn't entirely sure when my shirt had come off."Intriguing."

I let out a shuddering exhale when she popped the button on my slacks, skimming two fingers into my waistband. She paused, glancing at me through the fringe of her lashes, her eyes drowning deep. She could take me like this, and everyone would hear. She wanted that. Wanted to scent mark me, brand the perfume of possession into my skin so that no one would doubt she was my master. It ought to have pissed me off. I shouldn't get off on the idea of being owned. But I did. And the dizziness had nothing to do with her arm across my throat. She was fulfilling a fantasy that I hadn't known I had.

"Ma petite?" she asked.

It was the hint of insecurity that reduced all my reasoned arguments to dust. This gorgeous, intelligent woman treated me like a blue pearl, something so rare and precious that it had to be protected above all costs. The woman I loved peeked out shyly from behind the domme persona she'd donned for my benefit. I wanted to kiss her. Wanted to tell her I loved her. But I couldn't find my voice.

I tilted my hips toward her hand, an invitation, and she tugged my zipper down with enough force to break it. The material bunched around my hips as she shoved my pants down to my knees. That might have been irritating if her fingers hadn't begun stroking searing patterns into the skin above my lace underwear.

"Wear a blue set when you visit Julian," she ordered, pressing the edge of her nails into the inner curve of my thigh. I shuddered and arched my back, trying to chase the feel of her fingers. "It looks lovely with your skin color. Please him as much as you please me, ma petite, and I will reward you. If the reports are unsatisfactory..."

She skimmed her fingers under my waistband. I gasped when she actually seized my entire sex in her hand and pressed wicked nails into my skin. The pain was sudden, sharp, and unexpected, and traveled like an electric shock straight to my clit. A slow, pleased smirk curled her lips when I managed a strangled moan.

"I will punish you, she finished in that same decadent voice.

Her thumb rubbed almost savagely over the hood, using my own body to blunt things. It sent a maddening spike of sensation without enough friction to actually get off. I whimpered, aware that someone was going to hear. I just couldn't find it in myself to care. I needed this with her. Now.

"Did you want something, ma petite?" she teased, chuckling at the glower she received in reply.

"You're evil," I panted.

Another wicked laugh. "Oui. Tonight I plan to torture my adorable servant until she begs for mercy. For now..."

Her fingers quested further, parting my folds before plunging with breathtaking force inside me. Without more foreplay, it came with an edge of pain, which only made the feeling of her inside me all the more intimate. I whimpered when her grip on my throat shifted to a firm grip on my hair. She forced me to meet her gaze. Forced me to accept that a shameful part of me enjoyed being owned as much as she liked owning me. We'd been lucky enough to find each other. Our neuroses came in complementary colors.

By the time she'd driven me to the edge, I was biting my knuckles to keep myself quiet. Her eyes never left mine. Her lips were harsh and demanding when she kissed me. It was a thing of teeth and tongues, a desire to consume so fundamental that fed upon itself, redoubling in strength with every glide of her mouth over mine.

Jeanette drew back enough to whisper aloud, "Are you going to come for me, Anita?"

I wasn't sure how I located my lips, let alone my voice. "Y-yes."

"Yes, what?" she said, tightening her grip on my hair in admonishment.

"Yes, Master," I said quietly.

"Good," she cooed. "Now feed, ma petite. It will help the sickness."

I couldn't have stopped myself, even if I wanted to. I hadn't called it, but with just the mention of its name, the ardeur spilled over us both like a scalding ocean. Waves of pleasure battered us like ships on a stormy sea. We ended up tangled on the floor, my head pillowed on her shoulder. She'd loosened her grip on my hair, playing with the curls at my nape instead. The sensation of my breath on her neck had raised goosebumps on her skin.

"We're probably going to pay for that lapse."

"Oui. Do you regret it?"

"Not for a damn second," I said.

Chapter Text

"I don't care how hot she is," I said, leaning toward Jeanette conspiratorially. It didn't matter that we were speaking mind-to-mind. A childhood full of Sunday mornings in an evangelical church dictated that you huddled close together to gossip. It was a rule. "You could not pay me to sit next to that woman."

Jeanette's lips quirked, just once, though her gaze didn't waver. She'd been staring out at the cloud cover above New York State for a while now, lost in silent contemplation. At least, that's what she'd have most of them believe. She'd been hitting me with a one-two punch of flirtation and erotic imagery for most of the flight, leaving me too riled up to feel properly terrified of where we were going. She was going to have to make good on it when we landed, or I was going to rip her clothes off somewhere inconvenient. The little sampler she'd given me in the bathroom wasn't nearly enough to satisfy the need that had been building for the last few months.

"Bunny is quite...exuberant, non?"

I pulled a face at the nickname. Bunny. As in, Playboy. A centerfold for an October spread, apparently, not that I'd be looking up the pictures. It didn't matter that she had the most flawless tawny skin I'd ever seen, or that her curves looked absolutely edible. It didn't matter that her eyes were the dark, almost burgundy shade of the wine Auggie had named for her. It didn't matter that they were fringed with lashes so long and beguiling they gave Jeanette's a run for their money. The personality attached to all of it was so repellant it gave me whiplash.

Sangria "Bunny" Valente was a breathtaking Portuguese-American model, and Auggie's muse for the last decade, or so the press would have you believe. Now I didn't feel so bad about hating the wine. Her snobby, self-centered attitude was just as sour as the rancid grape juice that had gone into the bottle.

"She has a perfectly good name and she chooses Bunny," I thought, shaking my head with enough force to make my curls bounce, despite the shellacking it had undergone before we'd boarded. "Is she crazy on top of being a bitch? I know that usually comes as a combo deal, case in point: me."

The smile pushed up into her eyes at that. They glittered with good humor for a moment before she could rein it in. "I think it's a quaint sobriquet, don't you?"

"If 'quaint' means, winner of a cliché award, I'll agree with you. She's dating a mobster. Bunny is right up there with Carla and Maria as a stereotypical mob wife name. At least Sangria has a little flavor."

I didn't realize that I'd made a pun until Jeanette tittered, unable to keep the sound purely in her mind. It drew a few stares our way, but no one but Auggie seemed to pay it much mind. He'd cast speculative glances Jeanette's and, strangely even my way when Bunny wasn't looking. I wanted to be offended on her behalf, but I couldn't really blame him for staring. Even with only a few hours notice, Jeanette's tailor had pulled out a save, producing a black dress for her use when we landed. I was just grateful I'd remembered Andias' warning and let everyone know about a color change.

Though to call it a little black dress was a lot like saying that the Grand Canyon was just a hole in the ground. It didn't encapsulate the majesty of the experience you were trying to capture. So much of her beauty was in the qualities too elemental to be described adequately by words. It shone through the already lovely set dressing to reveal the beautiful core waiting beneath.

Her eyes softened when she caught me staring. She met my eyes for a daring moment before lifting my hand to her lips, pressing a petal soft kiss to my palm. A quaver ran through my tummy that had nothing to do with lust. It was deeper. Scarier. I loved and hated that her touch meant so much to me.

"Don't stare at me like that, ma petite," she said, voice slipping into a huskier octave as she returned my stare. She pressed another kiss to the inside of my wrist, giving me just the edge of her teeth. The implied threat sped my pulse and tightened things low in my body.

"Or what?" I asked breathlessly.

"Or I am going to drag you back into the bathroom and finish what I started. The plane has already heard you come twice, ma petite. I believe my personal best was six in a row before the ardeur interfered or you tapped out. I don't mind having witnesses when I beat my record."

I jerked my gaze away from hers so quickly it should have pulled something. Heat boiled into my cheeks. I was humiliated to admit how appealing the prospect sounded. I wanted to be spending a lazy Saturday night in bed with her, instead of flying to the Big Apple. If I let her, she could weave a perfect illusion and dope me up on enough endorphins to last the entire week. It was second only to feeding on London, as far as the needs of the ardeur went. It would be easy. And also stupid.

Jeanette would allow me to self-medicate if I let her. She loved me too much to watch me in pain for long. It would put her at a disadvantage, politically speaking, not to have me at my best, but she'd take the L. I was her weak point. The chink in her iron-clad defenses. I was one of the few places Belle could hit and cripple Jeanette entirely.

"No thank you," I thought weakly. It came out as more squeak than speech, even in my head. The wicked chuckle she gave in reply didn't help my resolve one bit.

"Are you certain, mon ciel étoilé?" she asked, dragging the tips of her fangs over the pulse pounding just under my skin. The anticipation of pain was almost as narcotic as actually receiving it.

"I'm just saying that she has to have some unparalleled skills in the bedroom. I can't really understand why else Augustine would keep her around otherwise. Sex can make men willfully blind to a lot of things."

Bunny's first words had been to threaten to turn me in to immigration for daring to sit near Auggie. Along with the casual racism had come a healthy heaping of sexism, too. The put-downs were subtle to an outside observer, but I'd grown up with a catty half-sister. I knew a thinly veiled insult when I heard one. It smacked of the petty insecurity Andria had mostly outgrown.

But Bunny's development appeared to have been arrested around sixteen or so. The attitude was more annoying than it was insulting, and my lack of reaction only made her try harder. She was still fuming at the moment, furious her volley of insults hadn't landed with the potency she'd hoped. It was almost funny, in a pathetic kind of way. I might have had fun playing with her on another day. But now we were heading into enemy territory, which meant I had to put up with her bullshit for at least the next week without complaint.

And I wasn't even getting the worst of it. She'd reduced Auggie's timid personal assistant to tears twice. The fragile-looking brunette named Phoebe couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty. Sangria laid into her with the kind of frequency and intensity reserved only for war games. Maybe she thought Augustine would move on to a younger model, now that she was hitting her mid-thirties. Who knew? Maybe he was planning to do just that. I'd caught him looking at Phoebe more than once as well. He put on a good show, but he didn't like Sangria half as much as he wanted everyone to think.

"Oui, ma petite. But you'll find that he is not so easily ruled by passion as all that. He is its author, not its slave. You will never find a more measured and thoughtful lover than Augustine. He has his reasons for involving her in this."

I sat up a little straighter, taking note of the deliberate word choice. Not that he had his reasons for loving her. Not that she might have been an exception to his rule. She'd said he was involving Bunny. Which implied that he'd made a careful, ruthless choice to shove Sangria into the middle of all of this. Paired with the knowledge of how harshly Belle would react to a woman on Augustine's arm...God, I almost felt sorry for her. She was too ignorant to realize the world of pain she was waltzing into. But I did. So did Augustine. And he was subjecting her to it on purpose.

Fuck what the press said about the couple. Augustine didn't love Sangria. To subject her to that with a smile on his face, he must loathe her. Did I warn her? Tell her to run while she still had the chance? Or had her fate been sealed from the moment she decided to latch onto a mob boss for his money?

That poured ice water onto my libido and left me cold. Jeanette was complicit in it. She knew what Auggie was doing and she wasn't going to stop him.

"Sometimes you scare me, amorcita," I whispered.

"But you still love me?"

"Until the bloody end."

Chapter Text

You are the Executioner. One of the Four fucking Horsemen of the Apocalypse. You've thumbed your nose at pretty much everyone in authority that you've ever met. One measly crowd isn't a big deal.

My head made a great argument, but my guts weren't convinced. They continued a nauseating barrel roll. A light sweat had broken out on my face and neck. It felt like an iron band had seized my middle, squeezing the air painfully from my lungs. I was sure the smile I'd plastered onto my face looked queasy, instead of charming.

Jeanette and Asher formed the tip of our little formation and were cutting a way through the crowd of reporters with practiced ease. The wall of jostling bodies was trying to close around us, and only the interference of the nearest bodyguards kept me from being bludgeoned by microphones. Haven seemed to be enjoying himself, while his subordinate, a middle-aged werelioness named Jacklyn, went about guard duty with the grim-faced determination I usually saw in hardened soldiers. She hadn't spoken to me much, but I respected the attitude enough to extend her some trust. She'd keep the reporters off us or get trampled trying.

Richard's hand tightened around my forearm. Our little procession had been as carefully planned as a wedding march. Though Jeanette and her people made it look effortless, time and thought had been given to every angle of this trip, including what order we exited the plane. Jeanette, Asher, Auggie, and 'Bunny' took point, with the rest of their retinues following behind in descending rank. It put Richard, Narcissus, and I just behind Jeanette and Asher. I had a dapper gentleman on each arm and was about to be whisked to one of the social events of the season. If Andria were in my place, she'd have been over the moon. I was trying very hard not to ruin Narcissus' wing-tipped shoes.

"Are you going to be okay?" Richard asked under his breath. "You look like you're going to pass out and you smell..." He leaned in and sniffed me. "Stressed."

Even the swat to his forearm was a limp echo of what it should have been. "Stop sniffing me! All you're going to do is kill your brain cells by huffing aerosol. Do you know how much hairspray Jeanette had them put in there?"

Not so long ago, even that tiny conflict might have sparked an argument between us. We'd strung each other along for too long and hurled too many insults for there not to be tension. But something about Richard had changed over the summer. Maybe I'd chalk it up to being a new dad. Maybe it was the therapy he'd enrolled in not long after we broke up. Maybe it was just the fact he was in love with Andria. True love changes you, usually for the better.

Or maybe I looked too pathetic to scowl at. It was probably that one, now that I thought about it.

"I'm serious. Do we need to take a detour to the bathroom? You look like you're going to be sick."

Narcissus wasn't looking at me. He didn't have to. We had a complicated and sometimes fraught history with each other. We were allies and occasionally a doctor and patient. Narcissus had been a therapist before catching therianthropy. He kept that energy going in his club, Sublime, which had relocated down to Branson. He reminded me a little of Asher in his specially tailored suit. It was the demeanor, not the look. Narcissus' will was something so absolute that even the reporters were steering clear. It wasn't a feeling they'd be able to consciously name, but there all the same.

"Agoraphobia," he said under his breath. "A range of phobias can be common with CPTSD. She's trying not to have a panic attack. She won't answer you with anything coherent. Instead of interrogating her, you should try to make yourself useful and distract her instead. You have a handy mental link. Use it."

"To do what?" Richard asked. "If we have to support her as she daydreams the whole way to the limo, people are going to think she's impaired."

"And if she throws up on a reporter's shoes, they'll know she is," Narcissus replied in an undertone. "Honestly, Wolf, are you usually this useless, or is the crowd impairing your ability to function as well?"

That brought Richard's beast to the surface in a prickling wave of heat. Narcissus remained placid and unimpressed on my other side. One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile of challenge. He'd welcome a fight, no matter how ill-advised it was. Which was a tell, if you knew what you were looking for. Perfectly peaceful doms didn't bait big, strong men because they wanted to dismantle them. Narcissus was feeling the strain too, he was just hiding better than the rest of us.

"Don't fight," I said under my breath. "There's no point. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to puke."

I felt like a weak link. The cringing damsel everyone had to protect. It was just a damn crowd of supporters. I'd waded through those before. Never a crowd quite this big but still.

Narcissus pulled us to a stop on the pretext of fussing with my collar. In reality, his fingers gripped the nape of my neck with enough force to steal my breath. I'd never understand how he and Asher effortlessly found the switch that turned me from a confident hunter into a pile of submissive goo. A tiny part of me hated that I had that gooey center to me at all. But at moments like this, it was immensely reassuring to have someone's hand holding the back of my neck. To look up into a pair of eyes that were so utterly certain of my reaction. It didn't make me feel like an object to be controlled, as I'd always feared it would. It made me feel held. Seen.

"You're going to make it to the limo," he said in a quiet, conversational tone. "And then you are going to talk with me on the way to Spring Studios. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir," I whispered.

Narcissus' answering smile could have lit a room. The bands wrapped around my chest eased, just a fraction. It was still hard to breathe, but not impossible. I'd make it. I had to.

"Where are you right now? Green, yellow, or red?"

"Yellow," I said, letting out a shaky breath.

"If you say red, it stops. I will cut a path to the limo if I have to."

I sniffed back the urge to tear up. I'd done enough crying to last me a lifetime in the months leading up to this. I wasn't having a breakdown for the cameras just because he was being sweet, in his own way.

"Thank you, Sir."

Richard kept casting me odd looks as we marched our way through. I was still more shifty and sweaty than the occasion called for, but we almost made it to the fleet of limos without being molested by reporters.

So that was when Ellen showed up, accompanied by the hulking blonde man I'd bumped into at Chicago O'Hare. She was still wearing the shell pink blouse and her bubbly smile. Her question was anything but when she shoved a microphone into my face and asked, "What are your thoughts on Belle Morte's abrupt theme shift after the tragedy at the Church of Eternal Life's Las Vegas chapter?"

Ah, so that was why Andias had ordered me to inform Jeanette about the color change. Only two weeks ago now, a domestic terrorist had taken a long rifle and a bag full of pipe bombs into one of the Church's locations in Vegas. Sixteen humans and twelve vampires had expired before the first responders arrived. It had taken them almost an hour more than it should have for the authorities to do their jobs. It was a tragedy of enormous proportions. It shouldn't shock me that Belle was capitalizing on it with some shallow activism. She'd probably named this line Justice or Tolerance or something equally as unfathomable to her.

And of course she'd left us out of the loop. If we'd arrived wearing the outfits we'd planned, we looked ignorant at best and unfeeling at worst.

Jeanette didn't miss a beat, stepping in front of me to intercept the question. She gave Ellen a smile that could evaporate a woman's inhibitions at twenty paces. From the way that Ellen's pupils dilated, she didn't mind the attention at all.

"Thank you for the question, Miss..."

"Ellen. My name is Ellen. I'm a junior reporter for the St. Louis Dispatch."

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Ellen." Jeanette's smile dimmed and she arranged her face into a mask of careful sadness. It was all very well done. "I of course thought it was a lovely tribute to the victims. And I'm happy to match Belle's contribution to the charity she's set up in their name."

I was pretty sure no such charity existed, but it would by the end of the week. Trust Jeanette to turn petty politics into a philanthropic venture. Belle would be furious that she'd turned potential embarrassment on its head and transformed her into an altruist against her will. Jeanette had leaked it to the press. There'd be no stopping it now.

The crowd of reporters surged forward, shouting follow-up questions. Jeanette didn't respond to any of them. She turned back the way she'd come, taking Asher's arm once more. He looked faintly amused.

"She's going to make you pay for that, mon amour," he said just loud enough for me to catch it.

"I'm looking forward to seeing her try," Jeanette said giving him a shark's smile.

Arrogance, maybe. Or maybe she knew something I didn't. I knew she was concealing something. I just had to trust it wasn't going to bite us in the ass. Easier said than done.

"Don't be sick," Narcissus reminded me.

"I won't, Sir," I said and meant it.

Jeanette had a plan in motion, and I didn't want to miss a damn second of it.

Chapter Text

Jeanette didn't actually kiss me stupid, but it felt like it. The moment the door closed behind us, I'd been swept into the seat next to her, the careful arrangement disintegrating without critical eyes to observe it. Augustine drew Sangria into his lap, stroking her thigh like she were a beloved pet. Asher scooted closer to Narcissus at once, leaving Richard an island between a trio of happy couples. There was a certain amount of symbolism to that if you squinted at it. It certainly didn't make him appear any happier.

"Could you at least take your hand out from under her skirt?" Richard asked, speaking up a few minutes into the journey. "I'm single, not dead. If you finger her in this car, I'll watch. You're too damn distracting not to. If you're not angling for a ménage a trois, don't tease. It'll only make Anita uncomfortable. Not to mention the bodyguards. You going to give them an eyeful too?"

I couldn't feel a damn thing but her hands on me at the moment. It was intentional. I knew the way Jeanette thought. I couldn't give Belle the fear she wanted if I was too punch-drunk on endorphins to care. We had only a limited time to put a buffer zone between my psyche and whatever Belle planned to do to it. The rational part of me was treading water, barely able to keep my head above the waves of pleasure rolling off her. I didn't mind putting on a show if I loved everyone in the car. But I didn't. Some of them I could barely stand.

Sangria wasn't looking at any of us, keeping herself too busy with the bulge in Augustine's pants to care. I wasn't sure if she'd actually jerk him off in front of us. Probably, if Jeanette decided to proceed as planned. Men were men, no matter how powerful they became. Every single one I'd met thus far enjoyed seeing women tangled together during the act. Sangria would do what he wanted, but she wouldn't like it. I could tell from the set of her mouth that she was repulsed by the idea of Jeanette touching me.

So, she was homophobic on top of being racist, classist, and an overall bitch. My pity for her plight was diminishing rapidly. I almost leaned further into Jeanette's questing fingers, just for spite.

Haven's eyes were glued to Jeanette's hand on my thigh. I think he'd stopped breathing the second she started petting me. He watched with undisguised interest, enjoying the hell out of the show. Jacklyn's expression looked unsurprised. I was betting she was a veteran of Augustine's court, unsurprised by any of the horny shenanigans that went down around him.

"He's right," I said with difficulty. I moved her hand off my thigh. Haven looked crestfallen. "I'm an animator, not a porn star. Shows like that are reserved for the people in our bed."

Which had included Richard once. If he or I were better with casual relationships, he could be again. He was posing as Andria's fiancé for the press's sake, but they weren't dating. Co-parenting, yes, affectionate, yes, but not together. It could get there if he worked his issues. He and I weren't lovers, but I cared about him. Enough to want that happy future for him. I wouldn't ruin it by tempting him back into something unhealthy.

"If you aren't distracted, you'll overthink things, ma petite," she said, tugging my earlobe lightly between her teeth.

"There's more than one way to distract her and they don't all involve orgasms. Just admit you're scared, Jeanette. You're fondling Anita because you need the comfort, not because she's too weak psychically to handle Belle."

Jeanette drew me into her side. If not for the belt, I would have been straddling her lap, the same way Sangria was riding Auggie's. Richard had a point, even if Jeanette didn't want to admit it. It was never easy to admit when you were self-medicating, even if it was with something as prosaic as sex. Her hands settled in the heavy mane of my hair in lieu of stroking my thigh. Her fingernails left tingles in their wake as she traced patterns across my scalp.

"What did you have in mind, mon loup?"

"Why Death showed up out of the blue and joined our guard? You conveniently forgot to mention that part. Or why Anita knew what Belle was going to pull before the rest of us."

That poured a sluice of cold water over the smoldering embers of my libido. I would have scooted away if Jeanette didn't have a grip on my hair. Serial killers and murderous queens were serious turn-offs.

Jeanette shot a dirty look in his direction. It didn't take a genius to interpret why she was upset with him. We were in Belle's territory now. It was best to assume we were being watched at all times. It would be only too easy to bug the car.

Not only that, but Augustine was listening with keen interest. Jeanette was convinced he wouldn't betray us to Belle, but he was still a Master vampire. Information was power, and it never hurt to wield that over your allies once in a while. You never knew when they'd turn into an enemy.

"Who the hell is Death?" Sangria asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned with, love," Augustine said, stroking a line down her spine with his fingers. She arched like a pleased cat. To Jeanette, he said; "Is there a hiccup in the plans we discussed over the phone? I'd heard rumors that Death would do your bidding, but I didn't truly believe them."

"He is invested in Anita's continued survival, not mine. He would happily slay me if he thought Anita would survive it."

I wanted to argue the point, but couldn't. Edward was a sociopath. He had no real feelings for Jeanette. He could pull the trigger if he had to. He might even pull the trigger on me if the circumstances were right. But he wouldn't take any satisfaction from it.

"Is that so?"

I shrugged, unwilling to give him a concrete answer. He'd strap it to my ankles and use it to drown me in a lake.

"Death does what he wants. I can't stop him."

And that was the damn truth. Edward was the closest thing I'd met to a hurricane in human skin. He was a force of nature, pulling things apart indiscriminately not because it brought him satisfaction, but because of who and what he was.

"I was altered to the dress code change by Agent Malka. She called earlier. Apparently, Belle is harboring a fugitive. I'm supposed to sniff him out."

There, let Auggie sit with that ambiguity. For all he knew, I was trying to have him arrested. It would make him think twice before betraying Jeanette.

Augustine's lips twitched, and I caught a flicker of the beautiful face beneath his brutish mask. It wasn't that my shields had failed. He really was that powerful.

"My, how the plot thickens," he said, voice a velvet purr. Sangria's eyes slid out of focus. She was completely lost in his gaze. I could have danced naked in front of her and she wouldn't have reacted. The personal assistant who'd been huddling near his elbow cast him one longing glance before returning to her phone. She was the one with the itinerary after all.

"Don't concern yourself with my troubles, old friend."

"I want to," he insisted. "We can strike a bargain. Favors for favors. I help your little animator get what she wants, and in return, you give me what I've been searching for."

I didn't like the sound of that one bit. Jeanette's eyebrows shot up, gleaning more meaning from the statement than I did.

"You found her?"

"Yes. I found my love." He clutched the back of Sangria's so hard the skin dimpled and went white beneath his fingers. "I need your help to keep her. You know Belle will see her dead before the end of the visit if something isn't done."

Jeanette thought about it before settling more comfortably in her seat. She was still playing with my hair. It was wreaking havoc with my pulse.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I send Haven to back your woman. He's my strongest and best connected. You give us protection in return."

"Done," Jeanette said easily. "You have it."

Augustine's shoulders relaxed. I wasn't sure what bargain had just been struck, but he seemed satisfied. Maybe I wouldn't have to shoot him after all.

"When can I expect you in my bedchamber?" he asked, and this time his voice was as alluring as hers. Sweet and sticky as poisoned honey. It clung.

"Two nights from now, just before the masquerade. It's best to leave it to the eleventh hour. If she suspects, it would go poorly for all of us."

I shot her a quizzical look. What was she doing? She had to know that Belle would catch wind of this. She wasn't even being subtle. So...there had to be another plan. Or a plan within a plan.

God, the 4-D chess game could get confusing sometimes. I was barely capable of thinking even three steps ahead. Politics would never be my forte.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked under my breath.

"Quite sure, ma petite. Will you be comfortable with Haven trailing you?"

I examined the mafioso critically. He didn't look like much on the outside. But I'd sensed his beast. I could do worse for a liaison. He might just be tough enough to survive Belle.

"Sure," I said dryly. "Sounds like tons of fun."

Chapter Text

"You don't have to loom, Ed...Ted. I'm pretty sure no one has actually been kidnapped at a red carpet event."

Though some of us dearly wished to be. I'd take a knife fight to the arduous task of dodging reporters. Jeanette seemed to know exactly how to flatter her way out of every interaction. Anytime I was captured by a determined member of the press, I ended up stammering out something insensible. I used to be better at dealing with reporters. Though I'd never been mobbed by quite this many before. Narcissus' hand on my forearm and Edward's resolute presence behind me were a balm on my frayed nerves.

"Pity," Edward muttered. "I could do with a good fight. This is starting to get tedious."

"Amen," Haven echoed from behind and a little to the left of him.

I risked a glance backward. Haven was an enigma to me. Almost any time he opened his mouth, it was to say something that would have gotten him booted out of any corporate job for harassment. But he had to have some redeeming qualities, or Augustine wouldn't assign him to watch me. Except for Richard, I was probably the most important person in Jeanette's power structure. His lion was powerful, but power didn't equate to being a good leader. The man looked like a blue raspberry Fruit Roll up in a three-piece suit. There had to be something I was missing about him.

Jacklyn rolled her eyes because she had too much dignity to actually mutter, "Men" out loud. She looked to be on the far side of forty, with silver threading through her short, brunette bob. She'd either been middle-aged when she was attacked and turned, or she was a very old wereanimal who was finally showing her years. With Augustine, it could go either way.

"If I'm not allowed to kick anyone's ass, you're definitely not allowed. I'm the master's human servant here. I think the right to commit violence clearly falls to me first."

Edward's smile was shark-like. "Playground rules."

"Huh?" Haven echoed.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Whoever gets there first gets to call dibs."

"It's only fair," Edward said.

"Is not," I muttered sullenly. Logical maybe, but not fair. I would have rather taken on every member of Belle's retinue in a fistfight than sit down and simper at her for the next week. I was itching to feel something crunch under my fist. Preferably Belle's nose.

If we were going by Edward's rules, I'd never see action. Belle was going to keep us in as narrow a corral as she could manage. She fought like the big cats she could call, saving her energy for a killing blow. Perhaps she'd toy with us for a bit if she was in a playful mood, but the outcome was all but assured when a tigress started stalking someone.

We weren't cats. We were wolves. One of us alone couldn't take down a tiger, but we were a pack. You didn't usually catch one of us without the other. The tiger might be fearsome, but it tired more easily than the wolf. Like humans, wolves were endurance predators, able to stick together and ride out storms. The tiger was vulnerable because of its solitary nature. Belle didn't regard anyone as her equal. She might have lackeys, but she never had allies. We were counting on that to make the difference while we were here. We might not be the biggest predators in the den, but we were the most tenacious.

Jacklyn stepped between Edward and I for a moment, intercepting the reporter who'd been ready to thrust her microphone at my face like a fencer's epee. The sweep of her forearm sent the microphone spinning into the crowd behind the reporter, landing at the feet of the large blonde man I kept running into at airports. He stomped on the microphone so hard that it actually sparked and broke in two.

And I thought vampire hunting was a cutthroat business.

"Thanks," I said, just loud enough for Jacklyn's ears. She was shooting the blonde man a suspicious look but turned when I addressed her.

"It's my job," she said without any particular heat. Not easy to offend, then. I'd had guards who seemed taken aback when I actually thanked them for their service.

"Still. Thank you."

Jacklyn's thin lips twitched, and lines fanned out around her eyes. It made me put her age closer to fifty than forty-five. The light in her eyes was disproportionate to what I'd said. What I'd said wasn't that funny.

"Don't thank me yet," she said, an edge of laughter in her voice. "The week's barely begun."

True. Tonight we'd be attending the first night of New York Fashion Week. Later, we'd go backstage to wish Nathaniel good luck before arriving at Belle's for more...personal entertainment. As a Master of a territory in her own right, Jeanette could no longer be dragged before a crowd and raped for their amusement. That didn't mean she couldn't degrade her. We'd done as much damage control as we could, weeding out anyone with a sexual assault background that we could. Unfortunately, that still left a lot of traumatized people waltzing back into the place that had fucked them up in the first place. This hall of horrors was a novel attraction for me. It had been her home for centuries.

I was grateful when we finally made it through the doors. There were just as many reporters inside, but there wasn't enough room to swarm. They had to move more judiciously, lest every prospective interviewee get trampled by the stampede they'd inspired. The guards around Richard, Narcissus, and I closed ranks like a shield formation, creating an artificial wall between me and the crowd. I all but sagged in relief.

"Have you been taking your medication?" Narcissus asked under his breath.

"Of course I have."

Richard and I spoke at the same time with almost the same outraged inflection. When I glanced up at him, I found him looking at me with an expression of strained amusement. I wasn't sure why it set me off, but I began to giggle. And once I started, I had to bury my face in Narcissus' chest to stifle more. I wasn't sure what the press would make of it, and I didn't honestly care.

"Something funny?" he asked.

"Just glad I'm not the only mentally unstable one here, is all."

I offered my hand to Richard again. His face softened, and he looked like the Richard I'd known and loved. A mildly exasperated high school science teacher with a heart of gold. I'd been seeing more and more of this side of him at the Circus. Andria did bring out the best in him. I wanted to be happy for him. I did. He deserved that. But some part of me would wonder if we could have worked things out. Probably not. We were damaged people, and our traumas clashed or fed on each other. We could only hurt each other. But...part of me still wished things could be different.

Richard brushed his thumb across the side of my face, lifting the corner of my mouth in a lopsided smile. His grin grew when the lopsided smile became the real thing.

"That's better."

If anyone else had done that to me, I would have pushed their hand away hard enough to break a few fingers. But Richard wasn't just anyone. Richard was...complicated. Not an enemy. Not a close friend. Not a lover. We couldn't keep each other close without hurting the other party. But...he was mine. Bound into me as inexorably as my bones. I doubted we'd ever escape each other. There wasn't a good name for the relationship we shared. It was just too damn rare to merit one.

"Andria," I reminded him quietly. "Don't forget she'll be watching this at home later."

His hand dropped away quickly, but not before at least half a dozen cameras had flashed in our direction. It would be interesting to see what gossip rag dissected that picture.

"Right," he said gruffly, taking my arm instead.

The diversion had only lasted a few minutes, but it was long enough for someone new to have commandeered Jeanette's attention. The woman looked vaguely familiar. A model of Belle's probably. She was dressed in a form-fitting black slip dress. The material had been gathered at one hip to show off the pale, shapely curve of one thigh. The heels she wore were high enough to boost her well above Jeanette's impressive five foot eight inches.

As I drew closer, I realized the hair I'd mistaken for black was actually a honey blonde. Enough glittering black beads and feathers had been wound into her locks to give the illusion of long, flowing brunette hair. The blonde stood out like gold filament, seeming to accent the black, rather than the other way around. I couldn't put my finger on why the sight of her bothered me so much.

I realized, a few moments later, that it was Jeanette's posture that had me on edge. Throughout our journey, she'd been relaxed. Even our entrance to New York had gone over well. This was the first time I'd seen her back ramrod straight. The collar of the dress was low enough that I could see tendons straining in her neck.

I didn't realize I'd left my bodyguards and escorts until Haven let out a protest and lurched after me. He managed to make it low-key enough that we only attracted a few curious glances, but a few reporters caught the slip.

Jeanette's tension eased a fraction when I placed a hand on her forearm. When she glanced down at me, I realized she'd blanched completely white. Even her lips looked too bright in the snowy complexion of her face.

"What's wrong?"

"I was just speaking with Aidia, ma petite. It appears there have been some last-minute changes to the schedule."

Which we'd expected. The best way to defeat an opponent was to never allow them to take the field in earnest. If she could keep us stumbling, trying to catch up with her, she'd be able to defeat any plans. We'd all gotten very good at balancing to compensate. But whatever Aidia had just said had thrown Jeanette off, despite all our careful coordination.

"Oh?" I asked.

Aidia turned her pale eyes on me. She was almost as trim as Jeanette, though the muscle gliding beneath her skin said it had been a diet and exercise regimen that whittled her down, not starvation. She checked all the boxes to be a model. In fact, I was pretty sure that was where I'd seen her before. She was one of Belle's favorites for boudoir photo shoots.

"I'm sorry about this," she said, and she did look it. "But Belle has requested Jeanette's presence backstage. She caught that interview she gave to a Saint Louis reporter at the airport. She's set up the charity you spoke of and she's doubling her contribution, in exchange for your participation in tonight's show. Hair and makeup are waiting for you. The show starts in an hour."

My world tilted a little off-kilter. Jeanette was going to be on stage, not sitting a few seats down from me. I was barely keeping things together. How the hell was I supposed to know she was safe if she was out of my sight, subjected to God knew what by Belle's people?

"You don't have to do this," I said.

"Oui," she said wearily. "I must. The interview was a rather transparent ploy on my part. Enjoy your time with Richard, ma petite. I will see you after the show."

Aidia winced. Jeanette reacted to the micro expression like a gunshot to the chest, curling a hand around her heart on reflex.

"What?"

"Our lady realizes that she is inconveniencing your party by depriving them of your company. Especially your..." Aidia's gaze landed on me, soft and pitying. "Servant. She's reserved a seat for Anita personally. She'll be sitting in the front row to watch the show."

Right next to Belle Morte.

Son of a bitch.

Chapter Text

An artist from the early twentieth century said a night with Belle Morte was akin to consuming nectar and ambrosia. Anything you had afterward was stale and unsatisfying. The guy had gone on to blow his brains out in a motel a few years later, so I'd take the comparison with a grain of salt.

There were as many descriptions of Belle Morte as there were grains of sand. No two people had the exact same ideas about lust and beauty. A senator Belle seduced might see a pale, buxom blonde secretary, while a diplomat from another country might see a woman with rich brown skin and touchable curls. It added to her mystique. No one truly knew what she looked like, because it was in a succubus' nature to be amorphous. She got away with it by being eccentric, wearing hats, veils, scarves, gloves, and other fashionable trinkets to conceal all but her eyes from the camera. Those, and to some extent, her voice she could control.

Today she'd donned a long-sleeved black chiffon dress. The sleeves billowed like angry storm clouds, streaked here and there with glittering white. Her entire bearing was one of a restrained fury, just waiting to come down on our heads. The dress gathered at her impossibly tiny waist.

Or rather, it looked tiny to me. To someone else, she might look curvy as hell. Camera angles wouldn't be reliable. Something about the interplay of light and shadow around Belle Morte never allowed for quality photos. Most of the time she appointed a spokesperson with more good looks than self-preservation to interact with the public and sequestered herself in her boudoir, seducing the powerful and sketching out her latest fashion disaster.

One of her boots hooked behind my heel, drawing my leg closer to hers. We were pressed in a long, uncomfortable line from knee to hip. I tensed when one silk-gloved hand came to rest gently on my thigh. I couldn't see her eyes through the sequined veil she wore, but I could practically see the full perfection of her mouth quirking into a playful grin.

"Am I frightening you, ma petite?" she asked. "You haven't smiled even once."

I'd been told her voice sounded French to almost everyone she spoke to. But my impression of her had been informed by our first meeting. She'd adopted a languorous southern drawl and I'd never been able to hear anything else. The 'ma' in ma petite was drawn out unpleasantly, like someone calling a family member in from the porch. Her tone was peach tea and sugar. And I hated tea.

"Trust me, you don't want me to fake a smile. It usually scares people. I don't want to spook any of your people until it's absolutely necessary."

It wasn't exactly a diplomatic answer, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. It sounded self-deprecating to any spying journalists. But Belle would hear the implicit threat. I was going to spook her people or worse when I got the opportunity. No matter how careful we were, we wouldn't escape this unscathed. A fight was inevitable. Someone was going to get hurt. Belle had decided I'd go first.

There was something a little comforting about that. Anticipation of pain was almost always worse than the pain itself. It wouldn't make the experience any easier to bear, but at least it would be over sooner rather than later.

The worst part was knowing my pain was only an afterthought. This was petty revenge for Jeanette's first successful move on the board. Jeanette had successfully embarrassed Belle, and this was how she extracted her price. Not by hitting the one responsible, but by tormenting the one they cared about. Jeanette would go through a thousand indignities to keep me safe, but she couldn't help me now. No one could.

Belle chuckled low in her throat. The sound was whiskey smooth with just a bite of pain going down. It poured into my ears, stinging and washing away the world, just like a bottle of Jack Daniels. She drove her nails into my thigh hard enough to slice the fabric, digging into the vulnerable skin beneath like a vulture. The skin split without effort, and blood pumped out enthusiastically from the crescent-shaped wounds. More than was warranted from a tiny cut.

When she drew her hand away from my thigh, blood stained the tips of her nails. It was the only thing I was convinced was real as a new room came into focus. Gone was the row of uncomfortable seats surrounding a wide stage. Gone were the flashing lights and elaborately draped models. I was probably staring slack-jawed at nothing in the real world. With any luck, I just looked bored.

Inside my head, Belle sat at a dressing table, the light of a single candle reflecting through amber bottles, sending ripples of colors through the room like a monochrome aurora borealis. The bedchamber beyond was lavishly decorated with every sumptuous fabric you could name, a blend of a dozen different cultures that managed to form a mosaic of blended beauty, instead of a garish Frankenstein effect. Don't ask me how she made the unlit oil lamps and wall sconces fit with the more modern aspects, but she did.

Gone were the concealing layers of black cloth. Instead, she was dressed in a sheer golden gown, every dip and curve of her body on display beneath the diaphanous fabric. Her nipples were a delicate blush pink, and so finely pointed I almost reached to touch them. To see Belle Morte was to want, after all. She was the ideal feminine, whatever that meant to the individual viewing her. To me, she was a goddess from antiquity, with black curls piled on top of her head. She'd arranged burgundy roses in each so that she poured off the scent of crushed flower petals and sex in equal measure. It was a drugging scent with one sour note, like a fruit just past its prime.

The curve of her throat was designed to be kissed. It would bruise prettily if you bit down. Her body was a canvas hungry for hands and the marks they made. She was a piece never completed, a maddening vision that would never quite come together. You'd drive yourself crazy for just one more opportunity to paint her with increasingly depraved mediums. She could never be satisfied. And she'd break you with the urge to try.

Belle leaned back, considering me as she licked her long, delicate fingers free of my blood. Her lips were as red and moist as a candy apple, something sweet that would stick in your teeth. She examined herself in the mirror, lips quirking in amusement. Did she have to isolate someone to realize how she looked to them? It made sense. Her projected image had to be shifting all the time when she interacted with crowds. She fiddled with a dark curl, pushing it behind a pierced ear. She wore onyx studs on the outer curve of her ear. The ears came to a rather sharp point, and I stared in utter revulsion as something sluggish pulsed through an upraised vein in her skin.

I realized, with mounting horror, that it wasn't jewelry or a trick of the light. Those were scales. Black, chitinous scales. For just a second, I saw something small, gnarled, and ugly seated at Belle Morte's dressing table. It was a blip, like the glitching of a television. I'd have to freeze the frame to get a better look at the stooped figure hiding beneath the mask of a classically beautiful woman. I fought not to recoil. It was like turning a rock to find a viper waiting beneath.

No, worse. A lot of vipers were pretty, as well as lethal. This thing was tiny and repulsive, and it knew it. I tried to keep the reaction off my face, but Belle saw it. She knew I knew.

Then the goddess was back, and she was furious. One second I was sitting across from her, watching her admire her reflection. The next she had a vise-like hand clamped around my throat. The glass shattered, digging cruelly into my back.

This isn't happening, I told myself. You're sitting in a chair. She isn't actually choking you.

Yeah, tell that to my lungs. The trapped air battered against them like a winged insect, trying to escape. The blood pounded like a war drum against my temples, sending spikes of agony thrumming through my veins. Her nails carved furrows in my skin. Blood pooled in the collar of my blouse lost to sight against the dark fabric. The glass continued to bite into my skin as Belle shifted her weight, nudging my legs apart with a practiced motion. I tried to clamp them shut. Tried to stop her from raking my slacks off, reducing the material to ribbons with one angry jerk of her fingers. Blood ran faster, pooling on the wood beneath my thighs. The air wafting over my bare legs left me feeling hideously exposed.

I might as well have been a fox fighting a grizzly. Deadly to anything in my weight class, but Belle was an order of magnitude more powerful than I was. It was simple metaphysics. She was older than I was. The only power I had that was greater than hers was a connection to Marmee Noir. Something I wasn't willing to reach for.

I stayed very still. If I moved, I'd probably do it in real life as well. I couldn't visibly react to what she did to me without at least one gossip rag spreading my business all over the tabloids. But it was difficult when she skimmed a petal-soft finger over the outer curve of my thigh. I felt, rather than saw, the creature's claw-tipped fingers skim my flesh. I couldn't help but arch just a little when she ran a hand over the outer curve of my right flank.

Pain, sudden and breathtaking sank into me as she reopened a metaphysical wound Lamar gave me a year before. A white-hot lance of agony rippled up my side at the reminder.

"Ah," Belle said, voice honey-sweet and tinged with satisfaction now. She stepped even closer, leaning her weight against my thighs. It was like a horrific parody of what Jeanette had done earlier. But the screaming need for air, to be out from under her, to stop this before it could happen was alien.

Choking someone is only fun if they consent. Otherwise, it's attempted homicide.

A whimper caught in my throat as she dug her fingers into my side, jamming her nails in to create a fresh physical wound on top of the psychic pain. Another shadowy intrusion ripped like wildfire through my groin, the ache of something large being shoved where it shouldn't be. I felt Lamar's touch like a nightmarish echo.

Can't move. Can't breathe. Too dark. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The longer she touched me, the more real it felt. Sand grinding beneath my back. A man's grunts in my ear as he took what wasn't his. Ripping. Tearing. And beneath that, a riptide of pure, agonizing want.

Another man's husky voice, tinged with a German accent echoed through my head, a uniquely horrifying addition to the chorus of noise and sensation already playing out behind my ears.

"Shame. Always shame. I expected you'd be different. It was a little disappointing, honestly, but I supposed I shouldn't have expected any different from a woman. Did you orgasm? Almost half of women do."

Olaf Assauer, better known as the Ostend Ripper, had been a serial killer and rapist. He was also obsessed with me. He'd assaulted and threatened to rape me. No, he'd threatened to do worse than rape me. He threatened to force an orgasm every time he did it, rubbing my face in it.

Look what I made you do. Look how much you enjoyed it. Fucking whore.

"Stop," I whispered, so quietly that I was sure no one but the people in the seats next to mine would hear it. I had Haven on one side, and Belle on the other.

Belle leaned forward with a sultry smirk and pressed a sticky kiss to my mouth. It tasted like sugar, and fermented in my gut, threatening to come back up. The pressure building between my legs was enough to bring stinging tears to my eyes.

No. Not like this. Not in front of God and everyone. It didn't matter that they wouldn't know. I'd know.

I choked a scream when she forced two fingers into me. Shame curdled in my gut when she found me wet. It hurt. I swore I was bleeding, and she didn't care a damn bit. She tightened her grip on my throat until black spots danced before my eyes. I made small choked sounds as she pumped her fingers inside me. It felt like she was flaying me alive down there.

"Stop," I whispered again, a little louder this time.

"Scream, little animator. Ask your precious Master to save you."

Oh, she'd just love that. To drag Jeanette into a media frenzy because her human servant had utterly lost it in the middle of her performance. She wanted to use me as a weapon to hurt Jeanette. It would work. She couldn't know.

"Go fuck yourself," I hissed.

Belle jammed her fingers in up to the knuckle and this time I couldn't contain a yelp. Glass tore furrows in my back. Every time my legs or ass moved, fresh cuts opened up, pouring more of my blood onto the table. An unbearable ache coiled in my stomach.

The orgasm ripped through me with such force a moment later that I bent double. I'd never been a quiet lover. Much less so when I was being assaulted. I wasn't sure what kind of jerky movement I performed, but when I opened my eyes I found myself on my hands and knees, staring up at a nonplussed Haven and Jacklyn. My underwear was soaked, as were part of my slacks. I'd come hard enough to see stars and ruin my outfit. I'd bitten my lip so hard I tasted blood, just to keep any noise from coming out. But I was still drawing attention.

I managed to heave myself into a crouched position and glanced up to see Belle Morte remove a single black glove and raise a pale hand to her lips. She licked each finger clean, as though she could taste the evidence of me still on them. She was a demon. Maybe she could.

The reminder had my supper shimmying up my throat. I wanted nothing more than to shoot her at that point. But I couldn't. I'd be charged with Murder. Jeanette would be punished if she survived. Belle had to survive. For now. Which meant my only option was to retreat.

I managed to get to my feet, ignoring the hands I could feel reaching for me. And I ran.

Chapter Text

I threw up noisily in the first stall of the bathroom nearest the runway. I'd been terrified I'd end up ruining someone's two thousand-dollar pumps as I pushed and shoved my way toward a sweet escape. Belle had done this during the performance on purpose. Any reaction, for good or ill, would be cross-examined in the court of public opinion. My actions reflected on Jeanette. Any scandal could be used to undermine her position.

Belle Morte hadn't just raped me to prove she could. She wasn't just getting her own back on Jeanette by providing that proof. She could use any reaction to her actions to further drag Jeanette's morale through the mud.

I slammed a fist into the wall so hard the tiles rattled. My next punch sent a few tiles raining down, shattering with ear-splitting cracks when they hit the ground. I felt the warm slide of blood against my knuckles, the bite of pain, and simply did not care. I strangled a useless scream to death. I would not be the weapon that Belle used to hurt Jeanette.

I must have forgotten to shut the stall door behind me because a second later I felt a woman's soft hands clearing the hair away from my face. I couldn't crane my neck to see who was taking pity on me. If I saw concern in someone's eyes I'd sob, and there'd be no explaining that to the press.

"Oh my goodness," a familiar female voice said. "Are you okay, Miss Blake?"

My head swam, and it took me a second to fish the voice from my memory. I'd only heard it a few times before, and it hadn't been in a pleasant context. I remembered feeling faintly annoyed with a...

Reporter. Shit.

I craned my neck and blinked my streaming eyes, trying to clear them. Throwing up was humiliating at the best of times. My nose always ran, and tears came whether I liked it or not. In reply to the latest violation, it felt like a physical betrayal just as great as the proof of arousal that flooded my slacks. I prayed to God that I was mistaken, knowing with utter certainty that I wasn't.

Ellen, the bubbly undercover reporter, had traded the shell pink blouse for a black evening gown with a plunging neckline. The sleeveless dress showed off more tattoos, all done in various shades of Celtic folklore. Someone was proud of her heritage. She'd chosen to have it etched into her skin. My scars came from blowing open a centuries-old seal holding a pantheon at bay.

I bent over the toilet again and retched. My stomach had nothing to offer, heaving uselessly as my mind continued to revolt. There was a commotion at the doorway of the women's bathroom. It echoed like death itself from the bathroom walls. The leonine sound drove like a drill right into the lizard brain, spurring immediate and unthinking terror. Ellen froze above me, reacting almost as strongly as I had to the sound. Did she understand what she'd heard?

"I don't give a fuck that it's the women's bathroom, Jacklyn. Auggie put me in charge of your ass. You answer to me. And my job is to make sure nothing happens to that woman. Step aside or I'm going through you."

There was no trace of a threat in the words. It was a statement of fact. He knew with utter certainty that he could eviscerate the lioness in front of him and walk away from the fight mostly unscathed. Even the dominant female lioness' confidence stuttered in the face of all the power that Haven exuded. Beneath the skeevy pervert he pretended to be was the ruthless mind of a conqueror king.

"Sir-" Jacklyn began weakly.

"Move."

She moved. Haven stalked around the corner, suit rumpled from navigating the crowd as he followed me. I hadn't exactly been moving in a coherent pattern. The blue of his hair was almost shocking against the sterile white bathroom walls, like a Crayola crayon mark on an expensive white dress. A hysterical giggle built in my throat, and I had to smother that impulse as well. Couldn't act crazy in front of the reporter, now could we?

Haven had no such qualms. He stalked up to Ellen next, eyes shifting from pale blue to an alluring, deadly amber. His voice came out more rasp than anything else when he ordered, "Out!"

Ellen tried to draw herself up in indignation. It didn't help her much. She was on her knees next to me in a bathroom stall. There was no dignity in that. He had her at every disadvantage and she knew it. Still, she tried to glare back.

"You don't just get to waltz in here and-"

"I am a bodyguard and you are touching my client. Rethink that before I decide to take it personally."

Ellen drew her hands back from my shoulders so quickly you'd have thought I'd sprouted fangs. She scooted an inch away from me before she could really think about it. Haven was that powerful. He didn't have to impress the magically sensitive Ellen with a display of his predatory prowess. She could feel it.

I held out a hand for Haven and she scooted further back, letting him close enough to stand by me. She looked unhappy but didn't stop him from taking a position at my side. I wondered if she was really put out by the fact he was in the women's room, or if he'd ruined the scoop she was trying to get. I didn't really care, either way.

"I told you to get out," Haven said, jabbing a finger the way he'd come. "She's my client, and I'll take care of her. This is no business of yours."

"But-"

Haven made a sound. It wasn't exactly a roar, but some kind of human approximation. My lioness responded to it as if it had been a physical touch, raising her head with interest as his leg brushed against my back. He'd put his body between me and the reporter. I could have kissed him for that.

"Leave."

Ellen left. I was surprised she'd held out as long as she had, honestly. The force of personality Haven brought to bear was enough to bowl most people over. I was used to dealing with big, bad guys who thought they were tough shit. Enough to know who had the strength to back their talk. Haven did. Ellen must have sensed it too. She wasn't up to a fight with a prickly werelion. Especially not for something that could be a nothing burger in the end.

I risked a glance up and found Haven giving me serious eye contact. I wasn't sure what he saw on my face, but it made him flinch. He didn't bend down to touch me or offer to help me up.

"I need to get someone for you. Jeanette, maybe."

I shook my head. It made the room spin in sterile white circles. I still couldn't draw a deep breath. Haven and Ellen were right that I needed someone, but it couldn't be Jeanette. She was too high profile. Someone would find a way to spy. I needed someone who had a plausible reason to come in here to get me.

"I need Richard," I whispered.

"Your brother-in-law?" he asked.

I hid a wince. The rumor had been necessary, but it hadn't made Andria happy. The false proposal had stopped a lot of the attempts on Andria and Honoria's life. The promise of Jeanette's swift retribution was now well-known. They'd been engaged for months now. Andria was still having fun planning the wedding, even knowing it was a sham. We just had to get past New York Fashion Week. The ruse let Jeanette schedule a scandal for a more convenient time.

"Yeah, something like that. Tell him I ate bad food at the airport and that I need a ride home. He took a separate rental car than we did. He can take me to the hotel where he and Andria are staying."

I'd take a night in a cardboard box in a trash-strewn back alley over a visit to Belle Morte's mansion. I'd take a mugger over an evening sitting next to my newest rapist.

Haven hesitated. The look on his face wasn't pity. It was anger. Anger on my behalf. He didn't know what had happened back there, but he hadn't been able to protect me from it, and that pissed him off.

"We're going to end that bitch's entire career, aren't we?" he asked quietly, turning to go.

I managed a smile. It was a horrible, madness-laced expression, but it was something. At least I wasn't screaming.

Haven backed up a step, something like fear flickering in his eyes for just a moment. I'd frightened my own damn bodyguard. A mobster working for one of the oldest monsters in the entire nation, and he was scared of me. A fucking red letter day all-around.

"Yes. Yes, we are."

Chapter Text

Haven sent Jacklyn for Richard, refusing to move from my side until Richard arrived. He took up a position halfway between me and the door, waiting for his backup to arrive with my ex. It was a little valiant, really. My knight in pissed-off armor. He could be a professional if you pressed him hard enough. I was starting to realize why Auggie kept him around. Better to have the powerful werelion with a bad attitude under your employ than wait for him to become an enemy.

Haven had fished a closed for cleaning sign from somewhere and was redirecting the random show-goers further down the hall to another bathroom. It might have been funny if I weren't such a wreck.

It took around ten minutes for Jackyln to fish Richard from the crowd. It was astonishingly quick, considering how many people were milling around the building. There was a tense moment when Richard entered and came face-to-face with Haven.

They'd already met once at the airport, but the quality of their interaction was different. It had been professional and disinterested then. There was an almost...possessive quality to it now. Haven wasn't my boyfriend, but he wanted me. He'd also positioned himself as my protector. A certain kind of man took that thing just as or more seriously than if we'd been dating. Richard was an ex. He didn't look at me that way much these days, but stressful situations stirred old ghosts. The wolf and the lion stared each other down, both wondering who'd win if it came to a fight. Size-wise, I had to give the brawl to Haven. Intelligence wise, to Richard. He'd be more strategic and could probably win. But it didn't earn him anything now. It would just be bloodshed for its own sake, and that wasn't his style.

Richard blinked first, nodding gratefully toward Haven. "Thanks for having your colleague grab me."

Haven let out a noncommittal grunt and retreated to the entrance to wait with Jackyln. He'd overhear our conversation, but it was the least of my concerns at this point. He'd keep his mouth shut about it unless Auggie asked. Since Augustine was an ally, I figured we were about as safe as we could get.

"She's sick," Haven called over his shoulder. "Take her somewhere else before she throws up on some socialite."

He let his voice carry so anyone outside would hear. It was as good an excuse as I was going to get. Let Ellen try to spin my 'food poisoning' into something sinister. She'd get laughed out. He'd given me about five minutes to collect myself and head for the door.

Richard let his gaze sweep over my body. There wasn't any heat to the look now. His gaze didn't linger on the low cut of my top or how the heels lifted my ass. He was examining the broken tiles and my bloody right hand. I was beginning to feel the ache now. I'd probably broken a few bones in my hand. Short-sighted, given where we were. But the pain had felt cleansing at the time. It kept me from screaming.

"Do you want to talk about what really happened?" he asked.

"No," I whispered. "Not here. And if I tell you, you can't tell Jeanette. We can't afford a hiccup at this point."

"Hiccup," Richard said, tone caustic enough to make cringe.

I drew back a little when he came at me with a handful of paper towels. He wiped my face as best as he could, even though I refused to look him in the eye. "That's a new one. Usually, I'd go with 'assault.' I couldn't feel what was happening because you were blocking us out, but if I can guess, so can she."

A gasping exhale escaped me. Tears formed a knot in my throat, cutting off my air. I blinked furiously, lest they fall. Richard didn't comment. He just reached up, retrieved more paper towels, and started on my knuckles next.

"But she doesn't know," I said. "She can't know. Not right now. I won't be a weapon to be used against her."

Richard didn't say anything. He didn't have to. We both knew I was right. We made each other stronger as a unit, but the downside to a triumvirate was that our interpersonal struggles weakened us. I couldn't have Jeanette worried about me when she was supposed to be focusing on Belle. Richard was smart enough to know it too.

"What can I do?" he asked, voice gentler than I'd ever heard it. "How can I help?"

"Ardeur," I said. "You have it. Sort of."

I had to survive this week. Once we made it back home, there would be time to unpack the emotions. The breakdown was coming, but it needed to happen on my terms, not Belle's. It wasn't fair to ask Richard for this, but it was the only thing I could think to do on short notice.

Richard's expression flickered once. He looked...younger. Uncertain.

"Yeah, but it's not what you want. It's not lust like yours."

No, it was love. It was like a washed-up echo of what Augustine could manufacture. Obsession. Tunnel-vision of the most adoring kind. The honeymoon phase with a good lover. It was a lie, but one I could live with. It beat the hell out of feeling like this. I'd regret doing this later, but if I was going to walk out of here with my head held high, I couldn't do it with the sticky metaphysical evidence of Belle's hands all over me.

"I need someone I care about to scrape off her touch."

It was the naked, ugly truth. I didn't love Richard. He didn't love me. But we did care about each other. No matter how much we fought, how ugly our disagreements got, and how self-righteous I thought he could be, we were family. Maybe literally, someday.

Richard tipped my chin up lightly. I finally returned his gaze...and fell into the soothing warmth of those dark eyes almost at once. It was delicious, like sampling a Valentine's Day chocolate and finding a cherry inside. A burst of flavor that was utterly intoxicating. It would taste waxy and fake later, but for now, it felt too good not to indulge.

The soft, foaming mass of his hair brushed my skin when he kissed me. It was a gentle kiss, by our standards. Almost chaste. He didn't try to eat me from the mouth down, but I still felt the contact down to my toes. It warmed me from the inside out like warm cider. Bracing. An utterly undeserved confidence welled up in me when I drank him down.

It wasn't love, but it did pick me up and set me on my feet. I accepted the hand up Richard offered me. He looked...troubled. I found myself grinning stupidly up at him. He seemed to find that even more troubling still. His shoulders were curled forward, just a fraction as though he was afraid I'd scream at him. I had trained him to expect that from me, after all.

"I'm done," I said quietly.

"Done with what?"

"Being angry. It's water under the bridge, Richard. We both have people we love now. I can let it go."

It was Richard's turn to look away. I wasn't sure what he wanted to hide from me. Gratitude? Anger? After all, my romance was going better than his at this point.

"I'll talk with Andria," I continued. "I can't guarantee anything, but I can try to go to bat for you. We're sisters. My opinion of you has to hold some weight."

He turned to me then. His expression was open. Vulnerable. "You mean that?"

"Yeah. I'm going to give her my honest opinion. That you have issues, but that they don't outweigh what a good man you are underneath it all. It doesn't mean she'll give you a chance, but she deserves to have all the facts."

Richard took my hand with a sad smile and kissed my knuckles. It made a tingle of pure pleasure run over my skin. It felt too good to deny. And at this point, I didn't want to. I trusted Richard not to take advantage of the situation. I couldn't say the same for Belle. This punch-drunk, temporary love was better than horror.

"I'm glad at least one of us believes that I'm a good man."

I laughed, and there was a bit of hysteria in the sound. I choked it down before it could bubble out into a truly deranged giggle.

"Richard, around here, you're not just a good man. You're a goddamn saint."

Chapter Text

I could practically feel the eyes of a thousand camera lenses swiveling in our direction as we staggered our way across the lobby. Haven and Jacklyn were supposed to prop me up while Richard brought the car around, but I'd almost hyperventilated at the thought of not having someone I trusted at my side to hold my hand. It felt pathetic, but I couldn't help myself. I felt like a kid again, desperately seeking reassurance that the monsters weren't real.

Richard tucked me even more securely under one arm, shielding me from the curious eyes of the reporters and the fashionably late arrivals. The predatory intensity of their interest seemed to spook even the lions at my back.

"Christ," Haven said, speeding his pace a little. "Who let the jackals in?"

Jacklyn gave my back a light shove, urging me forward.

"Keep moving," she said under her breath. "If we stand still, we're sitting ducks."

She was right. If we stood still, the paparazzi would descend on us like a plague of locusts, stripping away what little composure I'd managed to gain in the bathroom. The hand on my waist tightened almost to the point of pain as Richard tried to resist the urge to tuck me under one arm and run me to the end zone. I was all in favor of the speediest route, but it would prompt more questions than we wanted to answer at this point. He was just a gentleman escorting a sick woman to her car.

Right. There was no way that was getting spun out of proportion in the headlines.

We'd almost made it to the front doors. But as Grandma Blake would have said, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. We still had a few yards to go when a diminutive figure stepped out of the crowd, putting herself directly in our path.

She was childlike in her proportions, turned sometime in the gradual slide from puberty into young adulthood. A mature sixteen or seventeen. With makeup, she passed as an adult, but always retained a little of her doll-like figure. Tonight she'd donned a ruffled black dress and heels, putting her almost at my eye level. She had a black garment bag draped over one slim arm and smiled as she sashayed toward us.

"Has anyone ever told you that you belong in a Conjuring movie, Musette? You're leaning into the doll look awful hard."

Musette's delicate face split in a delighted grin, flashing just the tip of one fang. She moistened her baby pink lips with the tip of her tongue, as though she could taste my rage. As far as I knew, that wasn't really one of her powers, but you could never be too careful when you were dealing with Belle's people. She got off on suffering, why not anger as well?

"The Executioner remembers my name. I'm flattered."

"I don't forget the names of child predators," I said, low enough that only preternatural hearing would pick it out. "I know how you get your jollies, Musette. If you don't want me to start screeching allegations about you and your boss to all these nice reporters you are going to get the fuck out of my way."

Musette's eyes narrowed to slits, and her hands balled into fists at her side. I wouldn't have been shocked if she stamped her foot in a fit of petulant anger. She managed to marshal it after a moment of struggle, but I'd seen it. Barbie didn't like that I knew she diddled kids. Good.

"But you simply cannot leave in the state you're in," Musette simpered. "How would it look if the press caught wind?"

"They think I have food poisoning," I replied shortly. "And no one is going to tell them any different. Now, as I said, fuck off."

Musette let out a trilling laugh. It grated at my ears like sandpaper, layered and unpleasant. Richard jerked a little, and Haven looked physically pained by the power in the sound. Belle's little helper was playing puppet again. When I dared to look into her eyes again, they'd transformed from pale blue to amber.

"It's impolite to ignore your host," she said, leaning into me so that Musette's tepid breath tickled the end of my nose. "Especially while she comes bearing gifts."

Belle unzipped the garment bag on Musette's arm, drawing out a black silk evening dress. It was undeniably beautiful. The silver and white embroidery on the long sleeves alone would have made a more fashion-forward person than me weep. Even I could admit that the woman had a gift. It took some serious staring to realize that the knotwork portrayed hundreds of pawns, each lined up into a grid, forming an almost abstract pattern at first glance.

Pawns. A not-so-subtle reminder of where I ranked. I shoved the garment bag back at her. I didn't want to take Belle's gifts, not even if it would give Jeanette good press. I wanted to be away from her. I needed time and space to breathe, and she was in my way.

"The gift-giving comes later in the week," I hissed. "Save it for the party. I don't want whatever you're selling now."

Musette's lips curled into an amused smirk, and she glanced pointedly down at my slacks. Just that one eye flick brought the shame roaring back, sending my stomach into freefall. I felt the wetness that soaked into the seat of my pants more acutely than ever before. It held all the social stigma of wetting one's pants in public, without any of the defenses. How the hell could I explain to the average reporter that I'd been raped? That my rapist had apparently planned to hurt me so far in advance that she knew I'd need a change of clothes.

"Put it on," Belle purred. "Or I'll draw attention to your little...problem. Do you truly think they'll believe you if you told them what really happened?"

No, most of them wouldn't. It was hard enough to get people to take rape seriously when men were the attackers. Harder still when a woman raped another woman.

"You fucking bitch," I whispered.

"Now is that any way to speak to me, Anita?" she asked, reaching out Musette's small hand to touch my cheek. The brush of her fingers along my skin felt like a jolt from a taser. If Richard hadn't had an arm around my waist, I would have toppled backward and landed on my ass in an effort to keep her from touching me.

It wasn't fast enough. Musette went up on the balls of her feet so she could tug my face down to hers. Savage glee flickered through her borrowed eyes for just a moment before she gave me another kiss. This one was brief.

It was brief because I punched Musette in the face.

I wasn't sure when I made the conscious decision to swing. Blood roared in my ears, and I tasted burning metal on the back of my tongue. The rage that chorused through me felt good. Right. What had happened to me was wrong and someone had to pay for it. I gathered all of my hurt, my righteous anger, what was left of my sanity, and fed it into that one punch. It was instinct guiding my fist, not logic.

Bone crunched when I made contact. Blood spouted from Musette's nose. Camera flashes lit the lobby like fireworks, creating an eerie strobe effect as Musette fell like a rag doll to the floor, Belle no longer inside her body. I wasn't sure how, but I'd somehow punched her free of her host.

But even worse, it looked like I'd pummeled Musette out of the body too. Her eyes were staring upward, not fixed in death, but unfocused. She reminded me of a coma patient. Present and technically alive, but no lights on upstairs.

"Oh my God!" a brunette with a short bob cried, pointing a trembling finger in my direction. "I think she just killed her! Someone call the police!"

I stared at my hand, as though I'd looked down to find it had been replaced by a tarantula. Manipulating souls without the loa was supposed to be impossible for animators.

"What did you do?" Richard asked, backing me away from the crowd. We wouldn't be able to leave. The police response time in this part of town would be excellent, and they'd have questions for me. I'd have to give them the same answer I gave Richard.

"I don't know."

Chapter Text

My right arm was going to sleep. Detective Derek Shields wouldn't have given a shit if it had turned black and fallen off, so long as I'd given him a confession beforehand. I glared back at him, resisting the urge to rub circulation back into my hand. Most people only merited being cuffed to a chair. I'd been deemed dangerous enough to break out a set of chains that were bolted to the floor.

Shields was six feet and two inches of sincere bad cop attitude, unbalanced by the nicer half of a cop duo. We'd been going rounders for hours, with the Detective alternating between threats and insults. He'd have to wake up a month or two in advance to prick my ego. I'd heard worse than he was snarling while in middle school. I'd been the short, chubby, and sullen weirdo. I'd been a magnet for social abuse.

I tried to cross my arms over my chest, and aborted the attempt halfway through. The chains rattled every time I moved. It reminded me comically of a scene from The Muppet Christmas Carol. It was one of Nathaniel's comfort movies, so I watched it pretty much year round.

"We're Marley and Marley, avarice and greed..." I sang under my breath..

Shields' eyes narrowed. I suppose some people might call him handsome. He checked most of the boxes for your sexy police calender photos. A well-built physique hidden beneath a three hundred dollar suit. He had a day's worth of dark stubble on his jaw, and slowly retreating hairline. I might have said the blue eyes were pretty, if I didn't have Jeanette and Asher to compare to.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Nothing," I said with a sigh. "I'm just slap-happy."

Shields blew out a sharp snort. "You could say that. That was one hell of a punch, Blake. I've seen people laid out, but nothing quite like that."

I could just imagine what the headlines would be. In the hours I'd spent in the Manhattan Police Departmen's oh so gentle care would have spawned no end of gossip. Belle would have a field day with the media, stirring shit wherever she could to make this visit that much harder on Jeanette. That had been the whole point of the melodrama. I either was at my rapist's beck and call, which hurt Jeanette's position in Belle's Court. Or I acted out and dealt a public blow to her reputation. There'd never been a winning move on the board.

"You still haven't told me what I'm being charged with, Detective," I said, wearily.

I wanted to lean back and close my eyes. But even if I wanted to give the man the satisfaction of seeing me snore, I couldn't. Using sleep deprivation as an interrogation method wasn't just for the ye old witch finder. Modern day police found it handy too.

I'd been sitting in my soiled clothes long enough that the embarrassing stain had dried into an uncomfortably tacky substance. At least I could ignore that unless I moved. I had to strain to keep my thighs from pressing together and sticking like glue, thus the uncomfortable positioning.

"I can hold you for twenty-four hours without charging you with anything, Miss Blake."

Which was true. The time frame varied from state to state, but most of them allowed a person to be detained without charges. I'd been in enough interrogation rooms and on both sides of the equation enough to know what to expect. It was just discomfort. I'd live.

"I'm aware. I also know my rights, Detective. Where the hell is the attorney I asked for? You did call one right? Because I'm going to have a field day in court if you didn't follow the due process of law."

Shields' face darkened, and the fist he had on the table flexed once, as though he was picturing wrapping those meaty fingers around my throat. I wasn't sure what bug had crawled up his ass, but he clearly had a problem with me.

"Your lawyer is on the way. He's stuck in traffic. We can chat until he gets here."

Yeah, that wasn't how it worked. Anything I said or did was going to be used as evidence for the prosocution.

"I don't think so. I want to know the charges."

"Assault, battery, and attempted murder if I can make it stick," he said. "We take hate crimes very seriously in New York, Miss Blake."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. This was all too much. I'd punched my rapist and her proxy and I was somehow the one in trouble.

"Is something funny?"

"Attempted murder? I punched her in the face, not chopped her head off. She's going to be fine."

"That's not what our preternatural experts say," Shields said, plowing on as though I hadn't spoken. "They say what you did should have been impossible. Vampires can't go into vegetative states at night. You pushed her into the day cycle, which means she's gone."

I'd punched Musette straight into a coma. Sweet Jesus. She'd deserved that and more, but I shouldn't have done it in front of a crowd. The show would be overshadowed by this once-in-a-century metaphysical event I'd put on completely by accident. Even if things turned out okay for Musette, her case would be going in an issue of the animator for sure.

"I'm sure she'll come back right as rain in a day or two," I said.

His eyebrows climbed. "You seem sure of that. Have you done this before?"

I ground my teeth. He was baiting me on purpose, and I was falling for it. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't.

"No, but I am an animator. I have some insight into how the transformation works. It's like a factory reset every time. If I had to guess, she'll rise like normal tomorrow night."

"Is that so?" Shields asked though he didn't sound particularly interested. I knew the face of a man who'd made up his mind. He'd known what he was going to do when he came in here, facts be damned.

The real question was if he was motivated by bigotry or greed. New York was Belle's territory, and it wouldn't have shocked me if she had her hooks in at least the upper levels of the organization. More than likely she hadn't fucked Shields, but she'd definitely done his boss. On the other hand, there was a disdain in his tone that made me wonder if his disgust with me had nothing to do with what I'd said or done that had landed me in his precinct. If I was spectacularly unlucky, the answer was all of the above.

"You seem to know a lot about it. Have you done this sort of thing before?"

I was so frustrated I wanted to scream. This leading question routine was getting old. I'd called for a lawyer hours ago, and they were no doubt being stonewalled at every turn. Shields was determined to get something from me. I just wasn't sure what that something was.

"No," I said, tone strained with the effort it took not to take my nails to his smug face. "Of course not. But I am pursuing another undergraduate degree in theoretical metaphysics. I can give you my best guess about what happened."

He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over her chest. It made his shirt strain tight over his muscles, and I had to look away quickly, lest he find me staring. The ardeur had been stirring fitfully all night, demanding more. It was another ingredient in Belle's seven-layer dip of cruelty. Rape me, and then force me to be hypersexual against my will, which was yet another kind of assault. I had rules about the ardeur. If I wouldn't put it in my mouth sober, I shouldn't do it under the influence. The ardeur was rarely that accomodating, but I usually had at least one person present to bite the bullet, so to speak. Not here. Had Belle planned that too? Or was I jumping at shadows, seeing Belle Morte lurking around every corner?

"This oughtta be good. Fine, I'll bite. What do you think happened?"

It was a good question. If he'd asked it earlier I wouldn't have had an answer. But he'd left me to stew with a lukewarm cup of coffee for hours. I wasn't a hundred percent sure my explanation was correct. The beauty of doing something for the first time meant that no one could prove my bullshit wrong until this act could be replicated.

"I think I leveled up."

Shields' eyebrows climbed higher still. "Leveled up?"

"Psychic ability grows proportionally to prolonged media exposure. There are studies about it. My Master is in the news a lot. Especially earlier in the evening. Big comeback, you know? I think there was some bleedover from her performance. It interacted strangely with my ability to raise the dead. I was trying to get her away from me, not kill her."

Shields remained unmoved. "Uh-huh. And remind me why fisticuffs was necessary in the first place."

I let my head loll back to consider the paneled ceiling. His baby blues were proving too much of a temptation. I wasn't sure if I'd claw them out or sucker him in with the ardeur. Eye contact was out of the question.

"I told you. I was assaulted."

The officer let out a derisive snort. "She stole a kiss. I watched the tape, Blake. My wife kisses her friends for longer than that when she's drunk."

My vision pulsed red for a moment. When my eyes focused, I found myself on my feet. One of the chains attached to my wrists swung free, and the other was hanging by a thread. My entire back ached. I'd wrenched thr muscles trying to get at Shields. He'd backed up a few steps, hand hovering over his service pistol. I had to force myself not to hurt him.

"I feel sorry for your daughter, if you have one. If she found herself in your precinct for punching a boy for forcing a kiss on her, you'd say, 'but sweetie, what were you wearing? Of course a short skirt is going to give him ideas."

Color flushed into Shields' face. His fingers touched the butt of his gun.

"How dare you!"

"It doesn't matter that the perp was a woman. No means no, Detective. I defended myself. I just meant to get her off me, nothing more. Put up or shut up. Change me now or let me go."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," a man's voice said from the doorway.

We turned in unison to face the newcomer. Between the mutton chops and the out of date suit, he looked like he'd stepped out of a Holmes novel. Dark, beady eyes stared out of a wan face, focusing intently on me. He'd all but dismissed Shields from his reality.

I also recognized him. Mr. Joseph Thomas. Better known as Le Fanyu, to the initiated. He was the human servant of one of the scariest vampires I'd ever met.

"You have a law degree too?"

Mr. Thomas smiled. "A sharp mind is willing to learn several disciplines, Anita."

Thomas turned his attention to Shields. "I've spoken with your superiors. Miss Blake is being released."

Shields just stood there for a while, glowering at me. Eventually he unlocked the cuffs, but not before jabbing a finger in my face.

"This isn't over, Blake."

"It is for the time being. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going the fuck to bed."

Chapter Text

Mr. Thomas waited until the door swung shut behind us to give a dry little cough. I'd been around enough vampires and human service to recognize the sound for the genteel interjection it was.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I'm afraid rest will have to wait another hour or so. My colleagues only have a few hours before dawn, and they insist that they need your expertise as soon as humanly possible."

I thought about snapping at him that it wasn't humanly possible. That I was exhausted and on the brink, and couldn't handle one more horror. But it would be a lie. What Belle had done to me, while traumatic, wasn't the worst I'd been through. Not by a long shot. I'd deprived the FBI of their best animator consult by sending Georgia overseas. If they needed my expertise, there were bodies on the ground already, and more to come.

"Dawn, huh?" I asked. "I wasn't aware that the Child Exploitation and Human Trafficking hired vampires."

Mr. Thomas' gaze flicked back to me for a second, but he said nothing in reply until we cleared the precinct's lobby.

"Special circumstances," he muttered. "You'll see what I mean when we arrive."

I groaned. Great, more cryptic bullshit. I was tolerating enough of that from Jeanette. She'd been cagey of late, not directly answering my questions about her so-called 'experiments.' I'd eventually given up trying. She'd tell me eventually.

"Can you give me a hint of what we'll be walking into?" I asked.

Haven and Jacklyn fanned out in front of us, taking point. A handful of eager journalists were waiting under a street lamp, just waiting for my arrival. The pair managed to get most of the reporters away from me. Except for persistent Ellen, who managed to spill some kind of herbal tea she'd been drinking while she waited all over me. The outfit was officially soiled. I was going to burn it the first chance I got.

Haven didn't exactly shove Ellen off of me, but he did send her back a few paces. She looked startled but recovered herself quickly.

"I'm sorry about that, Miss Blake. But could I ask-"

"No," I said shortly. "No comment. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I am not giving you a quote. Goodbye."

Any other day I might have felt a twinge of guilt at her crestfallen expression, but not today. Enough had been taken from me tonight, I wasn't going to grind my dignity into the dirt by trying to explain myself to people who wouldn't actually listen. I passed her enormous blonde cameraman without looking back. Haven fixed him with a suspicious glare but eventually had to turn back to the approaching crowd.

Haven was all but on top of me by the time we reached the car. Which didn't help with the ardeur at all. I'd thought he was cute beforehand. Now I could only focus on the spiky hair, wondering what the texture would feel like without the hair product in it. Did he have soft hair? Coarse? I didn't realize I'd pressed myself against him a little suggestively in the backseat until he inched backward. He softened the blow with a smile.

"Not that I'm not interested, but I don't think that's a good idea right now."

I forced myself backward, shame dousing my libido like a candle flame. I couldn't blame him for not wanting to be with me. I hadn't gotten a chance to brush my teeth after throwing up and compounded the problem with police station coffee. I'd been stewing in my own juices for hours in more than just a metaphorical sense. I had to reek.

"Sorry," I muttered, staring at my shoes, rather than his face.

Haven tipped my chin up, letting me go when I jerked my head free of his grip. He made very solid eye contact, leaning in to whisper the words against the side of my face.

"I want to fuck you. Don't doubt that. But you're hurt. Sex where only one of us has fun doesn't sound like a good time to me."

Which officially made him the hottest man in the car to me. People who cared about consent in the New York Kiss would be few and far between. And he was right. Belle was forcing her ardeur on me, even from a distance, trying to compel me into choosing inconvenient or illegal scenarios in which to feed. I could only imagine what she'd have done with the footage if I'd attacked Shields in the interrogation room. Upload it to a porn site, most likely.

I pushed off the seat and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. I leaned away from him before he even had time to blink once in shock.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "You're...a lot different than I expected."

"Did you expect a chain-smoking asshole in a wife-beater? Maybe a stereotypically thick Italian accent? Lots of tattoos?"

I laughed. That was exactly what I'd been expecting from Auggie and his people. It was the aesthetic that Capone preferred. Even if the Chicago mob boss was more progressive than I'd expected, there were some stereotypes that just had to be true.

"Don't tell me you don't have tattoos. That would just be disappointing."

Haven's grin widened as Jacklyn took a seat on my right and Mr. Thomas put the car in gear. He didn't run over any of the journalists but came dangerously close to clipping the blonde cameraman who was leaning over to film in the window. I almost cheered, "Fifty points!" but held my tongue.

"Oh, sure. Wanna see?"

"Depends on where the ink is," I said cautiously.

Haven actually barked a laugh. "Nothing below the boxers, I promise. I think anyone who lets a needle get that close to the family jewels is certifiable."

On that, we could agree. I knew people who'd pierced down there, and it seemed like pure insanity to me.

"Show me the tattoos then."

It would give me something to think about, other than how stiff my clothing felt. Haven noticed me shift uncomfortably and swore under his breath.

"Oh yeah, I have something for you."

He reached down to the floorboards and rummaged in a plastic sack. He held a bundle of clothes out to me with an apologetic shrug. "I wasn't sure what your size was, so I made an educated guess. You look around the same size as my last girlfriend, so I went by that. Sorry, no bra though."

"However will you cope?" I drawled, reaching for the buttons of my wrinkled blouse. It slid off, revealing the royal blue bra I'd worn earlier. It was a little sweaty, but it hadn't been ruined by Belle's assault. I could stand wearing it until I got back to the hotel room Julian was staying in. I paused. "Where are we going exactly?"

"The Hilton in Times Square," Mr. Thomas replied.

"Oh, thank God," I said, pulling a cheap camo print shirt over my head. It was a little tight across the bust, but an otherwise good fit. I must have been chestier than Haven's ex.

"You have a room there, I take it?" Mr. Thomas said, amusement coloring his tone.

"No, I was supposed to go with Jeanette to Belle's tonight, but I'd say that's out. I do have a few friends staying here. I could crash with Larry."

Or Julian, I added silently. I'd promised to visit while in New York. I wouldn't be doing the kind of sleeping together he'd like, but I could at least drop in.

I tried hard not to look at Haven while I shimmied out of my ruined slacks and underwear, hastily donning a new pair of underwear and green sweatpants. Again, the underwear was a little tight. I had wider hips than his ex as well. I'd have rather had a private place to change, but beggars couldn't be choosers. I refused to stay in these clothes until I reached the hotel now that there was another option. Once I could shower the evidence off, I'd be golden.

When I finally glanced up, I found Haven staring resolutely above my head. Trying to be a gentleman. How sweet.

"You can look now," I said. "And...thanks. I feel a lot better already."

"I can tell," Haven said. He tapped his nose knowingly. "Your anxiety went down after you changed. It's all in the scent."

Another reminder that my every action and reaction would be under surveillance while I was here. Haven was an ally, but if he could smell my emotions, others could too. Belle knew exactly how she'd made me feel by scent alone, and I hated her for it.

"Tattoos," I reminded him.

Haven unbuttoned several buttons and pulled his dress shirt back to reveal a bright blue tattoo on his chest. It took me a second to realize what I was seeing, and another few to choke back the urge to giggle. I was sure I'd sound hysterical.

"Is that Cookie Monster in a pinstripe suit?" I asked. "Why the hell would you put a Sesame Street character on your chest?"

"I lost a bet," he said breezily.

"Are there any more Sesame Street characters on you? I'm not sure I'd be able to fuck you with Elmo watching."

Haven grinned. "No Elmo. But there are more."

"How many bets did you lose?" I asked.

"No comment."

I giggled. I couldn't help it. I laughed until I cried. Haven cradled me against his side when the tears came in earnest, wracking my body with heaving sobs.

"I've got you," he murmured against my hair. "She won't get away with it."

And somehow, impossibly, I believed him.

Chapter Text

Richard

"You know, I thought I was a pretty sexually adventurous person," I muttered under my breath. "This place makes me feel like a pearl-clutching Puritan."

The corner of Jeanette's mouth pulled up into a ghostly smile. Like almost every other expression she'd worn since leaving the runway, there was no life to it. She'd reverted to the woman she'd been when we first met. Coy, seductive, and completely unreadable. I'd put that down to age and arrogance. Only after taking a step back did I begin to realize it was a defensive posture, one she'd had to adopt for centuries just to survive. I'd gotten a grisly look at what not surviving court looked like not long after Belle's arrival. I didn't know the vampire's name, just that he'd somehow pissed her highness off. He'd looked like an undead raisin by the time she was through recalling his life force. And that had just been the prelude to the party. A lot more attention-grabbing things happened after the queen was present.

"Puritan men were such hypocrites," she said with an almost amused lilt to her voice. "Did you know I once fucked a minister and his wife one morning just before dawn? Just before his precious Sunday service? I think he would have done it behind the pulpit if he thought he could get away with it. And they called us godless creatures."

I snorted. "I can't really blame the guy. You could seduce an angel down from heaven. A repressed minister stood less than a chance in hell."

Jeanette's attention had been all for the confrontation happening at the other end of the room. Sangria had found another arbitrary reason to scream at Auggie's personal assistant. Anyone with eyes knew it was because she had insane jealousy issues, and laid into anyone who so much as glanced at Augustine. Phoebe was much too pretty and too female to be within a hundred miles of her man. If she could have, she would have locked him away where no one else could see him. Therapy had taught me that kind of controlling behavior was a serious turn-off. Even if I couldn't throw stones in her direction, I wanted to. I'd taken my fair share of shit out on other people. Just never for reasons this ludicrous.

At my comment, she turned the devastating effect of her eyes on me. No matter how hard I tried, I could never pull my gaze away in time to avoid her. It wasn't just the incredible color of them, though that was a part of it. They almost seemed to change hue, depending on her mood. right now they were a fathomless aquamarine, with something unspeakably large and angry lurking in their depths. Empires had crumbled for less than the rage she was clutching like an ember against her soul.

"You do not have to salve my feelings with compliments, mon loup."

I hesitated just a moment, unsure if I should touch her. Anita had cringed away from me at first. Jeanette wasn't letting it show, but I knew she was suffering. What did you do for someone who was hurting when you weren't sure if your words or touch could break them?

I compromised by reaching up slowly, giving her ample time to pull away. I tucked a strand of her hair behind one delicate ear. The onyx clip-on earrings she wore flashed against the midnight darkness of her hair when she turned her cheek into my palm. Her eyelids fluttered closed for just a moment. My beast stirred, rubbing along her skin like a pet begging for attention. I'd always assumed she'd evoked that feeling in me through vampire wiles and did it specifically to degrade me. I'd never wanted to be her dog.

I hadn't stopped to think that my beast might be smarter than I was. Jeanette didn't drag my wolf forward on its belly, demanding my submission. She'd only done that humiliating exercise once, to save me from my own suicidal ideation. I'd hated her for it for a long time. Now I was grateful. If I'd died in that clearing, I would never have met Andria. I wouldn't have a baby girl. Dogs learned what people were safe to be around more swiftly than humans did. It approached Jeanette with enthusiasm because she was someone I could trust. She might not be able to save us from what was coming, but Belle would have to step over her smoking corpse to get to us all.

"I'm not trying to blow smoke up your ass," I said in an undertone. "I really do think you're that sexy. And it's not the outward package, though that's stunning. It's you. Who you are inside. It's dark and traumatized in there, but there's a lot of beauty to it too."

Jeanette pressed a gentle kiss to my palm. The contact was like a lightning rod to my libido, and it had nothing to do with the ardeur. The...vulnerability she showed at odd moments was more compelling than any strip tease. If she'd come to me like this in the beginning, I would never have stood a chance. I would have been head over heels from the first instant we met. But when we'd met, we were too frightened, too damaged, and too self-obsessed to make something work. And now that we were healthy enough to give it a shot, we were both taken.

"Merci," she whispered.

Her shields dropped for a fraction of a second. She let me feel how tired she was. That the strain of milling around a ballroom while Anita was out there, wounded, was tearing her sanity apart one agonizing thread at a time. Only spite kept her soldiering on, bearing this little political theatre with a deceptively happy smile. If I'd taken her offer to crash at a hotel, she'd have snapped under the brunt of the torment. Only my presence at her side was keeping her from storming toward Belle in a blind rage.

I cupped her chin, tilting her face toward mine. The fluttering gasp that escaped her when our lips touched was absurdly cute. I swallowed the sound and the throatier moan that followed when my hands wound into her hair. I couldn't blame the arduer for the vivid daydream that struck me. Taking her against the nearest pillar, no matter who watched. Nor was it Belle's ardeur that had my cock straining against the fly of my slacks. Belle couldn't overcome Jeanette's protection without direct physical contact. So long as we were touching, I was proof against the worst of what Belle could do.

No. I wanted Jeanette. Therapy had let me admit that even if it was only to myself. I'd felt guilty for loving more than one woman at a time. That wasn't what good men did. They weren't cheaters. They didn't even flirt with another girl while they had a serious partner. The marks had only made that hideous intimacy worse until I thought I'd go mad from the sheer cognitive dissonance. A snap was inevitable when my sheltered upbringing collided with the real world of supernatural politics.

"You're going to kill that bitch, right?"

It came out as a whisper, even in my own mind. I knew a little bit about the direction of her plans, but she'd obscured the bigger picture from us both. Me, so that I had less to confess to any would-be torturer. She kept the details from Anita because she was metaphysically loud. It wasn't the almost dainty package you noticed when you first looked at her. It was the presence of her. Her power entered the room a few feet ahead of her, turning every head. She couldn't help it. Nor could Georgia. Any necromancer was going to be a siren call to the supernatural set. Like it or not, she simply couldn't know certain things. There were members of the Harlequin lurking around every corner. Not even a mind-to-mind conversation was a hundred percent safe. We had to cloak-and-dagger things, even in our own thoughts. I wasn't sure how she didn't end up having a paranoiagasm every hour or so.

"Worse, mon loup. Much worse."

Years under Raina's cruel regime had convinced me that there were fates worse than death. Becoming Jeanette's wolf to call, sharing in her nightmares, had only cemented my belief that sometimes hell was right here on earth. The ballroom was a shiny gilt mirror covering an infestation of black mold. It didn't matter how intriguing some of the sexual displays were. She made something that should have been beautiful into a soulless, obscene parody of itself.

"Good."

A small, vicious smile curled her lips, burning against my mouth like a brand. I didn't remember backing her into the pillar, but I must have, because she let out a strangled sound of want when her back hit the marble.

We weren't the only ones crowded around the pillar. We weren't even the most enthusiastic. A dark-haired female vampire was jackhammering into a half-shifted male wererat with a barbed purple dildo that could have doubled as a mace if nothing else was handy. Jeanette must have read my obvious horror because a laugh spilled from her lips. It tasted like wine going down.

"I will not spoil your virtue, mon loup. Though prostate stimulation can increase-"

"Nope. I'm going to stay over here in fraidy-cat lane. Call me beknighted or incurious but nothing like that is ever going up my ass."

This time she broke away from me to laugh. It was a rich, throaty sound. When she hooked an arm around my neck and drew me down to her once more, the grin she wore had a flicker of life to it. There was sweet surrender in her mind. She wanted me to take control. To keep her from making any decisions tonight. The load was too heavy to bear. She wanted any distraction from the agony of not knowing how Anita was doing.

It was tempting to indulge her. I didn't want to think about it either. It would be easy to be yet another entwined couple. No one would be watching us. There were other, more interesting sights to see.

Not far away a pair of contortionists were performing for a crowd, adopting positions that would make a pretzel scream in abject horror. Beyond that was a line of nude men lined up to deep throat a female jester dressed in black and white motley. Another line had formed on the other side of the stocks she was trapped in, men aiming for a shot at other available orifices.

The afterparty Belle was throwing certainly had a theme. Everything was a more literal take on life at court. The costumes were new takes on old Renaissance designs. A pair of people who I desperately prayed weren't related had dressed in period-accurate costumes of Lucrezia and Cesare Borgia. It seemed to be some kind of depraved play put on for a crowd of enraptured onlookers. I had to wonder if Belle had commissioned it from some poor sap in Spain when the scandals were still fresh.

And beyond that charming scene was a group of men and women painting feverishly. Vampires who wished to could pose for portraits. Some were blatantly sexual. Others were merely coy, like a Mona Lisa's smile. This had to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for them. Any painting Belle Morte or her inner circle liked would become priceless. Instant fame. Perhaps even a job working for Belle Morte herself. This must be how she managed to hire new talent for her various agencies.

"I can't," I said when she tugged at my lower lip with her teeth, trying to urge me closer. I wanted to. I wanted this like I wanted air to breathe. But I knew the need would pass. The consequences of doing this with Jeanette now, while Andria and I were only just starting to make progress, could be lifelong.

Jeanette pulled away abruptly. My head spun drunkenly, and I almost lost my balance. She caught me before I could sway into the arms of a man wearing way too much leather.

"I know," she sighed. "I apologize."

"I get it. I'm worried about her too. But screwing each other doesn't help her. Fucking with Belle does. I can't play politics if I don't know who I'm dealing with. You want a distraction? Give me the dirt on everyone here. That should take up the rest of the evening, at least. I mean, Belle can't actually stop you from mingling with other Masters in the room. It's a reunion, after all. And the rules only said that you must be here with a servant. You're the only one here with a spare."

There was just a glint of light on the midnight waters now. Lines formed briefly at the corners of her eyes, though she didn't smile.

"Indeed. That would take the rest of the night. Perhaps longer. It won't keep Anita from Belle for the entire week, but I believe we could stretch it out to the end of the masquerade. Did you have an idea where to start, mon loup?"

I reached behind her in reply, tugging the zipper of her dress down an inch at a time. It slid off with barely a whisper of sound, pooling at her feet like dark water. She wasn't wearing anything beneath, coming prepared for the possibility that she might be having sex tonight. Why risk your underwear, if they were all but guaranteed to be torn off you?

I stroked a finger down her throat and over the swell of her breasts. Again, there was just a flicker of that vulnerability in her eyes. Fear. Fear that I'd judge her. I'd done it before.

"I think that the artist's section has a good view of most of the room. We can start there. I'm going to shift, and you are going to lay on top of me while you tell me about the people around us. I know you can't literally tell Belle to kiss your ass, but we can hint."

A delighted chuckle rolled through my head. For a moment, I was worried I was about to ruin my slacks.

"That sounds like a lovely idea. And I know just the one I'd like to pose for."

"You have an eye for art, huh?"

"Of course I do," she said, twining her fingers with mine as she wound through the crowd toward the ring of easels. "I chose you, didn't I?"

Chapter Text

Agent Tina Barre was shorter than me. A lot shorter. If she reached three and a half feet tall, it was only because of the specially ordered dress shoes she wore. She'd color-coordinated the inlays to match the white shirt and black skirt combo she'd donned earlier in the evening. She'd pulled her loose curls into a messy bun at the base of her neck and was puffing on a stogie like it was the last nicotine she'd get from this side of hell.

Oh, and she only looked about eight years old.

"So," I said when I could finally locate my voice. "You must be Valentina. That makes your partner..."

I glanced to the side. A young boy of about thirteen lounged in the chair opposite me. He looked like he should have been hunched over a video game, muttering curses under his breath. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit that brought out his pale eyes. He was watching Valentina pace the room, trailing smoke with undisguised amusement.

"Bartolome," he said in a lightly accented voice. "But most of the department goes with Bart rather than butcher the pronunciation. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blake, even if my temperamental wife won't say as much."

Valentina rounded on him, eyes flashing pure white for just a moment. She didn't look happy to see me. The cadaverous cast to her porcelain fine features would have had me reaching for a gun on any other evening. Right now, I was too tired to worry about being attacked by a pint-sized undead agent.

"Bite your tongue, ma moitié!" Valentina snapped. "I am still angry with you!"

Bartolome aimed a devastating smile at his tiny paramour. It was disturbing to see such an adult expression on the face of a thirteen-year-old boy. On an older, more chiseled face I would have called it absolutely roguish. Enough to knock most girls off their feet. Valentina didn't look impressed.

"And that's different from an ordinary morning in what way?"

Bartolome weaved to one side in a move too swift to track, dodging the packet of coffee cups she flung at his head. They hit the far wall and bounced, rolling beneath the conference table and slipping out of sight.

"I told you I wanted the Executioner here in an official capacity a month ago. The delay has cost lives."

Bartalome's smile evaporated. "I tried. I couldn't get around Belle's red tape until closer to the time of the official visit. If you want to lay the deaths of those children at anyone's feet, it belongs at hers. I had to barter with the Dragon to even get her here at all. Now put out the cigar and sit at the table, mon petite monstre."

The glower she aimed at him could have melted the folding chairs around the table into slag. It was Bartalome's turn to look unphased. This had the rhythm of a habit and an undercurrent of love so deep that it made me distinctly uncomfortable. They looked like an older brother and kid sister pair dressing up as executives for Halloween. This was the sort of easy faux arguments my parents used to get into. Once again, too adult for their childish exteriors.

Larry cleared his throat. He'd been sitting at the far corner of the conference table when I arrived, staring apprehensively at the pacing Valentina. I wondered how long he'd been sitting in his Star Trek jammies, just waiting for me to arrive. Hours? If so, I owed him an apology. He cringed when Valentina turned her glare in his direction.

"I hate to interrupt a lover's spat, but I'd like to get to bed before the sun rises. If you have something to show us, do it. What's going on? Why the urgent need to see us specifically? You have psychics on staff, I'm sure."

"A technomancer, a touch clairvoyant, and a changeling," Bartolome said. "But no animators. We have a zombie problem and our usual consult is halfway across the world digging up King Tut. You two were nearby and had field experience. If anyone can give us a fucking clue about what's going on, it's you two."

Larry let out an almost hysterical laugh. "Oh, so no pressure then."

Valentina finally stubbed out the cigar in a crystal ashtray. She had to have brought it herself. Hotels didn't really offer ashtrays anymore. She dropped into the seat next to Bartalome, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's easier to show you than to explain. We don't want to skew your opinion before you ever see the footage. It's just..." She reached toward the ashtray, fiddling with the cigar like it was a beloved fidget toy. "God, I need to smoke. I do not want to sit through these again."

Valentina cast an imploring glance our way. We were the ones risking cancer, not here.

"You can smoke," Larry said. "As long as you have a cigarette I can borrow. If you can't handle what's coming, I definitely can't. I quit for Tammy, but she's not here. I am. So gimme."

Valentina gave him a strained smile and produced a pack of Marlboros and a lighter from the purse near her chair. "Want one, Blake?"

"No. But I won't say no to coffee with a little Baileys. It's been a night. Belle put Jeanette in the show, and I was her special guest in the front row."

Valentina flinched. "Merde..."

I raised a hand before she could add anything more. I didn't want her pity. I didn't want to explain to Larry why I was a skip, hop, and jump away from losing it. I needed a shower, sleep, and a goddamn minute to sort myself out.

"Let's just get this over with, Agents. I want to go to sleep sometime before noon."

Valentina and Bartolome exchanged a glance. She reached down wordlessly a moment later and produced a laptop from a case near her purse. She pressed a few keys and then spun the computer to face us. There was a video queued up and ready to play.

"One word of warning," she said quietly. "You know what division we work alongside, right?"

"Child Exploitation and Human Trafficking," I supplied automatically.

It took a moment to connect the relevance of that with the need for a consult. When I finally put it together, I felt a little ill. Children. Zombie children. Jesus.

Nausea almost choked me. I'd raised children from the grave before. It was always sad to raise children. It was usually a form of closure for a parent. But if the federal government was getting involved, it wasn't a bereavement raising. Something seriously twisted had to be happening to kids before the government stepped in to put a stop to it.

The expression on Larry's face was an echo of mine. Soft, dawning horror. His voice was very small when he asked, "How old?"

I was grateful he'd asked. My mouth was arid, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. I wouldn't have been able to force myself to ask the question. I didn't want to see it. Didn't want to know. But I had to. Lives were at stake.

"Teens, mostly," Bartolome said with a sigh. "The youngest is fourteen, but the demographic seems to be composed largely of hebephiles and ephebophiles. There are older women in the tapes as well, but they fall under the jurisdiction of a different department. No pre-pubescent children, so far. Even this bastard seems to have limits. I'd say it was a small mercy but..."

But there was no mercy when you were dealing with someone so truly deranged that they enjoyed hurting children.

"Is this the fourteen-year-old?" I asked, motioning toward the computer. I tried to sound clinical. Detached.

Valentina nodded. "It's one of the tamer ones. No torture."

There was nothing in my stomach but police station coffee in my stomach, but even that was fighting to be free. No torture this time. Which implied some truly unsettling viewing experiences to come. Fresh nightmare fuel. Yipee.

I sank further down into my chair and pinched the bridge of my nose. I needed to be clear-headed to watch this, but I so didn't need the visuals on top of everything else the night had heaped on me.

"On second thought, I think I'll take the cigarette."

Chapter Text

Richard

Jeanette was like an elemental force, as steady as a tide as she swept through the room, introducing me to old friends and foes alike. I thought that being a beast was going to complicate matters, and I'd have to try to stay awake after a rapid shift. Somehow, she made it work to her advantage. As a wolf, I was a conversation starter, not a person. It might have bothered me any other night. I wasn't the only animal to call trailing their vampire master in beast form. At least I wasn't on a leash.

More importantly, I knew every dehumanizing remark she had to make about me hurt her. She hated this as much as I did. But being treated as subhuman in this arena was actually advantageous. You didn't watch your tongue around a pet. She was trusting me to be a silent, observational sponge, feeding her input.

Belle's court was the definition of excess. Food was piled high on tables, served on crystal, and vomited back up regularly by those who could digest it just so they could get more. An entire wall of the ballroom was occupied by an oak bar top. People had piled in two or three deep, shouting their orders. Even the small army of bartenders she'd hired were struggling to keep up with the demand. More bottles were lining the wall than I'd seen in my life.

I'd seen more than a few celebrities snorting coke off of beautiful nude vampire bodies, both male and female. Like me, they appeared to be more object than person to the people around them. Every so often I'd watch the poor vampires get groped. Most of them were not having a great time and were trying to keep the discomfort off their faces.

"They are new vampires, mon loup. This is a standard hazing ritual Belle puts her newest recruits through. They are not permitted to speak, let alone protest. I imagine it's even more horrifying for more modern women. They've grown up with choices their entire lives. I was accustomed to being viewed as an object long before I met Belle."

I had a brief but vivid flashback. Jeanette nude and posed like a table. If she moved, she would have to service whoever's drink she spilled. She tried to be silent. Tried to be still. But it was difficult when you were pinched, poked, and prodded. When an impatient man decided to kick an arm out from under her, pulled her up by her hair as mead trickled down her spine. Forcing her mouth open-

I let out a soft whine. The images came to an abrupt halt, and her fingers curled more securely in my ruff. To anyone watching, it looked like discipline. I knew it was to steady herself and me.

"You think she'd change up the playbook after a few centuries," I grumbled.

"Shame is an evergreen tactic, mon amour."

I was silent for a beat, trying to find the words to respond to that. I finally settled on a woefully inadequate, ""Amour, huh?"

Jeanette ducked her chin, cheeks flushing prettily. All I could do was stare. I'd never seen her blush like that.

"Oui. I love you, Richard. But love isn't enough between us, is it?"

No. Even love had its limits. We wouldn't work, for so many reasons. But it had healed something in Jeanette's heart to know that at least a tiny sliver of me wanted to try. That she hadn't bound herself to someone who would hate her for eternity.

"Sorry."

"All is forgiven between us, Richard. Think nothing of it."

We ended up in a nook on the wall opposite the bar, crowding around a darkly stained table like conspirators in a rundown tavern. Augustine had taken a seat across from Jeanette, a sleek lioness double my size lounging like a contented cat at his feet. Auggie was petting under her chin like she was a spoiled tabby. The lioness was leaning her head into his hand, begging for more contact. I knew how it felt. Being touched gently by a vampire who called your beast could be downright erotic. Jeanette was keeping our contact sparing for just that reason. My libido could only take so much teasing before I stopped remembering why fucking her was a bad idea.

"Where is your lady love?" Jeanette asked, amusement coloring her tone. "Has she gone on a truly profane drunken rant yet?"

"No, I directed my lovely companion toward a group of up-and-coming models and supplied them with Molly. She should be in a better mood by the end of the night."

He tried to keep his tone light and pleasant, but I could taste the sour undertone. Anyone with a nose like ours would scent his loathing for Bunny. Well, maybe not in here. The reek of spirits, sex, and vomit was enough to drown out anything further than a few feet ahead of you.

They kept up the idle chit-chat as party-goers trickled past, some stumbling inside our alcove to find a flat surface to fuck on. There was a low buzz of tension in the air around us, and I realized with some alarm that there was a spell fizzling into being around the table. I tried to push to my feet, snarling, but Jeanette's grip on my ruff kept me where I was.

"Peace, Richard. It is Augustine's work. He is keeping this conversation from Belle's notice."

"From everyone's notice, actually," he said, and the strain showed in his voice. "With a crowd this large, I can only keep it up for a few minutes at a time. We'll have to be quick and discreet."

"A shame," Jeanette sighed. "I do love long and involved...talks with you, Auggie."

Augustine's laugh sounded positively musical. When he let down his illusion, I couldn't help a small whine. No wonder Anita freaked out the first time she'd seen him. He was...well, Adonis-like didn't do it justice. I thought Asher was the most beautiful vampire man I'd ever seen. I'd been wrong. It was Augustine.

But it wasn't just the physical aspect of him. I could picture this man at the head of an army, whipping them into a frenzy. It was a face you'd swear fealty to. Serve and die for. If I hadn't been in beast form, I might have dropped to my knees, humbled by his aura alone.

"As do I, Jean. But that time is coming to an end soon. Are you certain I can't convince you to include your servant in the tape? She is your living conduit after all. My power would be yours in full, not in part. A blood oath can only gift you a portion of my power and abilities. I want to give you the best possible odds. It isn't just your future riding on this, after all."

It took me a second to realize what he was getting at. He was planning to blood oath to Jeanette. But why? I'd caught onto the fact that Belle was intensely jealous and petty regarding Auggie. Swearing his allegiance to Jeanette in front of God and everyone would be a huge hit to her power and ego. To get Auggie back, she'd have to kill Jeanette.

She was herding Belle into a head-to-head confrontation. Why? She had to know that battling a Council member was the next best thing to suicide. Even if my suspicions about her plans were true, I still didn't see any way this worked out in our favor.

"Are you nuts?" I demanded.

"Perhaps, it is insanity," she said out loud for Auggie's benefit. "But I prefer to call it a gamble. Augustine is my ace. Because I know what few others know."

"And what's that?"

"How Augustine came to be a vampire. Belle keeps it a secret for a reason. She's ashamed of the tale. Belle Morte was not made to love. It caused her intense pain to experience it for the first time. Now she craves Auggie like a drug. She is addicted to love, the same way she addicts others to her lust. Taking him will cost her greatly."

"Belle is older than most homo sapiens. Augustine is only a thousand years old. He's powerful, but he's not that powerful."

"He's much older than a thousand," Jeanette said. "Is it closer to five or six thousand years now?"

"Closer to six," Augustine said simply, caressing the lioness' back with the tips of his fingers. "I began in Greece, but was caught by the seal in Rome."

"Seals," I began softly. "As in...?"

"Seals put in place by the Order of Lyonesse. Augustine is a shadow of his former self now, but he used to be a god."

I didn't have to search far to figure out which one.

"Cupid."

"Oui," she said with a fierce smile. "And his lovely Psyche lays at his feet. I'm afraid it's safer to conceal her identity, for now, mon loup. No offense. If Belle becomes aware Sangria is not Psyche's reincarnation she will begin to search anew. I'd like to have Augustine under my protection before that happens."

"How many times has Belle killed her?" I asked.

"She has perished at Belle's hands too many times. This will be the last. I swear it."

Augustine reached across the table and took Jeanette's hand, giving it a squeeze. "I can help your servant, Jean. You know I can."

"It's up to Anita," she said. It had the tone of a familiar argument. "What I want isn't up for debate here. She has to choose to join us. I know that you think that love cures all wounds, but I won't risk her."

Augustine's expression clouded over with bitterness for a moment. "Belle has taught me that love doesn't conquer all. But in this case, I think it will at least provide succor. Don't be a coward. Ask. Tell her what I'm offering. If she says no, you'll have an answer. But losing because you failed to try is not something I could forgive."

The spell broke a few moments later. Sounds and smells came flooding back, a cacophony after the virtual psychic silence. Both Jeanette and Auggie straightened up and plastered on charming smiles for any onlookers. The masquerade was already well underway, even if Belle didn't know it.

Augustine offered Jeanette his arm and kept the other hand on the top of the lioness' head. Jeanette took his arm, mirroring his posture. Her touch settled my jangling nerves.

"Shall we embark on our bullshit once more, my dear?" he asked.

"That sounds splendid."

Chapter Text

Valentina pushed play. Part of me was praying for an ad, for something, anything to distract from the visuals on the screen. The format looked like a standard porn site. A black background, bright text, and a comment section. You had to sign in to view those. I was absolutely certain that I didn't want to know what had been said. I might stroke out from pure rage.

For a few seconds, there was only a blur of motion. I was pretty sure the cameraman was aiming the lens at his feet. I could make out labored breathing just out of frame. From the pitch, I suspected it was a man, but couldn't be entirely sure. He was walking quickly down a cracked sidewalk.

A chalk design of duckies on a pond on one slab drew me out of the film for a moment, and I was grateful. I had a fraction of a second to think about an adorable toddler and their parent drawing on the sidewalk in sunlight. I got to forget, for even an instant, that the ending of this film would haunt me.

The sidewalk gave way to a paved driveway, and eventually stairs that led up to a front door. The cameraman knocked. Someone unseen opened the door. There was almost a full minute of shuffling while the cameraman and the person who'd opened the door crossed through a living room with beige carpeting, into a kitchen with off-white tiles, and finally down a set of creaky wooden stairs.

There was a scream up ahead. Not loud. Breathless, as though the girl who'd made it had been struck in the stomach. I winced in sympathy. I'd had my fair of gutshots. I'd been fortunate enough to survive the people who'd hurt me. This girl hadn't.

The camera swiveled up, the picture fuzzing out for a while as the cameraman fiddled with the settings. This smacked of a first-time killer still learning his ritual. Valentina had said lives had been lost. Plural. The sick fuck behind these tapes (because I was sure there were more) had been getting better with practice.

The picture came into focus at last, leaving us staring at a windowless concrete cell, complete with a floor drain. Metal shelving lined one wall, piled high with tools. Socket wrenches, pliers, saws, and socks filled with washers and screws. It's amazing how much brutality you can inflict on the human body with the contents of your average hardware store. There were more exotic things there too. A scold's bridle, the pear of anguish, thumbscrews, and the like. But for your average sadist, just a pair of pliers could work wonders.

Hooks and chains were bolted to the wall opposite, giving the victims an eyeful of what was coming. All part of the fun if you could get people to squirm and cry before any torture began. Sick bastards. Brown stains ringed the drain. Someone had died in there and recently for it to be that particular shade. No more than a few days ago.

There was a young Hispanic woman strapped to a hospital gurney. They'd bent her head at a painful angle so that her face was presented to the camera. She didn't look fourteen. With tears streaking her cheeks and her lip quivering, she looked closer to twelve. The sick fucks had dressed her to look even younger than she was, inexpertly shoving her into a cheap sex shop schoolgirl uniform, leaving out the underwear. The perverts got a peep show every time she flailed. She kept struggling, even knowing it was hopeless. That no one was coming to save her. I respected the hell out of that.

Another shape came into frame. He was on the older side, just judging from his gait. He'd dressed head to toe in black, even painting any skin visible beneath the ski mask with the colored face paint sports fans used. I couldn't even begin to guess at his race. I clocked him at a little below average height, and out of shape, but it wasn't an ID. Short and heavy men weren't in short supply in the U.S.

The man climbed onto the gurney, and my stomach dropped with sickening speed as he straddled the girl's waist. Thankfully, he didn't lower his fly and pull himself into the open air. He did lean over the girl, hands closing like twin vises around her throat. The spluttering sound that escaped the girl hit me like a slap. She tried to scream. Tried to kick him. Kept glaring up at the fucker who'd murdered her until the wheezes trailed off into gurgles. Until her face was purple, her tongue protruded obscenely, and her eyes stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

The camera lovingly detailed the frenzied shimmying against her corpse, until the man let out a guttural groan and slumped over the dead girl. He stroked her face lovingly as he recovered, staring at her like they'd just shared an intimate interlude.

"Jesus," Larry said, breaking the silence first. His voice sounded raw. I knew I'd see tears in his eyes if I turned to look at him. I didn't. It wouldn't help right now.

Valentina nodded wearily. "Yes. And keep in mind, this is tame as far as snuff films go. So far as we can tell, a small but well-organized trafficking ring is kidnapping children and adults, tailoring deadly or taboo fantasies for specific buyers. The organization provides the girls, allows their buyers to kill them in any way they wish, and any of the girls that are left intact are used in the other side of the business."

"Other side?" Larry repeated, face pale. "What else are they doing?"

I had a bad feeling I knew. An old enemy of mine had been working closely with an investment banker named Harold Gaynor. He had uploaded videos of torturing his ex onto the dark web, charging people for views. If you paid well enough, you could make requests. He'd wanted to take it a step further, roping in a powerful Vodu priestess to help him create zombie sex slaves.

"Porn," I whispered. "Any of the zombies that are intact are made into zombie sex slaves."

"That's not possible," Larry said, shaking his head like a dog trying to shed water. "Murdered zombies go after their murderers. That's the way it works. If they stay above ground long enough they become flesh eaters."

"Not if their soul is inside," I said. My voice sounded distant. Clinical. I didn't want to really think about the implications of what they were saying. It would mean that someone was following in the footsteps of one of the most evil women I'd ever met.

Bartolome cocked his head to one side. "Pardon?"

I cleared my throat. "Regular zombies go after their killers. Ensouled zombies don't. I met a priestess who claimed she'd done it. I believed her."

Valentina's eyes were steely, not surprised. "Oui. We suspected you killed Dominga Salvador after she declared war on you. We don't care how you did it. In fact, you saved us a trip. She was on a watchlist for some time. But you were the last one to speak to her. I want to know how this was done. I want to know how to catch the son of a bitch who is murdering, raping, and torturing these people."

My lips pursed. "I hope you'll understand when I neither confirm nor deny those allegations."

Bartolome let out a tired laugh. "Nothing you say will leave this room, Blake. We need your help too badly to drag you over a barrel. I'd kill to bring this bastard in. How was this done? How can an animator put a soul back in a body? We have to prove the metaphysics in court, or they get off on a misdemeanor. If the zombies are just zombies, then they only face abuse of a corpse. If there are souls in there, they are American citizens and we can throw the book at them. So if the Senora even hinted at what she did to make ensouled zombies we need the information now."

Larry was staring at me. I could feel the intensity of his scrutiny so acutely it hurt. I'd told a lot of half-truths in the last few years, never being totally honest with Larry about how deep I was in the monster shit. Now that he was beginning to get the full scope of the quagmire I found myself in, he seemed torn between frustration and sympathy.

"Anita?" he asked.

I took a breath and then blurted, "I can do better than tell you. I can show you. Because I've brought a murder victim back with its soul intact."

"That's not possible," Larry muttered, more to himself than to me.

I steeled myself, lowered my shields, and reached out with my necromancy. I found him four floors up, lying down. He jolted upright when my mind touched his.

"Anita?"

"Come to me, Julian. There are two people I think you should get reacquainted with."

Chapter Text

Richard

Belle's parties didn't so much end as they tapered off. Excess of the sort she enjoyed was a lot like a flood. Violent, inarguable, and liable to sweep you away. The momentum carried you forward until the impetus was through. In Belle's case, an hour before dawn saw most of the vampire partygoers in the bedrooms or coffins with whatever partner they'd conned into joining them. Humans and wereanimals slept where they dropped, costumes absorbing spilled drinks and more suspicious substances. Occasionally a feeder would circle the room making sure no one was overdosing or choking on their own vomit. It wouldn't do for someone to die inside these walls. Didn't want a scandal like that linked back to Belle.

Even Auggie had retreated to an upstairs room with Sangria, presumably to fuck her back into compliance. I would have felt badly for her if she was a less repugnant person. I would still fight to save her life if someone attacked her, but you couldn't save people from their own stupidity.

It left Jeanette and Belle as the only two immortals in the room, in a rare moment of privacy. Belle had bid her to sit and play a game of chess. I was once more seated at her feet, still silently observing, this time in human form. Belle seemed more put out by the sight of my flaccid penis in her presence than Jeanette taking one of her knights. She was probably only familiar with those in the abstract. She was a succubus, a mistress of lust and unspeakable passion. Who could look at her without wanting?

Anyone who'd seen Anita's face earlier in the evening. I wasn't sure what Belle had done to her, but she'd hurt badly enough to ask to be rolled. The Anita I'd met years ago would have rather died than submit to any form of mind control. Even the more flexible Anita of today only reluctantly let her lovers into her inner sanctum. To fling the doors open and invite me in readily demonstrated just how devastating Belle's strike had been. She looked outwardly lovely. A strange blend of Anita, Jeanette, and Andria. But to me, she was repulsive.

Belle pressed the tip of one delicately tapered finger to the top of her bishop, spinning it slowly in place as she watched Jeanette arrange the fallen knight at the end of the tidy row of black pieces she'd taken.

"That's an interesting ensemble you're wearing, Jean," Belle said, putting a sneering emphasis on the name. When Augustine said it, he sounded affectionate. Belle turned it into a curse. "Wherever did you find it?"

Jeanette plucked a hot pink tank top with the words 'FUCK THE PATRIARCHY' scrawled on the front in glittering blue letters. The pair of men's plaid boxers clashed violently with the shirt, but she somehow managed to pull it off anyway. With her smudged makeup and flyaway hair, she looked like a co-ed after a wild night with her boyfriend. Her smile implied she'd enjoyed every second of it. She and Augustine had certainly made it look convincing. Responding with a lack of concern had thrown Belle enough to take a more direct route.

"From a pair of the groupies you invited as party favors for the celebrities," Jeanette said, reaching for another of her pawns. Some of the pieces had gold running through them, fusing the broken parts back together. I wondered how many sets had become solid gold over time, as Belle's moods broke them. "My dress went missing during the portrait process. I'm not sure if it was stolen to be re-sold, kept as an heirloom, or used as a towel to mop up a spilled drink. The poor dears were tripping over themselves to give me something to wear when I said I was cold."

Jeanette hadn't even used mind tricks to get the clothes. She'd strolled past, made an idle comment, and waited for the offers to come flooding in. Jeanette didn't demand. She simply was, and it made people love her.

In some ways, I thought Jeanette was more dangerous than Belle. Belle was essentially a psychopath, born without the capacity to understand the root of human success. She could only exploit. Jeanette could love. Deeply. Purely. Madly. God help the world if she lost those she cared for.

"Charming," Belle said dryly, moving her bishop forward a space.

A white pawn fell. Belle actually snapped its head off when she glanced down and found me as unresponsive as ever. The sound of the broken piece hitting the floor sounded like a shot in the near-silence of the ballroom. The broken head of the pawn disappeared beneath the flank of a lounging blue tiger.

"If you wanted me to strip, you could have asked, Belle," Jeanette said sweetly. "We, your humble servants, live to serve, after all."

I would never understand how a woman could fold a fuck you into even the most demure of tones. The women I loved had a special talent for it.

"You are a Master of a City. The rules changed years ago."

The bitter disappointment in the confession was clear. If she'd called for Jeanette's death when she'd been the third in line for Nikolaos' position, she wouldn't be having so many headaches now. She could have choked the traitorous weed before it turned carnivorous and bit back.

Jeanette laughed, high and scornful. "You still include me in your entertainments, Belle. The rules never changed. Only the appearance of propriety keeps you from killing me this instant. It is almost dawn and we're both weary. There is no one but our servants to hear. Why not be honest with each other for once?"

Belle smiled. There was something thin and alien behind that expression. For just an instant, I swore I saw something move just behind the mask she wore. The golden-brown hair lost its luster. The pale skin dried out and darkened like parchment being burned. And then the image snapped back into place with a vengeance.

"Honesty, hm?" Belle said, rubbing her thumb along the stem of another of Jeanette's pawns. "Shall I tell you what I did to your darling servant then? Tell you how she screamed? Begged me for mercy?"

The snarl bubbled out of my throat, not Jeanette's, but seemed to speak for both of us. Belle wasn't the only one itching to do violence. I wasn't sure who'd hit Belle first, but if she pushed us hard enough, we'd find out. I subsided only reluctantly when Jeanette waved a hand at me. Poker face. Had to keep our poker faces firmly in place, even during a game of chess.

"I'm certain I can imagine what you did well enough," Jeanette said, voice as inflectionless as I'd ever heard it. Which was a tell, in and of itself. She was many things, but an emotionless automaton wasn't one of them. "But may I ask you a question?"

Belle slid the tip of the pawn's head past her ruby lips, rolling it to and fro as she thought. I was pretty sure it was meant to be enticing since she glanced down at my junk. I'd never been happier to be limp in my life.

"I suppose mutual honesty does require a dialogue," Belle said, with a bite of irritation.

"Is it the lust that feeds you, or the cruelty? I've been thinking about your evolution for a long time. Ever since ma petite told me what Melanie said about your origins. That's the beauty of loving people, you see. You share in their interests. One of Anita's first loves was biology, which means I'm often treated to lectures when new research comes out."

Jeanette laughed, and there was a note of genuine affection in it now. She didn't catch the nanosecond of envy that flashed through Belle's eyes.

"And sometimes, you learn things of your own volition so you can bring something to the discussion. You were a succubus, a terrestrial demon species that emerged with the human race. Much like humans, you had to have adapted to your environment. More abundant resources would have meant there was ample chance to evolve. More diverging ways to feed. Psychic vampires are your natural descendants, are they not? Their tastes vary. Some feed on fear. Some on lust. Some on wrath. Did you evolve to inspire the foulest versions of human lust, or was that a conscious choice on your part? Or did you simply go mad the second you decided to take thousands of your own kind into yourself, just to extend your life?"

Belle's fist tightened with enough strength to crush the piece she held into powder. It rained down her front, staining the black fabric with the white dust. She cast a glance around the room. She didn't seem satisfied until she was sure no one had heard.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You have ears, Belle," Jeanette said, idly moving a pawn forward. "Answer the question or don't, but don't do me the disservice of pretending you're deaf."

Color formed high in Belle's cheeks. Her amber eyes flashed dangerously. "I have killed for less of an insult than you're offering me, Jean."

"And I thought we were being honest with one another. That includes dropping pretenses. You hate me. You always have. I think I may have loved you once, a very long time ago, but it has long since to hatred turned. You never wanted my love. Nor were you ever worthy to receive it in the first place. You are the antithesis of real love. True intimacy is an anathema to you. You can only thrust mindlessly forward trying to sate the empty pit at your center. And I'd like my queen back, by the way."

The wrath that had been gathering like a smoldering halo at the edges of Belle's aura guttered. The abrupt change of topic threw her. She glanced down and found that one of Jeanette's pawns had reached the final row on her side.

"Pardon?" she asked, nonplussed.

"You took my queen. I'd like her back."

Jeanette held a hand out for the piece. Belle looked a little dizzy, as though the conversational shift had been too rapid to track. Had that ever happened to the poised and poisonous Belle Morte before?

Belle plucked the queen from her side and offered it to Jeanette, who took it with a tiny, triumphant smile. I think it was the final straw. Her eyes glowed absolutely incandescent for a moment and she lunged across the board, seizing Jeanette by the chin, lifting her from the ground as though she weighed less than a toddler.

I surged to my feet with a snarl, haunches coiling. If I aimed for her flank, I could get her on the ground before she had a chance to tear Jeanette's head off.

Non. Wait, mon loup. I am in no danger.

I begged to differ. Anita would have already waded in and carved Belle like a Thanksgiving roast. But if Jeanette said she had this, I believed her.

"Don't you smirk at me, you little bitch," Belle hissed into her face. "I made you! I gave you life and I can take it back whenever I please!"

"Then do it," Jeanette said, staring unblinkingly down at Belle. "But I look forward to the fallout that comes from it. How do you think your client will take it when his entertainment is permanently postponed? He didn't pay to watch Augustine fuck my moldering corpse. How many millions has he paid you now?"

Belle released Jeanette with an abruptness that startled me. Jeanette's head hit the marble table with enough force to echo. The scent of copper perfumed the air, and I knew before she even raised her head that she was bleeding. She'd hit face-first, the edge of the table gouging an inch-deep furrow just above her eyebrows. Blood sheeted down her face and splattered onto her borrowed top.

"Fine," Belle said, voice a cloying sweetness. "Have it your way. Perform. But your little bitch will perform too. The client has been faithful to me for years. I can afford to give him a bonus. Smear enough makeup onto that plain girl and she'll pass as one of my less spectacular creations under flattering lighting."

"Anita is an employee," Jeanette said. "Your rules-"

Belle laughed. "I thought we were being honest with one another. You already said it. The rules never changed. You'll do what I tell you to do. If she's not on set when I say and wearing what I say, she will spend the night in my bed. Are we clear, Jean?"

Jeanette kept the poker face firmly in place. Don't ask me how. I wanted to tear her throat out and take my chances with her guards.

"Crystal. Come, mon loup."

"With you or on you?" I said, words slipping out before I could stop them.

Jeanette laughed, the tension from a moment before seemingly forgotten. She trailed a finger down my bare chest. My cock stirred idly in interest. I couldn't see Belle's face, but I swore I heard her teeth grind, just once.

"We'll see what we have time to do after a nice, warm shower."

Chapter Text

A grand reveal works best when there's no lag. We waited in awkward silence, with no handy demonstration presenting itself for another five minutes. By the time Julian knocked on the conference room door, the tension had been so undercut that I felt the bizarre urge to laugh.

I reduced the inside of one cheek to raw hamburger trying to bite back the hysterics I could feel coming. If I began laughing, I wouldn't stop. Their suspicious looks would turn to ones of concern. Someone would call a doctor and get me committed. They wouldn't even be wrong to do it. I so didn't need to deal with this case on top of everything else. I had a faerie to capture and drag back to Andais. I had Belle Morte's fuckery to deal with. I'd been planning a romantic evening with Jeanette, which seemed like a distant dream now. I wasn't convinced anything would ever feel right again. I didn't need to add this to my already straining back.

But I was only one of a handful of people on the planet who could explain the metaphysics of ensouled zombies. If I backed out, it left only Manny to testify to what he'd seen done. Valentina and Bartolome might be willing to extend a one-time pass to me, but would they really look the other way when they realized how many victims he'd racked up in his younger years?

No. It had to be me. If blackmail came, it was better only I went down for malfeasance. With enough preparation, Jeanette might even be able to keep my death from affecting everyone else.

Valentina let out a soft gasp when Julian stepped through the door, trailed closely by Edward.

I was grateful to see him, after the night's events. Even Belle would sleep with one eye open with Death lurking around her city. He was making a statement by showing himself here and now. That I was protected. That we would not go quiet into that goodnight. That if anyone wanted to come after me, they better damn well come ready for a fight. I found his presence in this room oddly reassuring.

Bartolome took one shaky step forward, eyes wide. It made him look closer to his body's age. Young and stunned by something he knew damn well should be impossible. Yet it had the gall to stroll into the room and wave timidly at him anyway.

"Julian?" he whispered.

Julian inclined his head. "Bartolome. Valentina."

I wondered if I should have filled Julian in on who he'd be meeting. He didn't seem to have anything against the pair, but they were still members of Belle's kiss. If Belle found out Julian was among the undead, she could take it as a challenge to the Council. There were limits to how far they could let my threat go. An escalation of this magnitude could be just what our enemies would use to kill us.

That fear was promptly shattered when Valentina got a running start and flung herself into Julian's arms. His face broke out into a boyish smile, hands flying up to catch her like they did this every day. He had the half-amused, half-exasperated air of an older brother enduring his sister's theatrics. He gave her one enthusiastic swing before he set her back down on the carpet. She looked dizzy, as though he'd moved at breakneck speed.

"How?" she asked, speaking more to herself than to me. She swayed once before going up on tiptoe, touching his stomach, his arms, his chest, as though she was assuring herself every piece was there.

It reminded me of how Asher had reacted to Julian's return. Had Valentina harbored an unrequited love all those centuries ago? If so, her reaction spoke volumes about how much she'd mourned his death. It had been a whole Greek tragedy behind closed doors. And the worst part? He probably had no clue.

Julian gently disentangled himself from Valentina, taking a respectful step back from her. It brought him back to chest with Larry, who'd stood and approached in a daze. My apprentice's eyes didn't really come into focus until he laid a hand on Julian's shoulder. I knew it when he discerned the soul thrumming just under the cold, dead flesh. His eyes flew almost comically wide.

"Oh my God..." he whispered. "Anita, this is....this is supposed to be impossible. How the hell did you do this?"

I half-expected to hear disgust in his voice. He knew damn well the kind of sacrifice it would take to raise a zombie with its soul intact. He should be accusing me of murder. Instead, he reacted like he was seeing a Da Vinci from only a few inches away. He had enough power to appreciate the complexity of the spells it had taken to achieve this.

"Georgia," he said a second later, answering his own question. "I feel her too. You raised him together."

"I acted as a focus," I added. If I was going in for a penny, why not for a pound? If they stood a chance of catching this guy, everyone had to understand the principles. "It took a lot of ritual Vodu. Sacrafices to the Guede. I used Verity as a sort of witch's familiar, taking the blood from a group of volunteers. It added up to one large human sacrifice in the end. I had to pledge to use ritual to raise any corpse above a few centuries to secure Papa Legba's help in the future."

Larry raised a shaking hand to his mouth. "He's really in there, isn't he? And those teens..."

He trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. I didn't want to dwell on the implications either.

"What does this mean?" he finished lamely a moment later.

I laughed, but there was no mirth to the sound. "I've been trying to answer that question for years now. I have no clue. The metaphysics around me are so fucked I don't even begin to know how to tell you how I do half the stuff I do. But you need a necromancer to have a prayer of doing this without human sacrifice. We're looking for an animator with an insane level of juice and a lack of conscience. He was creating an efficient power loop by doing his films this way. Step one, put the actual murder in the hands of others, but collect the power from the kill. Step two, use that power to trap the souls into their dead shells. Step three, profit. He'd only had to perform one human sacrifice that served no actual purpose. The rest of them were like dominoes, the energy of their deaths constantly pushing the momentum of the spell forward."

"Can an animator even do that?" Larry said, and he sounded sick.

"Dominga did, I'll bet you anything. She's the most powerful Vodu priestess I ever met. She was a necromancer who targeted other necromancers to steal their power. She wanted to turn me into a zombie after she took my soul. She had journals, and I took them. I couldn't let that fall into regular hands. It was evil shit, Larry. She turned their bodies into govis."

"What?" Valentina asked.

"A bottle, essentially," Larry said. "It's only supposed to be temporary. They're made of red clay."

"You coat the body you're trying to ensoul in red clay," I added. "Whoever is putting their souls back into their bodies has to be ordering enormous quantities of it. Look for an overlap between red clay sales and disappearances of young women in the area."

Bartolome scribbled the advice in a notebook. I hadn't seen him produce one. It was a little dazzling, honestly. I felt like I was on the back foot, thrown off by the horror of this newest discovery.

"It's like being locked inside," Larry said, the reality slowly dawning on him. "They're there. They suffer but they can't fight back."

"It's zombie rape porn," I said bitterly. "And he's profiting from the murders and the porn, technically not getting his hands dirty on either count."

"Don't you hate it when the bastards are smart?" Valentina said, sashaying back to her ashtray. She lit up again. No one stopped her.

"How do we catch this guy?" Larry asked. "How do we make him pay for it?"

"We find him and throw the book at him. Once he's behind bars, let us handle the rest."

I exchanged a glance with Larry. He looked as thoroughly disturbed by this case as I was. It was closer to home than we liked. Normally our abilities with the dead were tangential to the case, not the thing that could make or break it. If we got this wrong, more people would die. More souls would be trapped in a hellish half-state, slaves for all eternity.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Larry said, eyes as steely as I'd ever seen them. "The fucker behind this deserves a needle in the arm."

Bartolome stood and brushed the wrinkles from his shirt. He looked as weary as I felt. He turned toward the door. Valentina gathered up the laptop, her ashtray, and her purse and followed him toward the door.

"On that," he called over his shoulder. "We can agree. It's nearly dawn. We'll ask for more concrete details of the metaphysics tomorrow evening. Right now, we all need to rest."

"I'm crashing in Julian's room," I said at once.

"I'm coming with you," Larry said, voice choked. "Meng Die is at Belle's and...I don't want to be alone when the nightmares come."

He waited for me to say no. He'd been pissy with me for months now. I could tell him to get lost. But I held out a hand to him instead. He took it with a relieved smile.

"Oui," Julian added. "The more the merrier."

Chapter Text

"Is she ever going to join us?" a tart voice asked. "The wait grows tiresome, Sergeant."

The speaker had a French accent so thick you could have used it to retile a bathroom. I'd punched its owner out only a few hours ago. Strange to think that I'd started the night arguing with Bert and ended it curled in the fetal position, trying to ward off nightmares. It felt like the night's events had taken place in two different time zones. Too much bullshit, not enough time to process. And it seemed like I couldn't escape that reality, even in my own dreams. I swore I'd just laid down, sandwiched between Julian's body and Larry's.

"I told you that she'll join us when she reaches REM sleep. You can take the cop out of the field, but the field stays with the cop, even when they retire or move on. Insomnia comes with the gig."

Insomnia. Right. If only that had been the case. Elusive bedrest seemed heavenly, compared to the prospect of trying to solve whatever fresh hell I'd been thrown into.

The man's voice was familiar two. Deep. Gruff. No-nonsense. My former boss had never been what you'd call loquacious. When I risked a glance up, I found a bear of a man giving me very solid eye contact. You could tell he was a giant, even sitting down. He'd died with the wrestler's build he'd worked hard to earn in his pro college days. At the moment he was leaning back in a folding chair, staring down at me expectantly.

"You done snoozing there, Blake?" Dolph asked, tone wry.

"I just got started," I grumbled. "What's so urgent that you needed to drag me into this little fever dream again?"

As much as I valued the time I had to speak with his spirit, his arrival never heralded anything good. If Dolph had dragged me into this police department purgatory, he had more work for me to do, on top of the impossible odds I was already facing.

True to form, he didn't answer me aloud. He waved one broad hand at the figure sitting across the table from me was diminutive, blonde, and unpleasantly familiar.

"Musette," I all but snarled. "What the hell is she doing here?"

"If you want it in the simplest possible terms, you stuck her soul in the corner for a cool-off period. You were right about what you told NYD's Derek Dickhead, by the way. She'll wake up and appear to be herself if you let her."

Turning my head toward Dolph felt like shoving against a granite boulder. It was hard, but I managed it. I had to look, had to ask, even if I would rather have eaten my own damn hand to avoid the honest answer I'd get. Dolph and I had moved past lying to each other a long time ago. Death had a funny way of reducing any longstanding arguments to so much trivial bullshit. He would tell me, one way or the other. I decided to flex a little courage and ask the question before he could tell me. Sitting meekly and waiting for the answer felt too much like cowardice for my taste.

"And what do you mean by that? You make it sound like I have control over her. She's a vampire. I can control all undead to some extent, but not like this. The only one I have lock, stock, and soul is Verity, and that was a really unique set of circumstances. Demons were involved. I had to draw a soul back into a body before I knew a thing about doing that. The scene in the lobby was nothing like that."

"You're right," he said, voice tight with the strain it took not to sound judgemental. It was the last thing I needed after a huge metaphysical fuck up. I'd take the anger out on him, instead of the target that had earned it.

"Stop making me play twenty-one questions, Dolph. I'm exhausted and you're taking a dirt nap. I think we're past playing office politics. I'm not going to take your bad cop routine. If you want to be an asshole, I can return to my regularly scheduled nightmare instead."

It was a bluff. I wasn't as adept at manipulating dreams as Jeanette was. I wasn't sure where the door to this place was or if I could kick it down when I found it. Julian and Dolph were infuriatingly vague about the afterlife. There was definitely an order to the cosmos and something meddling in human affairs, but it was far beyond our understanding. Dolph couldn't beat me, but whatever was sponsoring him might be able to.

"You need to bitch. I get that. If I could have stopped that creature from touching you, I would have. If you want to bawl me out, go ahead. I can take that. But that doesn't change the fact that you have a choice at the end of the day, Blake. Do you want to spend your entire dream screaming at me or do you want to know what the hell is going on?"

Dolph's face was solemn and resigned as he stared up at me. He honestly didn't care which way I went. He'd take it, scream right back at me, and work me up into a truly fine lather. The argument would feel good. Cathartic, even. As good as hitting a heavy bag for a few hours, which had been my plan as soon as I could hit the hotel gym. Dolph was willing to give me a fight if that was what would make me feel better. For a few shameful seconds, I considered it. But I eventually sank lower in my seat, frown easing.

"You know, you make it hard for a girl to pick a fight around here."

The corner of Dolph's mouth curled up in a phantom smile, there and gone before I could be sure I'd seen it. I missed it. Wished I could gift wrap it and hand the fresh memories to anyone who'd ever loved him on earth. I missed him so goddamn much.

"That's what I was going for. Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For backing down. I know that's not easy for you. Thanks for trusting me."

I blew out a breath. "You wouldn't bring me here unless it was important. What cosmic law did I break this time and how stiff is the penalty? Did I somehow make Musette a servant too? I'm only supposed to be able to have one of those."

Dolph's eyes were the color of faded denim. They filled with a deep disquiet when he turned them on me. I scooted away from him on reflex. It wasn't an accusation. His expression was a mix of wariness and pity.

"Do you know what a Bride is, Anita?" he asked.

I felt his scrutiny. Knew he was reading more from me than he could have when he'd been alive. This strange metaphysical middle ground stripped away a lot of pretenses, including the one about privacy. Dolph was the angel on my shoulder, out of sight and observing at all times. I tried not to think about that. If I did, I'd never have sex again.

"You know I don't," I said, and couldn't force my voice above a whisper. I wanted to remain blissfully ignorant. I couldn't unhear. Couldn't unknow. If I was ignorant, I could somehow absolve myself. If I knew, it made it real. Made it my fault.

"Brides is a relatively recent term," Musette said, examining her nails. "Belle despised the slang when the Dragon's pet human penned that rubbish with the Irishman."

"Dracula?" I asked. "As in Brides of Dracula? That means you're my...what? Love slave?"

I couldn't keep the revulsion from my voice at the thought. Musette looked like a lovely porcelain doll that had come to life and grown sex appeal. Any man would have committed felonies to earn a night in her bed. But all I could feel when I looked at her was the shameful wetness on my slacks, and the malicious glee she'd taken in reminding me of the rape. Musette had the gall to look offended by my disgust.

"You would be lucky to have me as such, Executioner," she muttered under her breath, sounding exactly like the petulant teen she so resembled. It was like a cloying echo of Belle's petty vengeance, and I wanted to smack her right back out of reality again.

"Oh lay the fuck off, Musette. After what you did, the only place I'll be piledriving you is into an open grave. You can rot in a coffin cross-wrapped coffin for the rest of eternity for all I care."

Dolph cleared his throat. I realized with alarm that I'd leaned halfway across the table and seized Musette by one strap of her evening gown, lifting her just an inch from the ground. The handcuffs that tethered her right wrist jangled as I pulled her toward me. She looked truly alarmed for the first time since we'd met.

"Back off, Anita. If you're going to kill her, you have to understand the stakes first. I don't want you to make the decision in a blind rage and regret it later. What happens now is your choice."

I rounded on him, releasing her so that I could jab a finger in his chest instead. He took the pointed nail in his chest with his usual stoicism.

"What the fuck does that mean, Dolph? What is a Bride?"

I swore I'd heard the term before in the wider vampire world, but I had no clue what it meant. Had I done something worse than make her a servant? Bride implied intimacy. Had I somehow twisted her sexuality beyond repair, forcing her to crave me like a drug? It was like a kind of rape, and I couldn't stand the thought I'd passed the trauma along.

"Anything you want me to be," Musette said quietly. She wasn't looking at me now. She'd landed back in her chair, rumpled and shaken. She looked scared. Of me.

Good.

"I'm going to start shooting people if I don't get an answer in goddamn English in the next five seconds," I half-shouted at the pair of them.

"Brides are perfected thralls. A total entrapment of the soul. My personality is pressed into my body like an insect in amber. That can't be changed. But my will? That's gone. You struck that out of me. I am yours. I can't separate from you, even if I had the will to try. More than that, I can feel your mood. I am tormented when you are upset. Your wrath burns like the fires of Hell, Executioner. Believe me, you have already buried me alive. I will never surface again. Not the true me."

My stomach bottomed out. I braced my elbows on the table, resisting the urge to bend double. God. Please don't let that mean what I thought it meant.

"Brides can't disobey a direct order by their master. A Master can draw life, strength, sustenance, and power from their Bride," Dolph continued grimly.

Oh God. It did mean what I thought it meant.

"I...I lobotomized her with magic?" I breathed, and couldn't keep the horror out of my voice.

I thought I'd been guilty of the worst when I drew Jade and Jeanette into a four-way rape orgy with my newly awakened ardeur. I thought I'd stretched the limits of my ability to coerce by tying Verity and Jamil to me by accident. No. This was the worst. I hadn't chained Musette to me during a metaphysical disaster. This was worse. So much worse. I'd turned a vampire into the horrific inverse of Julian. He was a zombie with a soul. She'd be a vampire without one, for all intents and purposes. I'd hollowed her out. Made her a doll. The only thing that was left was a reflection of me. Of what I projected onto her. Molded her into. I'd done worse than kill her. I'd made her an object. A thing. Something I could break. Could control. Could torment for eternity and she would have to take it with a smile.

"If you want to simplify it, yes. You have a choice. If she wakes for the night, Musette's soul is destroyed. What's left is just a vessel."

"A zombie," I whispered. "I turned her into a fucking zombie..."

"Yes. But she doesn't have to be."

My hands were clenched so tightly at my sides that I'd gouged lines into my palms. Blood dripped from them, pooling on the table. Dolph laid his sleeve in the growing stain absorbing the crimson stuff before Musette could lunge for it. The intensity of her hunger was frightening.

"What does that mean, Dolph?" I asked.

"That you're the one holding onto her soul. You grabbed her the same way you grabbed me. You had to choose to let me go. You told her spirit to fuck off, and it did. If you let her rise without it, she's gone for good. She'll just be a body. A body that you puppet."

I shuddered. The idea of Musette trailing after me, a twisted reflection of my own worst tendencies sounded like something out of a nightmare.

"What's the other option?"

"You kill her here."

I sank shakily into the chair across from Musette, all my righteous anger draining away. I felt as hollow as I'd made her. I laid my hand on the cool steel of the table. Dolph covered it with his own a second later.

"What's the difference?" I asked. I sounded bleak. Not quite there. I was already retreating, already making the choice. I just didn't want to admit it to myself. "What's the difference if I kill her here or let her rise? You said the soul would be destroyed either way."

"In one scenario, you killed in self-defense. She'll stay dead. Go wherever her soul is meant to go. If you trap the soul outside the body, it fades into oblivion. If she rises without it, you decide that she deserves to be paraded around like a trophy kill for the rest of her eternity. I know you don't like raising zombies for entertainment. But that's all she'll be if you let her rise. I'm asking you to do the humane thing."

To kill her. To correct the mistake I'd made the last time she'd been in range.

There was an ugly second or two where I considered it. If I made Musette my Bride, I had a very nice turncoat in Belle's court with her mistress none the wiser. I could take her power. Her life. She was at my mercy.

And that was the difference between Belle and I. I knew the meaning of the word, and she didn't. If I raised Musette at dusk and paraded her like a puppet in front of the whole court, I was no better than Belle.

"What would you choose?" I asked her. "If I hadn't done this to you. If you were going to rise tomorrow like normal. Would you choose to rise as someone else? Would you want to live like that?"

Musette wouldn't meet my eyes. Something sparkled on her cheek for a moment before she wiped it away. I hoped I'd imagined the sniffle. I didn't want to pity her. Not after everything she'd done.

"I love Belle," she said, her accent so thick I could barely parse it. When I did, I wasn't sure if I wanted to shake her or laugh in her face. Love Belle Morte. What an oxymoron. But she was deluded enough to believe it. Deluded enough to die.

It made me feel better when I took the Browning Hi-Power he offered me and put one right between her eyes.

Better off dead than loving Belle Morte, in my opinion.

Chapter Text

I came to on the bed after what felt like only an instant of sleep. Larry was shouting at someone, the noise too loud, scraping along the inside of my skull like rusty nails. I was still feeling the strain of Belle's psychic attack, even if the physical evidence was long gone.

"What the fuck are you doing? You can't come in here! How did you even-? Oof!"

Larry's voice was loud in the early morning stillness of the hotel room. Or...maybe early afternoon. There wasn't much light coming from around the edges of the blackout curtains, and paired with the autumnal weather, it was hard to tell by sight alone. I could have checked my phone, but even rolling over sounded like a Herculean effort. I forced myself to do it anyway, shoving a hand beneath my pillow. I no longer slept with a gun. None of my sweeties trusted me with one in vulnerable states, like sleeping or a night of drinking. To be fair, I had barely pulled through the dark night of the soul alive, so they had reasons to fear. I compromised by keeping a silver alloy knife within reach and a gun in a drawer nearby. Anyone looking to kill me these days had to go through several locked doors and pissed wereanimal guards to get to me.

I rolled off the bed with the speed and grace of long practice, hitting the carpeted floor on the opposite side of the bed with barely a sound. It wasn't enough to have the perks of being a human servant. You had to know how to use them if you wanted it to count in a real-world setting. I'd practiced and Larry hadn't. He was strong, but not trained to handle the members of New York's Preternatural SWAT Team.

I watched him raise his hand, gripped loosely around the service pistol he'd gotten as a member of the FBSA. A man who had easily a foot on him lodged an elbow in his gut before smashing Larry's wrist with crushing force to the far wall. The Glock he'd been gripping tumbled to the ground. The man's elbow swept up again, this time to break Larry's nose. Blood spouted from the point of contact, and Larry let out a choked cry of pain.

He was lucky. He hadn't gotten shot. They hadn't come with a warrant of execution.

I flattened myself to the floor between the pair of queen beds. A slim oak casket dominated most of the aisle. It was mostly there for show. Julian didn't actually sleep inside it, except when he had to keep up appearances. He was supposed to be Asher's new vampire boy toy, not a centuries-old zombie. I slammed a hand on the casket lid when I felt him stir inside. He must have climbed inside after Larry and I drifted off.

"Stay down."

"No," he argued. "You're in danger. I want to help."

And all he'd actually accomplish was to get himself shot and outed all in one go. He wouldn't be good evidence for the prosecution if he was guilty of killing cops to protect me. They were tough, but zombies were tougher. Especially zombies with decades of fighting experience under their belt, and lovers who regularly used fencing practice for foreplay. I wasn't worried about his safety, I was worried about theirs.

"Staying down is very helpful. It means you can call Jeanette's people and tell them exactly what happened when we're carted out. Asher taught you to use a phone, I know that. You text me constantly."

You would never know he'd grown up in the early Renaissance. Julian devoured knowledge. I'd seen him put away stacks of chapter books in one day. He was a zombie, with no physical needs. Sleep was no longer mandatory, though he could sink into a semi-unconscious state if he wanted to. He'd quickly overtaken me in tech-savvy, and frequently spammed my email, DMS, and texts with links to the newest research spiral he'd undertaken.

"They could be here to kill you."

Yes, they could be. We were in Belle's territory, and I'd killed one of her chief flunkies in front of God and everyone. She owned most of the city, and that probably included law enforcement. She could very well arrange to shoot me first and arrange the justification later. But I doubted it.

For one, Belle wasn't that obvious around human beings. If she wanted to kill me, she was going to do it up close and personal. I had to attend a mandatory party with Jeanette in only a few days, and there'd be far fewer prying eyes. SWAT descending on a random hotel was bound to draw attention. Someone wanted eyes on me, and that ran contrary to Belle's M.O. Belle Morte wouldn't just kill us. She'd make an eloquent example of us first. This was too crude to be her doing.

Secondly, Larry was still breathing. If Belle was going to send someone to off us, she would want to weaken Jeanette first. That meant eliminating members of her Kiss. Larry's death would drag Meng Die down, killing her while she slept in her coffin. Jeanette wouldn't feel the loss until she woke for the evening. They were being loud, trying to intimidate, not sweeping the room with intent to kill.

Capture. They'd been sent in to capture us. But why?

I didn't have time to voice the question. Another member of SWAT rounded the corner and found me crouching on the ground, one hand splayed on a coffin lid, the other clutching a large silver knife.

"Drop it!" a familiar voice bellowed. I struggled to place it and then let out a gusty sigh when the answer came to me.

"Detective Shields, is that you?" I asked. "Damn, you must have kissed serious ass to be allowed to run with SWAT. I know you don't have what it takes otherwise. I've trained with SWAT before. It's not for desk jockeys."

Shield's boot flicked out faster than I could track, kicking the knife from my hand. Bones crunched and I arched, biting my lip with the effort it took not to scream. At least three broken fingers. Maybe four. He'd disabled my best shooting hand with less effort than I would have taken cracking open a can of Coke. I swear I could feel him snarling at me from behind the darkened visor. I held my mangled hand up in surrender when he jabbed the end of a long rifle near my head.

"Fine, fine! The knife is down."

"On your stomach, Blake!" he bellowed. My head twinged viciously in reply. "Assume the position!"

I thought about pointing out I was already there but decided that antagonizing him further would probably earn me another kick. I needed at least one hand break-free. I placed my hands on the small of my back, chewing the inside of my cheek when he straddled my bare legs, bending me so that my cheek ground into the high-pile carpet. My sleep shorts rode up, molding uncomfortably against my butt as Shields searched me for more weapons. Another member of SWAT opened the casket lid. I was relieved to see that Julian had stilled in that eerie way only the dead could. He looked like what he was. A beautiful corpse.

"Fucking coffin bait," Shields muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Shields?" I panted. "I couldn't hear you past the sound of an excessive force lawsuit."

He swore under his breath and dug his knee into the small of my back deliberately after cuffing my hands. He leaned his entire weight into me as he stood, knocking the wind from me. I didn't have the strength to fight when two more police lifted me like a rag doll.

"I said you're under arrest, Blake. That vampire you bitch-slapped died and someone's going to pay for it."

"Better my ass than yours," I agreed with exaggerated sweetness. "How chivalrous of you, Shields. My heart is a-flutter. I know the beating was your idea of flirting. Boys will be boys, right? If he yanks your pigtails on the playground and calls you names it means he likes you, not that he's a dickless coward and a bully. Isn't that the kind of thing you teach your daughter, Shields?"

I should have seen the right cross coming, but didn't. Shields clocked me good on the side of the face. My head hit the side of the mattress as I went down. I heard Larry shout my name, but I didn't have time to spot him before the blackness smothered me.

Chapter Text

I was sometimes convinced that I would have needed to retire at thirty without Jeanette's marks to heal me. Hunting the monsters was tough on the body. I'd suffered as many or more concussions as your average NFL player in my relatively short career as a vampire executioner. The monsters almost always went for the head. Pissy police detectives did too. Sorry to be redundant.

A groan trickled through my lips when I forced myself to raise my head. My cheek had been resting limply against the metal wall of a police truck. Blood and spittle had formed a small puddle on the bench seat beneath me. My broken hand throbbed viciously, trapped at an odd angle by the cuffs around my wrists. Shield's idea, probably.

The rat bastard in question had positioned himself on the bench seat across from me. I wasn't sure how long he'd been watching me drool all over myself, but he'd thought it was engrossing enough to take his helmet off, in direct defiance of regulations. He was smirking at me, taking obvious pleasure in watching me try to squirm into a more comfortable position.

"Still breathing, Blake?" he asked blithely, leaning an elbow on his helmet as he watched me. "I wasn't sure you were gonna get up after that one."

I spat out a glob of spit. It hit the ground near his boot, and his smile shrank by a few molars.

"A demon once knocked two of my molars out after hitting me in the face with a shovel," I said dryly. "I barely felt that love tap, Shields. Pro tip. If you want to make me scream, just keep talking. Now that's torture."

Shield's foot lashed out, hitting something in the aisle between us. Glancing down made my head spin, but when the spots cleared, I realized that Shields had stuffed Julian's coffin into the back. I wanted to ask what the literal corpse had done to piss him off, but saved my breath. I knew Shield's type. The corporate ladder climber who knew how to hide his bigotry beneath the proper, politically correct language. The one who committed the most heinous acts of cruelty you could imagine when they were sure no one was looking.

"Bullshit! I read all your official files, Blake. You never faced a demon."

"If a demon attacks and no report is filed, did I still bleed?" I wondered aloud, taking smug satisfaction when a muscle in Shield's cheek twitched. "Trust me, I've faced a lot of things you'll never know about, Shields. Things that would make you cry like the little girls you turn your nose up at."

Shield's smile was so thin it looked nearly skeletal. His skin pulled unpleasantly, as though he wanted to do anything but show me his teeth.

"You think you're so tough, don't you, Blake? Just because you've pounded enough corpses to get a kill count doesn't make you law enforcement. You don't know shit, Blake."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

If we'd been alone in the back of the truck, I was sure he would have lashed out again. Kicked me until I puked my guts out or started bleeding from the head. With two other members of SWAT present, Shields would have a lot of paperwork to do if he laid into me. They might not stop them, but they would have to give some answers to whoever found my bloody body. That would be enough to keep him from completely doing me in, at least. Deaths in custody didn't fly well in court. Especially not the death of a celebrity, no matter how minor they happened to be.

"Besides," I continued. "I know you're full of it, Shields. Calling in SWAT for little old me? If I wasn't a threat, why did you need so much backup?"

Shields' cheeks were ruddy, tinging closer to puce than red now. If we'd been in public, I might have kept antagonizing him, gotten a witness to prove what a piece of shit he was. Someone on the street would be sure to record it. He couldn't intimidate all of them. But in a vehicle with only law enforcement watching, it was tempting fate. Cops stuck together, even when that meant covering up some of the shadier aspects of their peers' behavior.

"It's procedure to bring in SWAT for sorcerers," he snapped. "You killed someone with magic, Blake. That makes you a sorcerer."

"No, making a deal with a demonic entity or worse would make me a sorcerer. Jesus, what are they teaching you on the East Coast? Are the textbooks that badly out of date? I knew that, and I grew up in Bumfuck Nowhere, Missouri."

Shields leaned forward until our noses were almost touching. His breath smelled like gravy. Probably from the breakfast he'd shoveled down before coming to rough me up. Couldn't beat women on an empty stomach, after all. His blue eyes were cold when he spoke.

"You're going to get the needle, Blake. Mark my words. Voodoo queens like you always do in the end."

I had to brace the wall with my elbow when the driver took a sharp turn to the right, throwing me against my restraints.

"Ah, so it wasn't just that I'm a woman who calls you on your shit. You're scared of magic, aren't you Shields?"

"I'm not scared of you, Blake," he said.

"Liar."

"You little..." Shields paused as we took another, sharper turn. The truck jolted twice, tires squealing in protest as we jumped a divider. There was a chorus of car horns, and then a crunch. Shields smacked a hand into the wall and bellowed, "What the fuck are you doing up there, Smith?"

Smith didn't reply. I couldn't see much through the mesh that separated the back of the truck from the cab. What I could see were rows of cars and a low ceiling, not the driver. We were in a parking garage.

Shields smacked the divider and shouted, "What do you think you're doing? Pull the fuck over!"

To my surprise, Smith did. They pushed the brake down so forcefully that Smith actually ended up sprawled on top of the coffin. The two members of Swat that shared my bench seat ended up on top of one another, struggling to pull their arms and legs free of the pile.

That's how Smith found all of us. Stunned and still trying to get our bearings. Smith was a full-figured woman who looked good in the body armor. When she removed her helmet, I saw that the face matched the body. Strong, with sweeping cheekbones and a jaw that could have been etched from stone. She'd pulled her blonde hair into a high ponytail to fit under the helmet. It was also a handy way to keep it out of reach of an attacker. Her almond-shaped blue-gray eyes didn't leave mine, even when she produced the silenced pistol.

The first two didn't stand a chance. I wasn't sure what ammunition she was using, but it punched through Kevlar, leaving a hole around the width of my thumb behind. The sound was terrific, even with the suppressor. In the enclosed space, even a muffled shot sounded like thunder.

Shields had time to get his gun up, but no time to loose a shot. A red hole appeared in his forehead a split second before gore fountained across the wall behind him.

"And then there was one," Magda said, sighting down her arm at me with a chilly smile. "Any last words before we finish this, Blake?"

"Knock, knock," I said.

Magda's brow twitched. "You cannot be serious."

"Deadly. Knock, knock, Magda."

"Who's there?"

"Interrupting zombie."

"Interrupting zombie wh-"

And that was as far as she got before the casket lid flew off its hinges and went flying at speed toward the werelioness, knocking her backward into the parking garage. It wasn't much of an opening, but it was the best I was going to get. I lunged for the Glock in Shields' holster, clutching it in one hand. The other sought out Julian's hand. He did me one better, sweeping my dazed ass up into his arms, throwing me over his shoulder. Again, not ideal, but it would have to do.

"Where are we going?" Julian panted.

"Anywhere with sunlight. She won't follow us into a crowd. Get us out of the parking garage. Now."

Chapter Text

Zombies can really haul ass when they need to. I once saw the flesh-eating remains of an abuse victim go after her husband after a botched raising. She hadn't been my zombie, but she was one of the first I'd ever watched go rogue. I'd been forced to shoot her into pieces before she could reach the lousy son of a bitch. I still remember marveling at the speed and grace the human body was capable of with all of its inhibitors turned off.

But even zombies can't outpace wereanimals. The fastest human alive could run a little under thirty miles. A lion's top speed was a lot closer to fifty miles per hour in short bursts. A werelion's speed was even faster. We'd barely cleared the truck's rear door when Magda swept her arm through the open air where we'd been seconds before. There was a screech of protesting metal when her claws scored the wall I'd been propped against seconds before. It curled inward in steel ribbons, rending like a soda can under the strength of the blow. If I'd been standing there even a millisecond longer, she'd have the mulched remains of my throat in her hands, instead of a pile of metal shavings.

"Mon Dieu," Julian muttered under his breath, hissing in pain when his shoulder clipped the rear door on our way out. He staggered, which almost threw me free of his shoulder. I managed to grab a fistful of his nightshirt with my broken hand biting back a scream as lighting streaked up my hand. It was a struggle to keep the Glock steady in the other. I was still too dazed to aim, but I was going to have to fight anyway.

The red silk jammies Julian wore were a really bad choice for running through a darkened parking garage. Flag, meet bull. Er, lioness. It also made keeping my grip tricky. Silk is not the material you want to be wearing when you need to find purchase on something.

I wasn't sure what this structure was attached to, but it was probably a good bet it was a business of some kind. Vanilla humans were going to be traipsing back to their cars at the end of various shifts and would be caught in the crossfire.

Julian made it six yards before the first gunshot exploded out of his chest. One moment I was craning my neck, trying to track our progress toward the exit. The next, Julian was stumbling forward, a hand pressed to a blotchy crimson stain just under the ribs. If he'd still been Asher's human servant, that move might have dropped him. As it was, it only made his pace stutter for a few seconds. The exit was a square of dazzling gold at the end of the on-ramp. It was less than a mile back, and I still wasn't sure we'd make it.

"Putain de merde!" he hissed.

"Get a row of cars between us and her," I said, voice coming out a breathless whisper. I couldn't get in a lungful of air with the constant jostling.

"Will that help?" he panted. "I mean, it's been a while since I've been in a pitched battle."

I couldn't tell if he was trying to make a joke, or if he really wasn't sure how much metal tonnage would be between us and the rampaging lioness. He seemed wary of cars on principle, and I couldn't blame him. Getting sprung forward to a future that had abandoned horses as transportation had to be jarring if you'd grown up as a French peasant.

"Yes."

He didn't question me. Julian got a running start and vaulted onto the hood of a Nissan and pounded up the windshield onto the roof. He impacted with enough force to set off the alarm. The strident scream of sound managed to make Magda pause, and an idea occurred to me. We couldn't outpace her, couldn't outmuscle her, couldn't outmatch her, but we could outhink her. It was still risky, but my gut told me that it was probably the only thing that stood a chance of deterring her.

"Do that again," I commanded, steadying myself on his back. I wiggled so that most of my weight was leaning against the side of his head for balance. I was still being jostled, but there was a rhythm to it now. If I could catch Magda going in a straight line for even a few yards, I could shoot her.

"Do what?" Julian asked, hitting the asphalt on the opposite side of the Nissan so hard it jarred my bones. I hissed a curse and curled more tightly against him

"Set off alarms. Every single car in the garage will have one."

Julian didn't argue with me. He thrust a fist into the window of a Tahoe as we sprinted past, cutting the pale flesh of his arms to ribbons in the process. He hissed in discomfort, but kept on, kicking a car with enough force to send it skidding an inch or two forward in the parking space. Its alarm let out a plaintive wail, layering on top of the woop-woop, of the first car and the screech of the second. The sound bounced back to us from the low ceiling, echoing through the darkened interior of the garage.

"It's so loud," Julian thought with a grimace.

"And you and I only have human hearing. Imagine how much worse it is for a wereanimal."

Julian considered that for a beat and then broke out into an utterly boyish grin. The next punch through a pane of safety glass came with more enthusiasm. Now that he understood the order, he was taking glee in carrying it out. The cacophony grew so loud that I could feel the sound pounding in my bones. But more importantly, I could hear the shouts of people running into the garage, trying to find out if their car had been vandalized.

Julian sprinted past a woman in a royal blue skirt suit as she came hustling up the ramp. She had a badge clipped to her lapel but didn't pass close enough for me to read the name. She blinked in shock, watching what looked like a handsome co-ed tote a bloody, handcuffed, and armed woman over one shoulder. Crimson soaked most of one sleeve, dripping sluggishly down Julian's arm. He was dead, which cut down on the gore. Hard to spurt blood everywhere when your heart doesn't beat.

The woman glanced past us and blanched, flattening herself against the bumper of a blue pickup truck. I rolled clumsily on Julian's shoulder, forcing him to lurch to the side to catch me. He stumbled and got a grip on my shoulders just as a red Jeep roared past us, Magda at the wheel. I didn't have to see her to know that she'd be back and that her aim would be better the second time. We needed out of here. Just because my gut said she wasn't going to off a level full of human beings, I couldn't be sure. Flight was the better part of valor, in this case.

"Wheels," I muttered to myself. "We need wheels."

The police truck was out. Too recognizable. Our best bet was to lose Magda in a crowd and retreat to a safe secondary location. I was absolutely certain that Jeanette would have a place in mind. New York might have been Belle's territory, but my girlfriend had allies everywhere. There would be at least one roach-infested studio apartment in Manhattan that I could hole up in while we regrouped.

"Where are Haven and Jacklyn?" I asked. "Or any of the guards, for that matter?"

"Following behind. The police had a warrant for your arrest, and Augustine ordered no armed clashes with police in another Master's territory. Courtesy, you understand."

Belle didn't deserve even basic dignity, let alone courtesy, but on this, Augustine was right. Trying to smuggle a wanted criminal from police custody was stupid and suicidal, no matter whose territory they were in.

"So they have to know that we're in trouble."

"I imagine they're on their way as we speak, but what was it that you modern humans like to say...erm...traffic is a bitch?"

A giggle rose and died in my throat. The roar of an oncoming engine was almost loud enough to drown out the chorusing alarms. We were getting close. Three feet to the entrance. Two.

Julian exploded out of the entrance to the parking garage with a shout. He leaped bodily to one side as Magda's Jeep cleared the entrance as well, two tires going up on the sidewalk outside the garage as she went. Before she could spin the wheel and gun the vehicle up the sidewalk, mowing us down, there came another, louder snarl, and a Harley came to a quivering halt just a few inches from my bare feet. The figure on the bike was slender, with a curtain of dark hair flowing from beneath the helmet. I knew that hair. Had run my fingers through it when we made love for the first and last time in New Mexico.

"Jade," I breathed, the sound drowned almost at once by the chaos inside the parking garage.

Her only reply was to jerk her thumb impatiently to the back of the motorcycle. I eyed it with apprehension. I wasn't exactly dressed for the possibility of road rash if we crashed. The asphalt was going to snatch my pajamas off quickly if Magda rear-ended us.

But on the other hand, who better to fight an immortal therian spy than another immortal therian spy?

"You better know what you're doing," I muttered under my breath. Then louder, to Julian, "Stay here."

"Non," he protested.

"I need someone to do damage control for me," I said quietly. "Get into the darkened parking garage and pretend to be a traumatized vampire. Tell the police that the truck was ambushed and you woke up to the sight of men executing SWAT members and kidnapping the prisoners. She's after me, not you. The best thing you can do for me is to let me go."

Julian's jaw flexed once, the deep gray of his eyes so thunderous I expected an accompanying growl of sound to escape him. But he wasn't an idiot. He knew I was right. We had to get our story out first. If Belle got a hold of it, there was no telling what yarn she'd spin.

"Don't die," he whispered.

I leaned down and gave him as fierce a kiss as I dared. We didn't have time to be thorough, but I wanted to be. I wasn't sure I would survive Magda, even with Jade here to assist.

"Thank you, Julian."

I wrapped my arms around Jade's waist a second later and she gunned the engine, weaving into New York City traffic without a backward glance.

Chapter Text

If I clutched Jade's waist any tighter, I'd cut off circulation to her legs. I was huddled around her lean frame, burying my face between her shoulder blades to keep the wind from raking at my eyes. It was already whipping my hair into wild tangles. If I kept my eyes on the road, I would inhale half my curls. Car horns serenaded us from all sides and lights flashed in my periphery, creating a disconcerting strobe effect as we raced forward.

To say that Jade drove like a maniac would be an insult to maniacs. Don't ask me how she managed half the tricks she pulled. She managed to defy physics, accelerating with enough speed to leap oncoming traffic and land on the opposite side of the stream unmolested. We wove like a psychotic needle through afternoon traffic, no doubt drawing the ire of every cop within a mile radius.

That was the point, after all. Magda was a relentless killing machine, not an idiot. She'd already taken a huge risk by attacking me with SWAT on the scene. The easy murder-suicide explanation had been too tantalizing to pass up, apparently. That ploy had failed utterly. She could keep up the chase and risk exposure, or she could retreat and try again another day. I knew what I would have done in her place.

Jade poured more speed on, squeezing through a narrow gap between a taxi and a metal divider. I was honestly shocked when she didn't try to ride the rail like some therian spoof of Tony Hawk. Sirens blared to life maybe a block away, and she took a speedy detour into an alleyway, crunching to a stop beside an overflowing dumpster.

I was too windswept and exhausted to do much but watch as she removed the helmet and set it aside. She stripped out of the leather jacket and pants she wore, revealing a beige tank top and a pair of leggings beneath the getup.

"What are you doing?" I asked as she wound up to throw the lot of them into the dumpster.

"Changing. The police will have our descriptions by now. Two women, one wearing leather and the other wearing a nightgown. We'll be easy to overlook in a crowd without those distinguishing features present. We're going on foot from here. It's not that far."

"What's not far?" I asked.

Jade didn't answer. She just held out a hand to me, drawing me under her arm when I took it. She angled her body to cover most of mine, shielding me from notice as NYPD patrol cars sped past us, sirens screaming. The nightie I was wearing was earning me a few odd looks, but no one stopped me. After Jade bribed a young woman to surrender her coat to me, even those looks subsided. We walked at a brisk pace down the sidewalk, hand in hand, and no one said a word. No one even glanced our way.

"What's not far?" I repeated. "I don't need an address, but I'd appreciate a time frame at least."

If I was lucky, the cameras in the parking garage would corroborate whatever yarn Julian was spinning for the police. The threat to my life hadn't been public, but I was sure that between Edward and Larry's testimony, they could sell my disappearance as an abduction, instead of the flight of a wanted criminal. If they couldn't, I might be up on murder charges not only for Musette but for the deaths of several state and federal officers. But I couldn't sweat that possibility right now, with an elite assassin out for my blood.

"Giacomo's daytime resting place," she said under her breath. "The leader of my former order had shares in many retail companies. We have locations in almost every major metropolitan area. I can guess which one he's resting in. Though Magda and her master deny it, he's a creature of habit. He'll choose the loft because it's comfortable. The fire escape will be booby-trapped to prevent easy access to the apartment, but I know another way in."

Of course she did. Jade was like the Swiss Army Knife of girlfriends. If you needed someone to whip out a handy skill, she'd probably learned it sometime in the last few centuries.

We ended up taking a mostly defunct service elevator up from the first floor, stepping out into a dimly lit room full of cleaning products. The thing had creaked and groaned the entire time, and only the pressure of her hand in mine kept me from jumping out of my skin through the minute-long journey.

Have I mentioned I'm terrible in dark, enclosed spaces? I could thank Grandma Flores for that. I'd been at a very impressionable age when she'd locked me in her closet for hours, with nothing but mildew, Pine-Sol, and rats for company.

"You're claustrophobic," Jade remarked with surprise when we stepped into the comparative silence of the hall. I could still make out the sounds of the city if I strained, but it beat the hell out of the elevator.

"Jeanette didn't tell you that?"

"No. We don't speak much unless it concerns business. It's almost like having my head to myself. I haven't been left alone for a millennium. The silence is heavenly. Besides, you would be angry with us if we discussed something so personal without your consent."

I scowled. "Not you too."

She paused. "What do you mean?"

"I get enough Obi-Wan from Jeanette. I don't need it from you too."

"Obi-Wan?"

I sighed. "I get twitchy around really perceptive people. Pretend you don't micro-examine me on reflex. It will make me feel better."

That earned me a brief smile. It made her look younger than she already did. Amir had caught her in the full bloom of her youth, snatching her from her lover's arms like a villain of mythic proportions, binding her to his will. She'd suffered a thousand years of violence under his hands. I was stunned she could still feel simple joy.

"I can do that," she said.

"Thank you."

I expected Jade to break out a lockpicking set from some hidden pocket in her outfit. She'd demonstrated that particular skill once on a date, sneaking us into a skating rink after hours when I'd recalled a favorite birthday memory of mine. Don't ask me how she got the lights and music going, but she did. It had felt very middle-school, but it had also been nice. One of the nicest dates we'd had so far.

The reality ended up being a lot less dramatic. She produced a key from her cleavage and slotted it in the lock. She had the door open and an alarm disarmed within seconds. I could never have located it in time to stop the alarm from going off. Giacomo was probably able to rise before dusk, which meant he'd hear it and respond.

"Where'd you get that?" I hissed, voice barely audible, even over the hush of the air conditioner.

"Magda gave it to me years ago," Jade said, matching my volume. "I never had the courage to sneak in and make love to her when we were stationed in New York at the same time. It was a flight of fancy, and one we buried beneath assurances we could just be friends. I believe she's forgotten about this particular token of her affection, in light of my alleged death."

Put that way, I almost felt bad for the murderous lioness. They'd been in love, possibly for as long as Magda had been serving in the Gaurd. Five hundred years of carrying a torch would equate to one hell of a grudge when the love of her eternity died at the hands of some second-rate hunter.

"She's going to smell you," I pointed out.

Jade shook her head. "I had the leather treated with a scent-inhibiting compound after Jeanette requested my presence here."

I slowed, staring at her retreating back for a stunned second. The darkness beyond swallowed her from sight. "She did what? Have you been watching me this entire time?"

"No. I flew in a few hours ago after you demonstrated unnatural abilities with the dead. I've met necromancers before. I was supposed to give you my expertise. I arrived in time to see you captured. If Magda hadn't ambushed you, I would have waited until you were out on bail to get in touch."

I had to adopt an awkward, loping stride to catch up to her. By the time I had, she'd flicked on a touch light mounted near a bedroom door. She'd managed to dodge every piece of antique furniture in the way without a light, which meant she'd spent enough time here to know the layout, or she really was that much better than me.

The apartment had been decorated with Italian leather chairs and sofas. A coffin lay near the electric fireplace, which crackled merrily in the grate. A stack of paperbacks rested precariously on the corner of a coffee table. I had to squint to make out the title on the spine. It was written in Latin. Thanks to my undergraduate degree, I could make out just enough to know that it was a tome far past my reading level.

"Are any of you anything less than geniuses?" I asked, picking up the book to examine it more closely.

"Quite a few of my fellows were chosen for muscle, not brains. Magda wasn't one of them. I wouldn't have wanted her if she'd been a brainless pawn in lockstep with her master. Giacomo wouldn't have wanted her either. Their partnership is the closest to equal I've ever seen among the Guard."

Which wasn't saying a whole hell of a lot. I'd met a lot of vampires, and very few treated therians fairly. They seemed to regard them as a lesser caste, there only to serve at the whim of their betters. What I had with Richard and Jeanette was seen as insane, blue-haired liberalism, and it still chaffed from time to time.

Jade located another touch light, this one in the kitchenette. A soft amber glow trailed into the short hallway that separated the bedroom from the rest of the loft. I followed her in, realizing with some surprise that I was actually hungry.

"Sit," Jade commanded. "Gicomo usually wakes an hour before dusk, and if I'm right Magda won't come back until well after sunset. She'll fear punishment for provoking you. It was an impulsive act. If she'd really wanted you dead, she would have taken her time constructing a bomb that could take out the entire hotel floor where you slept."

"Thank God for impulsivity, then," I muttered. "That's an absolutely hideous thought. Would she really take out that many civilians to take out little old me?"

"Oh yes. It's much easier to use misdirection and bluff in times of turmoil. A few words here, a little money exchanged there, and you can start a war. She'd find a way to spin the power vacuum to her and her Master's advantage at some point."

I shuddered and folded myself into a metal folding chair across from the fridge. The remnants of a poker game were in evidence. At least one of the pair smoked, judging by the butts in the ashtray. Probably Giocomo. Vampires didn't sweat nicotine exposure the way the merely mortal did.

"And I thought I was a pragmatist."

"You are a doe-eyed innocent, comparatively," Jade said, smiling softly to ease the sting of her words. "It's endearing."

Jade wavered for just a moment before leaning in to press a kiss to my hair. I wanted to do more, but my hand was aching too fiercely to allow for anything more than a perfunctory lip lock. I was healing quickly, and if I didn't let set them, the fingers would mend wrong.

"I missed you," she said quietly.

"Same," I said. "But I hope you'll understand when I said I wish you didn't have to be here."

Jade considered that before nodding. She opened a cabinet door, disappearing for a moment before she reemerged with a large first aid kit. "If a problem requires my input, the margin for error has become perilously thin."

I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes as she took the seat across from mine. I was steeling myself for the pain that was coming. Broken bones always sucked, and the speed healing always made me ache for hours afterward. Healing damage without anesthetic was one of the more profoundly uncomfortable experiences in my life.

"Yeah, something like that."

Jade scooted her chair closer, hovering over my injured hand without quite touching it. She looked hesitant, an alien expression on her ordinarily confident face.

"Do you want me to find painkillers? I'm sure Magda has some stashed in a hidden compartment in the bedroom. She tries to be prepared."

"Prepared to come back to her safe house so injured that she has to take enough tranquilizers to pummel herself into unconsciousness to heal?"

Jade tilted her head quizzically, as though I'd asked a very stupid question. I realized with a sinking feeling that was exactly what therian servants of the Guard went through, sometimes at the hands of their own masters.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for. I hadn't been the one to hurt her. But the reality of what she'd gone through was too much. I thought I'd seen abuse in my lifetime. She had several lifetimes worth of shitty experiences and a hell of a lot less therapy than I'd gone through. I was amazed she could function, let alone as well as competently as she did.

"For what?"

"For bringing it up. I trust you to know what you're talking about. And to answer your question, yes, I'd love painkillers. Unfortunately, I don't metabolize them as quickly as you do. I can't afford to be drugged when Magda comes back."

Jade's expression was grim. She'd known what my answer would be before she asked the question because she would have done the same in my place. I still appreciated the offer. It was nice to know she cared enough about me to hamper herself in a fight against her former allies. I'd be useless in battle, a liability instead of an asset. Most painkillers made me woozy.

"You could use the ardeur," she offered quietly.

I couldn't look at her. If I met her gaze, I'd fall into the depths of those startling tiger eyes and I wouldn't surface with all of my clothes on. The ardeur was always close to the surface with Jade. She'd been my first victim, though she didn't see herself that way.

I shook my head. "It's almost as disabling as drugs. The amount I'd have to take from you to mend bones instantly would make you unsteady. You're the only way I stand a chance against either of them. I'm good, but I'm not an elite immortal vampire assassin or a badass werelioness with a chip on my shoulder. They'd kick my ass. Just get it over with."

She looked thoughtful as she bent over my hand. I bit the inside of my cheek to contain a whimper when she prodded the fingers. At a glance, I could tell that at least two of them had started to fuse and would have to be broken again.

"That's not all of it," Jade said.

I frowned at her, then hissed a curse as she used the barest amount of pressure to snap the bone at its weakest point. I might have said something rude about her mother, which only made her smile.

"What did I say about being too perceptive?" I panted.

"Humor me."

I wasn't sure what to say. So much had happened since we'd seen each other last. I'd seen too much. Done too much. It felt like the incident with Belle had tipped me over the narrow precipice I'd been balancing on, sending me careening into the dark depths of depression. Only adrenaline and spite kept me trudging forward despite the trauma.

"Belle took a...special interest in me yesterday."

A well of unpleasant silence met that statement. Jade wasn't an idiot. She knew exactly what I meant by the benign statement. Could taste the layer of screaming horror buried just beneath the surface like a virulent spiritual mold.

"Want me to kill her?" Jade asked. She said it offhandedly, as though executing Belle Morte for her latest transgression would be no more difficult than changing a flat tire.

"I think that would kind of blow your cover," I said mildly.

"The question stands."

I had to think about it, but I ultimately shook my head. "No. I'm not endangering you for that fucking bitch. It's not a worthwhile tradeoff for me."

Jade's smile broadened, then quickly dropped as she broke my index finger. She didn't apologize, approaching the exercise with an almost detached calm. She'd treated far worse than a broken hand in her very long life.

By the time she was done, tears were streaming silently down my cheeks. She scooted her chair even closer, half climbing onto my lap as she brushed them away. Every beat of my heart made my hand ache, an ever-present pain that split my focus.

Jade kissed me. It was a chaste brush of lips. A taster. A prelude to more, if I wanted it. I could seize her by the hair and drag her into the bedroom. She'd let me. I could eliminate every ache in my body with a quickie.

"I can't," I whispered. "I'm sorry. It's not that I don't want you but..."

"It's too soon," she murmured against my mouth. "I understand. Just kiss me, Anita. It will help."

Hard to argue with that. I kissed her again, flicking my tongue along the seam of her mouth. She surrendered with a groan, letting the ardeur lick her life away, one sensual stroke at a time. I tried to keep the contact light, to take only what I needed to dull the pain to background noise, but it was hard to stop there. The ardeur was always seeking prey, and I was hungry.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door made us both pause. Jade was a blur, all but evaporating as she retreated into the shadows. I was on my feet a second later, reaching Giocomo only a moment before Magda barreled through the door, following my scent. Her eyes wheeled wildly, and a snarl escaped her when she spotted me standing above the coffin, pointing Shields' service pistol roughly where her Master's head should be.

"I think it's high time you and I had a talk, Magda."

Chapter Text

Magda froze where she was, face blanching as she took in the nightmare tableau. The Executioner, very much alive and pissed, hovering inches away from her prone Master. She might be fast enough to tear my throat out, but she'd never reach me before I fired. If she leaped at me, it was mutually assured destruction. I could see her loyalty to her master warring with her desire to bathe in my blood. Loyalty won out in the end, but there was an anxious second when I'd been absolutely certain she would kill me and damn the consequences.

Magda relaxed into a more indolent pose, crossing her arms over her chest in a blase show of confidence. She was betting that she could go for a weapon or shift her hands before I could shift the gun to her.

"You're not very smart, are you, Blake?" she said, tone blistering with the intensity of her hate.

"How do you figure?" I asked, keeping my arm steady. The vampire hadn't stirred yet, but that could change in an instant.

"I don't know how you found this place, but my Master will pry the answer from your pathetic skull soon enough. I'll have a full accounting before I gut you."

"Tough talk for someone with their balls in a vise," I said, sounding more confident than I felt. "You know I can fire before either of you go for my throat."

"It won't kill him. He's past silver bullets now."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is he past necromancy? Because I'm not a one-trick pony, Magda. I've killed bigger and badder than your Master. Behave yourself and there's a chance we can all walk away from this."

"Not you," she hissed. "You won't walk out of this place alive, Blake. I swear on the names of all the gods that I will have your throat for what you did."

"You sure about that?" I asked, watching Jade melt out of the shadows at her back. Magda caught the motion. She was fast, spinning toward the new arrival with a snarl.

Jade was faster. She slammed into Magda's waist, driving her backward into a wall, stunning her momentarily with a fist to the ear. I winced in sympathy as Magda's head rocked back. I'd been clubbed over the ear before. It sent your world spinning, a desperate ringing battling the furious pounding of your heart for the most painful part of the experience. Magda still managed a respectable attempt at grappling before Jade took her to the ground, pinning her with an arm behind her back, and a lock on her legs. If Magda tried to rise, she'd break her own back.

"Get the fuck off me!" Magda hissed.

"Not until you've heard me out, Maggie," Jade breathed into her ear. "We have a lot of catching up to do, but we can't do it if you kill my new Master's girlfriend."

Magda went very still. Her expression had transformed instantly at the sound of Jade's voice, her rage melting into forlorn confusion.

"You're lying," Magda said, though even I could tell she was struggling to believe it herself.

Jade released her hold on Magda's arm, allowing her just enough room to crane her neck. All color fled her face when she got a good look at who was pinning her. Magda's eyes welled with tears.

"Yiyu?"

Jade smoothed Madga's hair back from her forehead with a sad smile. "Hey. Long time, no see."

A sob caught in Magda's throat. "How are you...? I thought you were...I saw..."

"Anita's Master had a link to me through the ardeur. I told you what happened in Stillwater."

Magda's eyes went wide. "She stole you? That's..."

"Impossible," I finished. "Yeah, I've been doing a lot of that lately. My power doesn't follow the rules. Apparently, the general fuck you to the laws of nature applies to the people I bond with too. Jade is Jeanette's tiger to call. Don't ask me how the fuck we managed it, because I'm fresh out of explanations. I'd tell you to ask Jeanette, but she's probably too busy trying to keep Belle from killing me to give a lecture on the metaphysics."

I felt a little silly standing over the unmoving vampire in his coffin. I was pretty sure Magda wasn't about to attack us, but giving up my insurance still felt like a bad idea.

"Kitchen," I decided.

"What?" Magda said, voice thick with the emotion she wasn't letting herself show.

"Get into the kitchen, let Jade cuff you, and then we can all sit down and talk this out."

Magda turned the force of her glower on me once more, though it lacked the intensity it had a moment before. "I don't take orders from you, Executioner."

I shrugged. "No, but if you want us all to leave in one piece, you're going to cooperate. I trust you not to kill me, now that it could hurt Jade. It doesn't mean you won't hurt me. And your Master is the real wild card. Even if you wanted to keep us alive, he can overrule your decision. Either I keep a gun to his head, or you volunteer as hostage. I think we both know which is less likely to goad your Master into attacking me."

I held my breath as she mulled it over. There was a tense half-second when I was sure she'd tell me to fuck myself and turn the loft into a shooting gallery. But in the end, she let Jade guide her by the hand into the kitchen and sat silent and uncomplaining as she was cuffed to the chair.

Jade and I were halfway through a game of go fish when Giacomo woke. I felt his power like rising ice water, a tingling numbness that spread slowly from my fingers and does. I was shivering by the time he reached the open doorway and stared at the odd tableau, expression neutral.

"You look good for a dead woman, Yiyu," he said at last.

Jade smiled tightly, hand hovering near her waist as he sidled into the kitchen, stopping half a foot shy of her. I could see at least three blades on him from my vantage point. He had the advantage if he wanted to start the fight. One good lunge, and he could open her throat before she could climb to her feet.

"I'll tell you the secret of my miraculous recovery if you'll lend me an hour of your time," she said.

Giacomo heaved a sigh and sank into a seat near mine. His nearness was uncomfortable, like a million ants swarming over my skin. He didn't like me, and the feeling was mutual.

"This ought to be good," he drawled, counting out seven cards from the pile on the table. "Do tell us how you managed it. And give me a fucking three if you have it."

Chapter Text

Richard

If Gretchen held onto the silverware any tighter, she was going to reduce the black cloth napkin to threads and the silverware into only so much twisted metal. Looking at her it was easy to forget she was several centuries old and thus stronger than she looked. Outwardly, she blended with a lot of the aspiring talent milling through the club. Thin, pale, with blonde hair and fine bones. She looked frail to me.

The woman wedged into the booth next to her was named Jennifer. JJ to her friends, and 'none of your fucking business' to anyone else. She was a few inches taller than Gretchen and had paler blonde hair. She was lean and graceful, built like a dancer. She was also a werewolf. It wasn't obvious unless you knew what you were looking for or had a beast of your own, but it was there in the prickling line of tension in her body. She was handling this better than her lover, but only just.

"Stop," I said quietly, tugging at the end of the cloth napkin she was white-knuckling. "You're going to fray that to pieces."
Gretchen startled, coming back to herself with a soft gasp. Her pale eyes slid back into focus before clouding over with annoyance. It was almost a relief to have an unfriendly glower aimed my way. The tension was like a choke collar, cutting off my air whenever the person holding our leashes decided to yank us around. Like she was now.

"It isn't as though it's going to matter. You already turned down supper. You don't need the silverware."

As much as I'd wanted the steak, we'd all agreed to hold off on eating or drinking at any of Belle's establishments. Sedatives wouldn't last long on any of us, but it didn't take more than one unguarded moment to slit a throat. We had to be sober enough to act if Belle decided to take a more direct route and have us killed.

Not that she was the only threat. This little pre-show break was supposed to be an opportunity for the attending Council members to feed and take stock of the field. No one acknowledged it aloud, but everyone knew the battle was already underway. Even the location had been carefully plotted out to deprive at least one of the visiting Council members of an advantage.

Onyx was an underground vampire fetish club. The only living people in the building came in as sex or blood donors for Belle and her guests. It left Padma without his usual glut of wereanimals to call on for defense. She was toying with him, reminding him that he was the least among their number and disarming him at the same time.

By the looks of things, he knew it too. The aristocratic-looking Indian patriarch sat stiffly at the end of a leather couch, idly stroking the hair of the woman lavishing carnal attention on his lap. Somehow, he managed to look miserable, even while receiving head from a human woman most men would have killed for. His scowl only deepened when Belle leaned in, whispering something into his ear. She pulled away with a delighted laugh when he snapped at her.

The woman beside Padma was his better in power and sex appeal. She looked Middle Eastern, but I couldn't have pointed to a specific nationality. Her eyes were the color of raw ocher, and slit-pupiled, like a snake's. My wolf took an unconscious step back when her gaze roved briefly over our table. Wolves were strong. Wolves were perfectly made to tear the guts out of most predators on this continent. But not even the largest or most foolhardy of us would dare step to the reptilian creature hiding just behind those alien eyes. JJ let out a startled yip, which made the Councilwoman smile. Don't ask how she heard it over the pounding bass beat of the music.

"What is that thing?" JJ asked under her breath. "I've never felt anything like that."

"That is Tiamat, the Dragon. She's one of the oldest creatures on the Council. Don't meet her eyes if you can help it, mon amour," Gretchen said, clutching JJ's hand in both of hers.

"And who is the late arrival?" I asked, gesturing to the last man on the sofa.

He didn't look like much. Middle-aged and sort of beige. His hair, skin, and eyes were all varying shades of light brown. Even the suit looked like it belonged to a mild-mannered college professor. What badass vampire wore a tweed overcoat with elbow patches? I wouldn't have been shocked if he produced a magnifying glass and started snooping around for clues. He glanced toward the shadowy alcove where we sat, as though he'd heard JJ ask the question.

"The Traveller," Gretchen answered, watching the man pull Jeanette down onto his lap.

It took everything in me not to lunge forward, ripping her out of his arms. Belle couldn't order Jeanette to be gang raped as entertainment now, but she could put her in compromising positions to amuse her guests. Jeanette had been serving drinks or giving lap dances to celebrities as Belle commanded. It hurt to watch her paste on a blithely confident smile and allow herself to be groped in the name of politics.

Even Jeanette looked surprised by this turn of events, though. She wrapped her arms around his neck, steadying herself before she could spill onto the floor. The kiss that came after looked...wet. A little unpracticed, as though the Traveller didn't kiss often.

Beside me, Gretchen made a disgusted sound low in her throat. She disguised it as a cough, beamed up at JJ, and requested a glass of water. JJ looked about as convinced by the act as I was, but sallied toward the bar at the far end of the room anyway. It could technically be true. Gretchen and JJ would be doing a lot of singing and dancing tonight, and that would require some hydration.

She didn't let the grin drop until JJ disappeared into the crowd. Her posture changed subtly, chest thrusting forward a fraction of an inch, shoulders back into a more military posture. Her head canted at an oblique angle, considering me. The look in Gretchen's baby blues was so alien it made my skin prickle. For a second, there was nothing but an opaque sense of menace. Then the shades of arrogance and hate filled in the blank canvas of Gretchen's face. I didn't need a doctorate in metaphysics to know that what stared out at me wasn't the woman I'd been babysitting in Jeanette's absence.

"Let me guess," I drawled. "The Traveller. Funny, we were just talking about you."

Gretchen smiled then, but it wasn't her smile. She could look psychotic on occasion, but never quite so malicious. The Traveller's smile dripped ill-intent. I inched back a step on reflex.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," the Traveller said, stretching the words into an eerie sing-song.

"Is that what you were?" I asked before I could stop myself. "A devil?"

The Traveller adjusted him...her...themselves on Gretchen's seat, crossing her legs in an almost ladylike fashion. They shushed me, seizing me by a lapel so they could drag my face down to hers. The Traveller spoke when I was only inches away, voice so quiet that even a therian couldn't hear it over the pounding bass beat. I barely heard it, and they were hissing the words directly into my ear.

"I didn't say I was speaking to you, did I wolf? Fetch your master like a good dog. I don't have long before Belle begins to suspect something is amiss."

A snarl built in my chest and trickled out between my teeth. This was only the second party we'd been to, and I was already thoroughly sick of being treated like an animal. It was an impotent threat unless I wanted to rip Gretchen's throat out. Pointless. It wouldn't kill whatever was possessing her.

"Let me through, please," Jeanette said, voice quiet and stretched thin with the effort it was taking not to scream.

"What's wrong? Why are you freaking out so hard?"

I scanned the room for threats. There were a depressing number of them milling around us, but none were angling for her at the moment.

"If my theories are correct, the Traveller is a distant cousin to Belle. A demon tethered to earth by fragile immortality. It's genderless, so it doesn't care much about the sex of its vampire host. It does happen to be obsessed with male beauty. Balthasar was the first human it bedded in this realm, and it imprinted on him in a way."

"Why do I get the feeling this isn't going to turn into a sweet eldrich bedtime story?"

Jeanette's mental laugh was caustic, but the one that bubbled from her real throat sounded amused. Indulgent, even, as the Traveller's vampire puppet groped her.

"Balthasar is a serial rapist and he isn't picky about his victim's age or gender. He sodomizes them either way. He found the perfect partner in the Traveller, who made him immortal and could take over the body of whatever vampire he wanted to victimize next. I was one of Balthazar's... favorites."

As if I needed another reason to hate the Council. They'd made her a literal blow-up doll, keeping her locked in and aware, but unable to stop what was happening. Jeanette feared the Traveller in a way she didn't fear Belle. Belle might kill her, but she'd never truly break her spirit. The Traveller could, so easily. The isolation would eventually drive her mad.

"Please," she pressed. "Gretchen was another of Balthasar's victims. I'm certain The Traveller is scaring her witless at the moment. Let us get this conversation over with."

I surrendered control with poor grace. If Gretchen had been sitting in a mental corner, unaware of whatever was going on around her, I would have stayed and snarled into the Traveller's borrowed face. I wanted to scoop out the Traveller's throat like the flesh of a mango, leaving only overripe ruin in my wake. He'd held her down while someone raped her. More than once. Stuffed a metaphysical gag in her mouth so she couldn't scream. And he was doing the same thing to Gretchen now. Who knew what the Traveller would decide to do to her as a punishment if we refused?

I don't know if you've ever been possessed by the spirit of a woman who's inches shorter and quite a bit lighter than you, but I can tell you this. It's fucking odd to watch, and even stranger to feel playing out in real time. Anita had channeled her before, but it had looked almost natural on her short, curvy frame. Jeanette didn't seem to know how to move a much larger body. My hand knocked the cloth napkin to the ground as she tried to arrange my palms on the table.

The Traveller watched with amusement as Jeanette folded me awkwardly to pick up the wayward cloth. My fingers curled into the fabric with enough strength to tear as she stared the Traveller down.

"Such a lovely specimen you've collected, Jeanette," the Traveller purred, seizing my hand before Jeanette could stop her.

Gretchen's skin was cool and as soft as silk to the touch. My heart pounded faster, fear that wasn't my own making my pulse speed. I'd spoken to Gretchen only a handful of times before. I'd never touched her. The look in her eyes was speculative, which was just plain wrong. Gretchen didn't seduce men, and that expression was pure come-hither.

Jeanette pulled my hand from Gretchen's with a scowl. She leaned back as far as my chair would go, putting distance between their bodies. She didn't want the Traveller to touch her, even in spirit.

"You are being quite rude, Traveller. I am a Master of a City. You at least need Belle's permission before you torment my people."

Gretchen's blush pink lips weren't full enough to do the Traveller's smirk justice. She seemed too fragile to contain whatever amoral creature lurked just behind her eyes. The Traveller jerked us back within whispering distance, digging Gretchen's nails into my chest for emphasis this time.

"Be careful how you speak to me, Jeanette. I happen to know a few of your better-kept secrets. Secrets I am willing to keep from Belle, for a price."

Jeanette seized the Traveller by Gretchen's nape, winding my fingers into her thin, sweetly scented hair. The Traveller grimaced, back arching in silent protest when she used just a little of my strength to tear at the roots. I could pry skin loose with the hair, effectively scalping Gretchen. Depending on what the Traveller was doing to her, she might welcome it, if only to force him out of her body.

Jeanette pressed my lips to Gretchen's cheek in a gentle parody of a kiss. The Traveller reacted with distinct discomfort, squirming to be free of me. She didn't let him budge.

"I call bullshit, Traveller," she whispered against Gretchen's skin. "You are seeking a chance to bend Belle's rules. I learned not to make bargains with the Council centuries ago."

Gretchen let out a breathless laugh, part excitement, and part irritation. "You have grown powerful, Jeanette. Perhaps even powerful enough to ascend to the Council yourself one day, but you are not a match for her if she is forewarned. Listen to my proposal before you dismiss me outright."

My jaw strained so tight I was afraid something would snap. Jeanette would rather have swallowed a live, scuttling roach than allow the Traveller this close again. But there was more at stake than her own comfort.

"I'm surprised at you," she bit out, the words coming out on a low, rumbling growl. It added a layer of menace that she was unaccustomed to. "I thought you backed Belle unquestioningly. Or has her luster finally faded after so long playing her unofficial second?"

Gretchen's lips pulled back from her teeth, exposing lengthening fangs. "I backed her because I must. She has my original body. Disagreeing with her guaranteed a swift decapitation. I can go far afield of my flesh, but my original body has to exist if I wish to continue living. If you want me to turn a blind eye to what you're doing, you will promise its safe return if your machinations somehow succeed."

"Done," she said tightly. "Now release my friend, Traveller. I don't appreciate harm coming to me or mine."

"Your word of honor," the Traveller insisted.

"My word of honor," she repeated. "Now, go."

Gretchen and I sagged at almost the same moment, ending up in a sprawl of limbs by the time JJ returned. I almost thought she'd take a chunk out of me for laying on top of her girlfriend. Instead, she nudged me off her with the tip of her shoe.

"We need to go," JJ said under her breath. "The show starts soon."

Gretchen stood shakily, taking the hand JJ offered with a grateful smile. "Oui. It's time we take our leave of this place."

I wished I could have gone with them. Instead, I remained in the booth, watching Jeanette extricate herself from the Traveller's borrowed body. She walked stiffly, clearly distressed, and all but melted into my arms by the time she reached me.

"Can we go yet?" I asked in an undertone.

"Non," she sighed. "I still have a half hour to entertain Belle's guests."

And each hand on her body would feel greasy, contaminated by the memory of the Traveller and its rapey paramour. She didn't want to feel more hands on her. She wanted to be in bed, cradling Anita under one arm like a beloved stuffed toy.

"I'm technically a guest," I said, letting my hands drop cautiously to her waist. "I know you don't want to entertain them. So, entertain me."

Her lips quirked, and she stepped into me, nudging one shapely leg between mine, parting my knees with the ease of long practice. She dropped to her knees in front of me, eyes luminous. The rush of gratitude I felt from her almost brought tears to my eyes.

"Too true. How would you like to be entertained, mon amour?"

Chapter Text

Richard

"Are you certain you want to do this, mon loup?" Jeanette asked gently, straddling my thigh with an alarmingly sensual amount of calm. I wouldn't have been half as tender or patient in her place. She wasn't as hurt as Anita, but she was hurt.

Her fingers pressed lightly to the back of my neck, a contact that felt as soft and flickering as insect wings but had the strength of steel. She'd forged something different when she'd bound our triumvirate. It was an alliance, not a dictatorship. Any one of us could fuck it up, make it lesser than what it could be, but working perfectly, the triplicate bond simply bound us in a promise of mutual aid. No matter where you were, what you needed, or how difficult it might be, we would be there for each other. It didn't matter if we were lovers, friends, or bitter rivals. We showed up when it counted.

"I'm sure."

Jeanette pressed herself closer to me, molding her modest curves to my front. She was cooler than usual, which meant she'd neglected to feed. If I had to guess, she was absorbing some of Anita's stress response on purpose, inhibiting her own appetite to make sure our third ate sometime in the next week. Anita would give her hell for it if she ever found out, but I wouldn't rat Jeanette out. I was glad that one or both of us could take even a fraction of her pain off the plate for a while.

She shimmied up my leg, letting me know in no uncertain terms she'd neglected to wear even a g-string under the little black cocktail number she was wearing. My beast snarled, straining its careful tether to get closer to her. The man wasn't far behind. I was already painfully hard, and she'd barely touched me.

It had always been like that between us, no matter how much I wanted to deny it. I liked women with powerful personalities. If Jeanette was easy to get along with I would have found her boring. A relationship didn't have to be a challenge every step of the way, but a little mystery, a little uncertainty, and a whole lot of power play did it for me. I'd suffered at the hands of another amoral woman for years, and it had taken therapy to separate what Raina had done to me, and what Jeanette wanted. Both wanted power but for entirely different reasons. I'd always assumed she looked at me the same way my first lupa had. She'd bound us all into a trauma-soaked trio, and I hadn't been ready for the intimacy. Wasn't sure I'd ever be ready. But tonight we'd pretend.

"If Belle finds this display too compelling she'll react in one of two ways. She'll either covet you and make plans to take you for herself, much like Augustine. Your gift is a facet of his, after all. Love, rather than lust."

I'd let Anita put a bullet between my eyes before I submitted to Belle Morte. She'd violently assaulted two of the three women that I loved. If we went down, I was taking her down with us. It only seemed fair.

"Anita was supposed to be the power that kept Belle's attention while you did your thing. She's out of the game until we can get things sorted out, and it's for the best. She needs the break. Let me step up and defend you, for once. You have more than one protector, you know."

Jeanette's low, throaty laugh was enough to turn heads. I knew at least one pair of eyes was glued to her back as she shifted her weight against my thigh, rubbing her heat in maddening circles on top of my slacks. She seemed to appreciate the texture, and arched her back, just enough to give me a good look down her top.

"I like the red strapless bra," I said, amazed my voice came out a raspy but human, instead of a howl.

"I'm glad you approve," she purred, nuzzling against my cheek in a lupine fashion. It wasn't as comforting as being touched by one of the pack, but it was still damn good.

She seemed to reach past my skin to cradle the wolf's great head. She pressed her forehead to mine a moment later. She'd borrowed my cinnamon mouthwash. Her shallow, gasping breaths were spice and blood, a heady scent to my overly sensitive nose. She increased her pace, frustrated with the lack of friction. There was the musk of desire beneath that and the soft sweetness of her soap underneath it all. She was soft, willing, and female, which was enough for my beast.

My rational mind was a hell of a lot harder to parse. It wasn't that I didn't want this. It felt like some part of me had always wanted her. But want wasn't enough. Not even love was enough to make it right between us. At least, not for the foreseeable future. I loved Andria. She loved Anita. They needed us to focus on them, not whatever was budding between us. They wouldn't fault us for fucking here. They knew who Belle was and what she could make us do. Sex was as much power as it was sustenance here. We could have each other. I wanted it. She wanted it. But we both knew, with utter surety, it was wrong. At least, for now.

Jeanette leaned back for a moment, examining my expression with naked surprise in her eyes. "Richard..."

"I'm not saying no forever," I said, stroking her cheek with the back of my hand. "Just for now. I'm not ready. And we both have time. Andria doesn't. I want to love her while she's here. Just her. You understand?"

The kiss she laid on me was so achingly tender I thought I'd melt. It felt like I'd gone a lifetime seeking the sweetness of that utter acceptance. A dark irony that I couldn't embrace it. Andria was terrifyingly mortal, but she was what I needed now. Normalcy. Peace. A quiet place to work my issues out with a woman who loved me. That woman might be Andria, or it could be someone else. But I needed someone to remind me what it was like to be human.

"Give me a lifetime," I said softly. "After that, I'm yours."

Her mouth curved into a small, quivering smile. Wetness ran down my cheek. Salty with a tinge of blood. She was crying.

"Take as many as you need, mon loup. You are worth the wait."

Jeanette let out a small, girlish gasp when I lifted her from my lap, rearranging her so that she straddled my waist instead. Her eyelids fluttered closed when she felt the evidence of my arousal against her. Between Anita's stubborn refusal to acknowledge her sexuality in the beginning and my mercurial moods, she'd developed a bit of a complex.

"One of Belle's most studious disciples in the temple of lust brought low by a werewolf science teacher and a pint-sized necromancer. Comical, non? If Asher had seen the three of us in the beginning he would have laughed himself sick."

I frowned. "I know you two trust him, but when I left St. Louis that guy was our enemy. Forgive me for not warming up to him."

Jeanette adjusted herself on my lap, shifting her hips just enough to tease. My pulse jumped beneath her questing lips. I felt her hunger as if it were my own. The bottomless desire to consume. Blood. Flesh. Pleasure. Pain. That fuzzy line between the extremes. I wanted to shift my claws, to draw crimson lines in her flesh. Perfume the air with her blood. Lick it from her skin before taking her from behind.

Jeanette was mine. I was hers. Beast and man both wanted to imprint that claim on her skin, to fuck her until she smelled only of me. Someday I would. We'd have time if we came out of this alive.

"Asher has a strong personality. I can understand how he might rub you the wrong way. I appreciate that you trust my judgment enough not to make it an overt issue."

I palmed her ass, yanking her closer. She ground against my front so hard it drew a groan from my throat. She performed another of those careful hip rolls, bringing me closer to that elusive climax.

"Jeanette..."

She smiled gently. "It is alright, Richard. Feed. I do not mind sharing this with you."

And I couldn't understand that. My ardeur was arguably one of the most twisted versions we'd ever come across. It created that addictive rush of chemicals that flooded the brain during first love. It could wear off with distance and I had learned to be aware of its influence. But the idea I could warp someone's sense of self without meaning to still disturbed me. And in turn, they could warp me right back. I risked morphing into a chameleon, becoming whatever my lover wanted at the moment. The only loves of my life I had that I knew weren't the result of the ardeur were Anita and Jeanette.

"It feels like I'm teasing you," I admitted, biting back another groan as she ground down on me.

"That is the general purpose of a lap dance, mon loup," she said, voice bubbling with laughter. "Though rarely are my lap dances so mutual. Touch me, Richard, and feed. I want you to see my fantasies."

That level of intimacy floored me. And that was the true essence of love, wasn't it? A willingness to be vulnerable, even when your bruised heart screamed it was a bad idea. She gave me her trust, and with it I fed.

I demanded her love, and she gave it to me. Gave me every significant moment between us, real or imagined. She let me see our first meeting from her perspective. Raina had offered the new Master her pick of wolves as a pomme de sang. Hers to bleed or fuck, depending on her mood that night. The fact we'd fucked months later to save Anita's life hadn't improved that impression for me. I resented being pressured into fuck or die scenarios constantly. I'd assumed she orchestrated them on purpose. I hadn't known about the ardeur then. How volatile it could be.

Jeanette hadn't chosen me because I was handsome. She'd chosen me because I'd been the most injured puppy in the litter. By claiming me as a potential donor, I was made largely untouchable. I hadn't been forced to fuck anyone I wasn't interested in until that fateful day with Jeanette.

"I apologize, mon loup," she said, tilting her hips against mine in slow, drugging circles. I wasn't sure who bit whom, but a moment later copper washed across my tongue.

Jeanette fed at my mouth, making small mewling sounds as my hand cupped her sex. Her clit was swollen, her thighs shaking around my hand with the force of her need.

I wanted to deny that she'd done anything wrong. But she had. She knew I shouldn't donate, but taken from me anyway, for Anita. She'd put my well-being in the rearview mirror. We both had. I still thought a little PTSD was worth Anita's life, but that didn't mean it hadn't hurt me.

"I forgive you."

Jeanette trembled. I swallowed the small sounds she made. Relished the scent of her relief as she cried silently against my shoulder. Her teeth found my throat when the orgasm ripped through her. I felt an answering tug in my balls and thrust once against her before I came with a snarl.

Jeanette rode my power along with my body, building that burst of pure, frenzied love into something greater than it had been a moment before. It fed upon itself, drawing every eye to where we sat. It wasn't even a question. With ease, she seized every mind in the establishment, drawing their attention to the graceful line of her back when she came. For an instant, every single one of them felt love, complicated but sincere. Some people cried. A few laughed. Most just looked stunned. But it was Belle's reaction we anticipated most.

We expected anger. Envy, perhaps, that Jeanette could draw lust from me when Belle couldn't. We hadn't expected the spasm of pure agony that rippled over her face as the aftershocks of the ardeur hit her corner of the room.

We definitely hadn't expected fear. Fleeting, but still there.

Got your attention now, bitch.

I aimed a lazy post-coital grin in Belle's direction and squeezed Jeanette's ass affectionally. She let out a small sound that had my cock trying to come to attention too early for comfort. Let her see in my face how much I enjoyed having Jeanette clinging limply to me, trembling with the afterglow. Let her wonder why I chose what she saw as an inferior copy when the original was in the room.

I saw it when I became an item on her list. I'd been an afterthought, just a pawn of Jeanette's. Now that I had shown power of my own, I'd become something far more valuable. She wanted to collect me for later use.

Prefect.

"Come and fucking get me, bitch."

Chapter Text

Giacomo managed to cheat at Go Fish. Don't ask me how, but I was ninety percent sure he'd done it. I didn't have the energy to call him out on it, even if he had. Between Belle's attack and my rude awakening this afternoon, I was hurt in more ways than one. I just wanted to lay down and sleep for a week. Unfortunately, lying down would be deadly in the current company.

It had been a tense, nearly silent game in the beginning as Jade gathered her thoughts. By the time she actually began to speak, we were going through the motions, too busy watching for incoming fists or firearms to really give our all to the card game.

"Wait, wait, let me get this straight," I said, laying my remaining cards on the table so I could lean closer. "You ended up in a Lost World scenario because a medium told you that diving into a sinkhole would be a good idea?"

Jade frowned. "Evangeline is a psychic, not unlike yourself."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm questioning your judgment. You do know that there's almost always a chemical imbalance caused by a person's gift, right? The more taxing the gift, the greater the disturbance in brain function. My psychologist isn't sure how much of my issues are caused by trauma, and how much is my own stupid brain acting up. I've gotten more powerful of late, and my depression got worse in tandem with that growth. Future sight is..." I frowned and shook my head. "It's up there in terms of debilitating co-morbidities. Aura reading is the only one I've seen that fucks someone up more than getting impressions about the future."

"She isn't crazy," Jade argued.

"Says the woman who dove into a sinkhole and fought off giant salamanders. How the fuck did you get out of that without drowning, by the way?"

I tried very hard not to think about what my friends and lover were getting up to on the other side of the world. If I stopped to contemplate the dangers they were facing, I'd stay fused to my chair, spinning out more and more doomsday predictions until I had a breakdown. There was enough homegrown danger in my backyard without borrowing their trouble.

Jade sighed. "The simple answer is luck. An American policewoman named Angela had been trapped in the subterranean layer beneath the river for several years. Her psychic ability had to do with probability. She can actively manipulate her own fortune, and since I was near enough, I benefited from the ability as well. I managed to arrive battered but alive."

"And what were you looking for, Yiyu?" Magda asked, speaking for the first time since her Master woke. She'd slumped into her chair, staring sullenly across the table at me. Her hatred for me had simmered into something unpleasant but bearable. The tone she took with Jade was nothing short of icy. Now that she'd had time to adjust to a sudden change in her reality, she was pissed.

Jade winced. "Magda..."

"Answer the fucking question," she hissed. "What was so goddamn important that you conspired with the enemy? Sabatoged your own people? Left like a fucking thief in the night without so much as a backward glance?"

"I would have told you, but you can't keep something like that from your Master. It wasn't you that I didn't trust." She shifted her stare to Giacomo, and the look in her eyes wasn't friendly. "Tell me, what would you have done if I'd come to the pair of you and told you that I'd discovered a master who could break the bond between a vampire and their therian servant?"

"I would have informed Harlequin and waited for orders," he said automatically.

I flinched at the H word, flicking a panicked glance at the door before remembering that the Guard was immune to the taboo. No one would storm in and behead him for daring to utter the name.

"And if he'd said the danger was too great?" I pressed. "If he said that you needed to execute that vampire before they could become a threat to your order?"

Giacomo scowled, clearly not liking the direction the conversation was going. But he at least answered the question honestly, which earned him points in my mental ledger.

"I would kill her," Giacomo said, and he had the decency to look at least a little remorseful when he glanced at Jade. "Regardless of my personal feelings on the matter."

Jade gestured to him with a flourish. "That's why I didn't come out and say it. I wanted to, believe me. But some questions need to be answered and H..." Jade visibly paused and retreated from the name. "He wouldn't let us look into it. Didn't it ever strike you as odd that he never let us look into the origins of the Forgetting? What is it that's too terrible for even the Guard to tell its most faithful members?"

"It's not for us to know," Giacomo said hotly.

"Bullshit!" Jade said.

Giacomo and Magda both jerked at the sound of the curse. How long had it been since someone had the brass balls it took to get in either of their faces, let alone curse at them? She stood, pressing her palms flat to the table, leaning toward him.

"Do you want to know what the civilization was?" she asked quietly. She continued without waiting for them to answer. "It was the remnant of a weretiger and wereleopard settlement that was cast under the earth after a cataclysmic battle. The golden tigers used to rule over the leopards. After the battle was done, there were so few tigers that the locals were able to kill the survivors. The Mother obliterated all but a handful of the golden tigers, sparing only those belonging to her guard. Did you ever stop to wonder why the tigers, and none of the other wereanimals?"

Giacomo and Magda exchanged a glance, but neither spoke,

"You told me that tigers were created by the Day Father," I said. "Weren't the golden tigers the first of your kind?"

"Yes. The Day Father took a tigerwere for a wife, and together they spawned the first generation of tigers. He took several concubines over his long life, spawning each line in turn. Georgia thinks that he started in Asia, but that it wasn't the last civilization he touched. Tiger was only one of his forms. He was also a snake, a dragon, and a dozen other animals as far as we can tell. It's possible he was one of the primordial gods in many of the most influential human cultures."

"What is your point?" Magda asked.

Jade blew out a breath. "We discovered the evidence that the Day Father was active until a few thousand years ago. The Mother appears to have breached containment once before. Whatever she did was devastating enough to obliterate our memories of that time, and sink several parts of Asia deep under the earth. He seems to have disappeared from all records after that battle. Since Marmee Noir was caged once more, I suspect he prevailed, but came away injured. Possibly injured enough to have been swept up by one of the Order's seals."

Giacomo scoffed. "That demented heretical faction of the early Church? They only managed to bind so many through the witchcraft they pretended to despise and blood sacrifice. They're a group of overzealous monster hunters for hire now. They have no faith, no spells, no true magic to hold something of his caliber. Someone has to be refreshing the seals to keep them strong enough to contain such power."

I...hadn't thought of that actually, but it made sense. Even spiritual signatures would erode over time. A curse put on an object wouldn't be as potent a few decades after the initial enchantment. Did Van Cleef tour the world every few years, smearing his blood onto the seals? The man I'd met in New Mexico was a true believer. I believed the utter sincerity of his faith would be enough to keep them intact if he applied blood regularly.

Which only made what Georgia, Warrick, and Jade were doing all the more risky. Traveling the world to release the gods of antiquity back into the world was dangerous enough. Thumbing your nose at an organized paramilitary cult faction with an interest in stopping you was an order of magnitude worse. Van Cleef would find out sometime soon, and when he did, things were going to get ugly.

"Be that as it may," Jade said. "A hyena can fell a lion if it's wounded enough. It's not a matter of their strength, it's a matter of his weakness. If he's trapped in a seal, there's a chance that we can free him and nurse him back to health. We can take the fight to her, instead of pruning every family tree that produces a necromancer."

"Really?" I asked, perking up for the first time since we'd arrived. It was the first bit of good news I'd heard in a while. It was a faint, beautiful maybe, but after the day I'd had, I'd take it.

Jade nodded. "United with the remaining golden tigers, he should stand a fighting chance against her. We can seal her again. For good this time."

"You're asking us to betray Harlequin," Giacomo said quietly, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were somber, his expression a little annoyed. "Just because you turned your coat easily doesn't mean we will."

The snarl that escaped Jade made me jump. Only sheer nerve kept me in my seat. Every hair on my body stood on end, and my lizard brain screamed at me to run in the opposite direction. Death lurked nearby. The sound made Magda flinch, and Giacomo scowl.

"You stood by for years and let Amir hurt me. Don't talk to me about honor. An honorable man doesn't turn a blind eye to the kind of torture he put me through. At least Anita's Master gave me a choice. She didn't take me for power, she took me to protect me. Can Har...can he say the same? That man can have my loyalty when he earns it!"

Giacomo at least had the decency to look embarrassed. He aimed his glower at the floor, rather than the pint-sized assassin in front of him. Magda looked hurt when Jade refused to take the hand she slid across the table.

"I can forgive you," Jade said, voice strained with the effort it took to hold back whatever she was feeling. "But not him."

"What did you want me to do?" Giacomo demanded. "Nothing short of murder could have stopped that madman. I thought killing him meant killing you."

"Something," Jade hissed. "You could have done anything and it would have been better than the passive acceptance you gave him for centuries."

"The point is," I said, raising my voice before a fight could begin in earnest. I was pretty sure someone would end up spitted on a silver blade before it was through. "There's an option other than murder. You don't have to pledge to help us. You don't have to do a goddamn thing except keep your mouth shut. Keep this from your boss, and we'll do the rest. You can throw your lot in later when you can get a better read on who's winning."

There was a moment when I thought he'd rise and storm out of the apartment, intent on spilling the beans to his boss. His expression was stony with dislike as he stared Jade down. But his gaze softened when it landed on Magda. The yearning on her face was almost painful to watch. If I hadn't been present, they would have been fucking by now. The mutual desire crackling between them was so intense it made my eyes cross. I wasn't sure what Magda and Giacomo were to each other, but he cared enough about her to want her to be happy.

"We're not helping you," he said at last. "But we'll keep this information in reserve. For now."

That was probably the best I was going to get, so I nodded. "Good enough for me."

Jade settled back into her chair. The hands pressed to the table were shaking. I wanted to take one and give it a squeeze. I didn't. I knew that if anyone but Magda touched her familiarly tonight, heads were going to roll.

"I would appreciate it if you could get in contact with our..." Jade sighed. "Your organization stationed in the city. There's a chance that a seal from Greece or Rome is in Belle Morte's possession."

"You could have fucking led with that!" I hissed.

It made a bizarre amount of sense when I thought about it. Last year, I'd freed the descendants of the immortal gorgons from her clutches. She'd been breeding them like cattle, mutilating their children to create a chemical fountain of youth she could sell for a premium. I'd assumed the seal had cracked under some kind of pressure, releasing them into the wild. It had never occurred to me that Belle might have found out what the seal did and sought out one of her own volition. Was she mimicking Marmee Noir, feeding on the power of the creatures trapped inside? Was that how she maintained her position in the hierarchy, by draining the magic from others? She was a parasite willing to cannibalize her own kind. Eating the energy of a pantheon seemed on brand for Belle.

"I would have, but I thought you'd appreciate a little context. Do you realize what this implies?"

I thought about it. I really did. But I was either too tired or too overwhelmed to guess at her meaning.

"No, but I'm guessing you're going to tell me."

"We found evidence of similar tampering at other sites. I don't think it's the only seal she has. If I had to guess, she's sent operatives out looking for them. At least one might have disturbed the Mother's seal. Enough to allow her a little wiggle room."

I froze as her meaning sunk in. A fierce, burning rage started somewhere around my navel, boiling over with a furious hiss when the implications hit home. Giacomo looked alarmed when the anger turned me literally incandescent, light pouring from my skin in an odd reflection of a vampire's power. I could feel my eyes, drowning deep and burning with brown fire. I'd had it happen a few times when I was hurt or pissed enough to channel that aspect of Jeanette's power.

"That stupid fucking bitch is the reason she's awake! She set a fucking alarm clock and woke up Cthulu!" Another thought occurred to me. "Does Jeanette know?"

"She's my master," Jade pointed out.

So that was a yes. A few pieces clicked together. Jeanette's calm in the months leading up to our visit made more sense now. She'd known for a while. Had tucked that ace so far up her sleeve that it was lost from sight. She just had to wait for the right time to play her trump card. It might not topple Belle's empire, but it would do irreparable damage.

The sound of Jade's cell phone broke the silence following her little reveal. She glanced at the text and then offered the phone to me. Verity's name dominated the top of the screen. The message was simple and accompanied by an unfamiliar cell number.

Contacted by V and B through federal channels. They say it's urgent. The number belongs to a burner phone. Tell Anita to be careful. -V."

Valentina and Bartalome. Christ, I'd almost forgotten the necrophilic porn ring they'd asked us to bust.

I rose wordlessly and paced toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Magda asked.

"To defeat a necromancer," I said, pressing the call button. "Want to come?" 

Chapter Text

"Where the fuck are you?" Valentina demanded the second she picked up. "NYPD has officers scouring the city for you, and all they found was a very distressed zombie posing as a vampire."

The truth would probably get Valentina and Bartolome killed. It was poor repayment for the service they were doing for our country. Giacomo and Magda wouldn't give a rat's ass that they were federal agents. They'd arrange an accident for both of them if I even implied who I was staying with.

"I was ambushed. I was told shortly before leaving that there'd been a hit put on me. They ran the police truck off the road and tried their damndest to end me. I'm somewhere safe, but I'm not telling you exactly where. That woman managed to hijack a police truck. There's no telling how deep the conspiracy goes. I'll stay right where I am, thanks."

Valentina's sigh sounded like a burst of static on the other end. I heard voices in the background and prayed it was just Bartalome and Julian. I didn't want Shields' boss listening to this phone call. It was bad enough that two members of the Harlequin were in the other room, hanging on every word.

"That's probably wise, but I was hoping you could do me a favor. Off the record."

Funny how three words can make your sphincter whimper in fear. Nothing good ever went down off the record.

"What's happened?"

"This investigation is being taken off our plate, starting tomorrow. A higher-up decided another unit could pursue this bastard better than we could."

I leaned my weight against the arm of a leather wingback chair, thinking that through. The only reason I could come up with was grim.

"They're trying to shut it down without looking like they're shutting it down. They'll give the case to someone less competent and then close it in a few months when no progress is made."

"Yes," Valentina gritted out. Her tone was absolutely arctic. "Someone further up the line is involved, I just know it. It's why I'm calling on a burner phone, and not from the office. We're being watched. There's no chance this will be solved through official channels. We had to beg our superior officer to allow Kirkland to sit in on the livestream happening in an hour."

My stomach pitched, and I had to swallow a few times before I could speak. "Are you saying they're going to be streaming the zombie porn live, or is it a snuff film?"

I couldn't watch another kid be killed on camera. It was just too much. The strained gurgles escaping that poor girl's face would haunt my nightmares until the day I died. My rage had nowhere to go, so I had to sit and stew in it, feeling sicker and sicker as the bastard continued to hurt people.

"Porn," Valentina replied, and the word sounded too obscene to be spoken by eight-year-old vocal cords. I knew Valentina had me by a few hundred years, but there are some things you never want to hear said in a childish lisp.

"I'm not sure if that's better or worse," I admitted.

"Me either," she said, and she sounded abruptly weary. "Are you someplace with an internet connection?"

"I'm not sure. It's not my safe house. I assume so, but don't quote me."

"Good. We'll send you a link with instructions on how to access the stream."

"Woah, woah, woah. Are you asking me to sit in? I thought you had Larry for that."

Valentina's voice came out a little froggy, and I assumed she was pinching her nose in frustration. I had that she'd pinched the bridge of her nose to keep herself from laying into me.

"But Kirkland doesn't have experience with ensouled zombies. You do."

She had me there. I wanted to tell her no. Hadn't I been through enough for one day? Didn't I deserve to curl up and take a nap next to my girlfriend? The bond we shared with our mutual master should speed things along if we could get in a good cuddle. I didn't want to see this. Didn't want to relive it again and again when my nights were bleakest, and my gun started looking friendly.

"Fine," I whispered. "Send it. Do you want me on speakerphone when the stream starts?"

"No. We have a supervisory special agent coming to watch the live. If he hears your voice, we'll be arrested for obstruction and you'll be in the cell next door for conspiracy to commit murder."

"Then I don't know how much use I'm going to be. How do I tip you off to clues if I can't even call or text?"

There was a rustle of cloth on the other end and then Valentina's tone changed. It was a hell of a lot more childlike and infused with so much sweetness that my teeth ached.

"Agent Jackson," she said brightly.

"Barre," a gruff bass voice said. The man the voice belonged to sounded enormous, even coming from a distance. I could picture a large, dark-haired man in a suit towering over the minuscule agent, trying to intimidate her with all that height. "What the fuck do you think you're doing out here?"

Valentina trilled a laugh that could have summoned a crowd of cooing grandmothers from the ether. It was a sound that went with round, rosy cheeks, and dimples. "Smoking. I'm as disappointed as the next vampire by the health-conscious American policies, but I'm no longer allowed to do it inside."

"Who are you talking to?"

"My great niece, to however many degrees. Some of us have families we elect to visit from time to time. She had a moment between classes, so she called to ask a question. Am I not allowed to talk to family now?"

The question was so pointed it should have sent Jackson scurrying for cover. Either he wasn't impressed by the implicit threat coming from Valentina, or he was too stupid to catch it in the first place. There was a sound of a struggle, a muffled cry, and then Jackson's thunderous voice was in my ear.

"Who is this?"

I paused, not sure if I should answer. I wasn't a public figure like Jeanette, but I did have a history with the FBI. I'd taught at least a few seminars on zombies in Quantico, per Doucette's request. The odds weren't high that Jackson would recognize my voice, but if he did, Valentina was screwed.

A tap on my shoulder made me spin around. I strangled a small yip to death when I found Magda standing only inches away from me. Jade hovered in the doorway, body coiled with nervous tension. I could see her weighing the odds that she could get to me before Magda struck. They weren't good.

Magda snatched the phone from me and fiddled with the controls until she could put it on speaker. For a second that felt longer, I thought she'd rat me out. But when she spoke, it was in flawless French. The accent was thick enough to be believable without sounding corny. There was a pause on the other end as Jackson struggled to dredge up even a scrap of French.

"Ah...parlez-vous anglais?"

"Oui. Who am I speaking with?"

"Ah...an associate of your aunt's. I apologize. I thought you might be someone else."

Thought it might be me. If I'd answered, the jig would definitely have been up. So why had Magda stepped in? It was a lot harder to escape an assassin when you were stuck behind bars. I wasn't guilty of Jade's murder, but being a necromancer still earned me an order of execution on principle.

"May I speak with Aunt Valentina, sil vouz plait?"

Jackson muttered something and handed the phone back to Valentina. Magda spoke rapid-fire French into the receiver for a moment before hanging up and offering Jade's phone to me again.

"What was that?" I asked.

"That was a clean slate," Magda said, eyes hard. "I still don't like you. I will never trust you. But you saved her when I couldn't. We'll help you find the one you seek, and then things are even between us. The next time we meet, we do so as enemies once more. Do I make myself clear, Executioner?"

My heart thumped wildly in my chest. Assistance from three members of the Harlequin to hunt down and kill a rogue animator. I couldn't ask for better backup.

"Clear as crystal."

Chapter Text

Jade threw up noisily in the bathroom after the third porn. It made me feel better about my reaction to the first. And I began to feel pretty damn good about my reaction by the time Giacomo had to excuse himself. The vampire couldn't actually regurgitate the blood he'd taken from Magda, but he spent a significant time on the fire escape, smoking a very fragrant cigar until his nerves could face more. Even the servants of the primordial darkness drew lines in the sand. They could be cruel, ruthless, and pragmatic, but some things sickened even the devil, and this was one of them. The fact I could be sickened signaled I hadn't lost all moral fiber. Yipee for me.

The zombies in the film were perfect. If I hadn't known better, I would have said they were one of mine or Georgia's. The girls didn't seem aware they were dead, which made the rapes worse, at least to me. If you lost your memories of your often gruesome death, you were waking to a novel nightmare. Locked into your corpse, aware enough to feel horror but unable to defy an animator's orders. I had to stop reading the comments from a truly alarming amount of users. The things they wanted done to the boys and girls on the screen were nauseating enough without watching what was happening. I had to stop checking the comments after the first. There were some things I just never wanted to know.

Magda jabbed a finger at the screen during the fifth movie. "Pause it there."

Jade jabbed the keys of the expensive laptop at once, only too eager to follow the order. She was in charge of being the tech during our investigation. Apparently, she had a knack for all things electronic, which seemed just plain wrong for someone who predated the concept for a millennium. I had trouble with Microsoft Excel but my thousand-year-old girlfriend could hack into the Pentagon if she wanted to.

"What is it?" I asked, rubbing my eyes blearily. I swore my eyelids were waving the white flag of surrender, retreating toward slumber to escape the horror.

I'd begun to retreat mentally sometime during the viewings. I had to, if I wanted to stay sane. I couldn't think of them as teenage boys and girls with names and bright futures. They were dead. Only magic made them look otherwise. If I wanted to free them from this hell, I had to be objective and look for clues. Every time the asshole referred to himself as Sir, it drew me out of the careful numbness. I liked using honorifics for the people I played with. I hated that this pornography bender might spoil that for me.

"There. Look at that."

I didn't see anything, but that didn't mean that there was nothing to see. I was a human servant, which meant I had greater than average speed and stamina, but it was nothing to a therianthrope or vampire's physical ability. The blue-black shadow that fell on a man's arm at the very edge of the shadow might mean something to the pair of women watching with me.

Jade squinted, leaning forward as though she was trying to decipher sloppy handwriting. "The marks on the hand? It looks like age spots to me. It may mean that the animator is an older man."

"That close together?" Magda said. "It looks like a pattern."

"How many dots are there?" I asked. "I can't see jack shit."

Magda reached past me, seizing a paper towel from one of the kitchenette's counters. She produced a pen from seemingly nowhere and began sketching the pattern for me. She held it up a moment later. It looked like a square with a single dot inside.

"It's a quincunx," I said, a trickle of excitement trickling into my veins for the first time since I'd begun this ordeal.

"A what?"

"It's a geometric symbol used in a lot of contexts. Most commonly, you find it in landscaping when people plant trees or on playing dice. But if you see it on the hand like that, it can also mean that someone's done time in prison. The square represents prison walls, with the inmate at its center."

Magda and Jade exchanged a surprised glance. Maybe I should have been insulted, but I couldn't summon any ire at the moment. I might have a fucking lead for once.

"How do you know that?" Jade asked.

"Larry," I said, voice rising as the idea really got going. "I need to call Larry. He can tell us who we need to visit to get the files."

"What files?" Giacomo asked, stepping back into the room. He looked as tired as I felt. These videos could age even the eternal.

"Larry recently applied to train at Quantico. He wants to be an FBI liason for supernatural cases. He's hoping that they can phase out the reactionary FBSA by creating enough psychically gifted and trained people at the FBI to handle the spooky cases. He met a woman named Agent Gillingham who's interested in prison reform. She has started a project to screen for psychic abilities in New York state prisons."

"Why would they do that?" Giacomo asked.

"Because a lot of people who end up in prison are homeless. A big percentage of people who end up homeless are mentally ill. Psychic ability, especially undertrained abilities, can cause a massive upheaval in brain chemistry. They've only gone through one prison, but a lot of the inmates pop as at least mildly gifted. Gillingham's theory is that if you treat the root cause of the behaviors, like the mental illness, and train people to have healthy outlets for their abilities, there'd be less recidivism."

Magda looked thoughtful. "And this Gillingham might remember a man with animating ability and a quincunx tattoo. The answer may have been close by all along, but interdepartmental hostility created a communication barrier."

"That's the hope," I said, reaching for my cell phone.

Larry didn't answer my phone call. Disappointing, but not entirely surprising. I was supposed to be attending the opening night performance of Transgressions with Richard and Jeanette. Instead, I was watching zombie porn and trying to ferret out a murderer. I left a vague message and told him to call me back.

"Now we wait," I said quietly. I glanced around the room. "I suggest we order in and take a break from the porn. Unless anyone wants to watch the rest of them?"

"Pizza good?" Jade asked mildly, as though she hadn't just tossed her cookies a few minutes ago.

"With stuffed crust," Magda said.

"And garlic butter," I added.

Giacomo gave me a stern look. "Garlic? You think you're funny, don't you?"

"I'm hilarious," I said, snapping the computer lid closed, blotting the zombie porn from sight.

Thank fucking God.

Chapter Text

Richard

"Only you could make Shakespeare this raunchy," I muttered under my breath.

Jeanette's voice sounded like candied sex in the relative privacy of our booth. For a show that was so far afield of Broadway that it had an entirely different zip code, this show had certainly drawn a crowd. The theater was simply enormous and replete with private booths for the well-to-do celebrity who didn't want to be overheard making commentary about the performance. Belle's booth was positioned far enough away that we felt comfortable speaking in whispers, but only just.

"You clearly neglected your literature studies in college if you believe that, mon loup. The Bard was quite a fan of the dick joke. Had he lived today, you would probably find his subject matter crass. Time and changing lexicons have robbed you of the humor of the thing."

"Indeed," Augustine said, pressing himself a little closer to Jeanette's other side. If he scooted closer, he was going to dissolve into her. "Though I would still take a good satyr play over this. No offense meant, Jean."

The four of us were seated in a row, with Jeanette sandwiched in the middle of the two men Belle wanted most. Bunny looked chipper and interested in something other than herself, leaning over the railing to get a better look at the play. Which meant Augustine had definitely been inside her head.

We could feel the intensity of her interest like the searing touch of a sunbeam. It was particularly potent around Bunny, which could only bode ill for the Portuguese model. Augustine's ploy was working. Did his alleged paramour have any idea just how deep in the shit she was? Or would she only start to understand when it rose over her head and choked her to death?

"None taken, mon ami. Though I thought you might appreciate the drag elements."

Augustine considered the stage, eyes all but glowing with the intensity of his longing as he stared at Nathaniel. The transformation he'd undergone before the show was astonishing. He'd managed to squeeze his frame into a shockingly tight corset, and some trick of costuming and makeup made him look curvy and utterly feminine in the glittering green tulle skirt and fishnets. They'd curled that long mane of auburn into perfect ringlets and woven in a small glade's worth of fake flowers into his hair. I considered myself straight, but even I could admit that Nathaniel made a stunning woman. His violet eyes looked huge, fringed by false lashes and highlighted by golden eyeshadow. I was absolutely sure that this was going up there with Rocky Horror Picture Show in terms of iconic drag performances.

"I don't think I have ever seen a more beautiful young man. He's like Ganymede reborn. He's so wounded. Needs so much love."

I had a feeling I knew exactly where he expected that love to come from. Did I warn Nathaniel about a potential seduction attempt from the god of erotic love? Or did I let that happen organically and wait to see what happened? Was it my business? For all I knew, Nathaniel might welcome the invitation for a divine threesome.

"Augustine," Jeanette said warningly. "Not now. We don't have time for matchmaking. Watch the show."

Augustine leaned back in his chair, smiling like a cat who'd been into the cream. I had a bad feeling the man wouldn't be able to help himself. Which just clinched it for me. I had to warn Nathaniel during intermission. Everyone deserved to have a heads-up when there was a horny god on the prowl.

Nathaniel played Puck, a faerie who happened upon a dysfunctional scene in a French bordello. The character bordered on being a villain protagonist, skirting the line with an utterly winning performance in every other number. She was a bitch, and you loved her for all of her nasty antics. The melodies were deliciously raunchy, and the choreography was superb.

The story centered around Helena and Hermia played by Gretchen and JJ respectively. In an inversion of the usual tale, Puck made the lifelong friends fall deeply in love. They have to navigate a secret love affair behind the scenes.

The B plot centered around Madam Titania, owner of the bordello, and an outcast from Faerie. Midway through the story, she ran away with a john, Nicholas Bott angering their patron, King Oberon. The obsession has driven him mad, and Titania's interludes became more and more frantic as she tries to elude Oberon. There was enough humor and genuine romantic tension to offset the dark subject matter, but only just. I applauded the decision to have Nathaniel be an independent entity, causing comedy in the background, instead of an agent of the King. It made Puck a hell of a lot less hateable, in my opinion.

It felt like only a few minutes had passed when the lights went up and the intermission began. I blinked a few times, stunned to realize that I'd actually forgotten about Belle for at least an hour. Either she was biding her time or even she was spellbound by the show.

"I'm going to be humming the soundtrack for months," I muttered under my breath, rising when Jeanette took my hand and led me toward the exit. I personally thought it was safer to stay where we were, but Jeanette had promised to visit Nathaniel during intermission.

"It was cleverly devised, non?" she said, eyes twinkling. "I only came up with the concept and some of the dialogue. Gretchen arranged all of the numbers. I believe she has a future in the arts if she stays on her medication."

Jeanette's expression was soft with adoration as she spoke Gretchen's name. It wasn't romantic, per se. More akin to a mother bragging about her favorite child. I wasn't used to seeing this side of her. She was often coy at best and inscrutable at worst. She rarely admitted to caring for anyone. Too dangerous. Until now.

"Yeah, it was," I said with a smile, sliding a hand around her waist. "Let's go congratulate her on a job well done."

Chapter Text

Richard

There was a bad smell backstage. It was an animal smell, as though someone had paraded a horse through the narrow corridors between mirrors. There were hundreds of them crammed into the backstage area, concealed from the public by a soundproof wall and a few layers of sets and curtains.

I frowned, wondering if I ought to mention it. Maybe it was an aspect of the show Jeanette had failed to mention. Maybe there was an actual satyr involved in this production. It wasn't the most ludicrous idea I'd ever heard, despite their rarity out in the wild. The fossil record indicated there'd been a lot of species in Europe once upon a time, but all but a few disappeared roughly a thousand years ago. Knowing what I knew now, the ones that had been closest to divine status had been sucked into the seal, leaving the population decimated, and easy pickings for predators. They'd become reclusive as a result.

"I do so love theater," Augustine said, watching a half-nude actress hurrying through a costume change. Intermission was only a break for the audience. The actors and stagehands were still on the clock, working to make the magic happen behind the scenes.

Jeanette walked a little ahead of us, arm in arm with Augustine. In his disguise, he looked like any other man attending the show. Namely, he looked like a gargoyle who'd lucked out with a supermodel. It was hard to believe that the creature hiding beneath the facade was so beautiful it could flay away a person's sanity if they looked for too long.

Asher would have been on Jeanette's arm instead, but Belle had ordered him to sit with her delegation during the show. I could feel how upset that made Jeanette. How it fed the quiet, furious ember at her center. Belle was going to pay for what she'd done, one way or the other.

The depth of hatred she harbored for Belle was frankly a little scary. Anita thought her temper was bad, but there was a feral animal trapped in Jeanette's psyche. She kept it leashed and used it to keep herself alive when the despair threatened to drag her toward oblivion. Belle had wounded her so deeply and so often that the wounds had never been allowed to heal. Parts of her were angry and raw, even after the years of relative peace she'd had with us. Anita and I were traumatized. There was no word in any human language to describe what she was.

I'd lost myself watching the glide of her shoulders beneath her satin evening gown. The afterglow of the ardeur was slow to fade, at least for me. It was almost addictive, which was chilling when I really considered it. This warped version of Augustine's ability had a lot of potential for abuse. I'd known what I was doing when I fed on her months back. We'd known that any sexual contact at all would bind the marks closer, making my desire for her greater. It wasn't ideal to fall so deeply in love with her now, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternatives. We were not going to let Belle further abuse Anita. The layer of separation we needed to have from each other to heal would be painful, but I'd take it. We'd both take it a thousand times to protect our third.

The scent of lion was the only warning I had before Haven's shoulder crashed into mine, throwing me off balance. I caught myself on the edge of one of the makeup tables, upending a few brushes as I tried to orient myself. My wolf surged to its feet, hackles rising as we whirled to face the new threat. Haven was standing not far off, cruel calculation flickering just behind his eyes. I'd seen that look in other eyes before. Marcus liked to bait new recruits into challenging his authority, just to put them in their place. He did it often when stressed. I'd been a favorite when the beast was new. So strong and so inexperienced. Easy to bait into a confrontation. Dominants recognized the trait in others when they met them. Haven wanted a fight. That alone was enough to allow me to breathe through the instinctual anger at the intentional shove.

He expected me to snarl and lunge. Instead, I laughed, pushing away from the table with a sardonic smile. My hands were covered in glitter. I pitied whoever was wearing the shedding costume. They'd be picking the shiny stuff out of every crevice for weeks. I dusted my hands off as best I could, getting a fair bit of it on my tux sleeves. Oh well. At worst, someone would think I was getting frisky with one of the dancers. Scandalous but not illegal.

"What's got a bug up your ass, Haven?"

"I'm bugless," Haven said, tone clipped. He had the stone-faced gangster thing down pat. The only eyes I'd seen colder than Haven's were Anita's. He lived and breathed violence. It wasn't a choice when you lived the lives they had. You adapted by becoming stronger, or you died.

"Sure," I said, straightening my jacket. "Want to try that again, with a little more honesty this time?"

"Fuck off," Haven muttered, and shoved past me again. Or at least, he tried to. I caught him by the arm, holding him in place.

Haven's power flared so hot and biting that I had to fight not to cry out. It was the blistering heat of the midday sun on the Serengeti. I caught a flash of tawny fur and amber eyes. Something far back in my mind stirred, so alien that I couldn't breathe for a moment. There was a furred shape much larger and well-muscled than my wolf prowling toward me. It broke into a loping run, brushing through me like a great cat in the tall grass.

A goddamn lion broke the surface, shattering my careful control. The change came involuntarily, the way it had that first time. The dark-maned beast was not taking the challenge to its authority sitting down. It was like being a rookie again, so overwhelmed by the changes that you couldn't process what was happening, let alone hope to control it.

The thin, mucus-like fluid flowed over my skin. My bones ached, riding the thin line between hideous discomfort and pain. There was some blood in the mix too, as though the new shape had to tear its way loose from my skin, the way the wolf had years ago. I'd gotten used to that transformation. This one was something else entirely.

The human mind could get used to a lot of things, including the visceral wrongness of that first shift from man to beast. You adapted to it because you had to. I'd gotten used to the exact order my bones broke. How my innards rearranged themselves. This was new, and horrifying in its novelty. The bones surged and grew before snapping my arms and legs into unfamiliar positions, like an art student arranging a wooden mannequin.

Haven's eyes flew wide, his anger evaporating in light of my inexplicable transformation.

"That's impossible," Haven said quietly. "You're a wolf. You can't be a lion too."

But I was, apparently. Anita was a reluctant skinwalker, not a panwere. But with Jeanette flexing her fae abilities recently, I'd apparently become one. Any beast Anita had, I apparently had access to as well. And I was discovering it at the most inconvenient moment possible.

The huge, furred shape ripped itself free of my body with a snarl, leaving me shivering in a puddle of rapidly spreading goop. One of the dancers actually backpedaled when she spied me on the floor. I felt simply enormous and must have looked it too.

I caught one glance of myself in a shattered mirror. I wasn't sure when I'd crashed into it, but the table with its mirror and glaring lights lay on its side, pane in pieces on the floor. A lion blinked slowly back at me from my reflection. My wolf bayed in confusion. In the dark, other shapes beckoned. Other things that wanted to carve themselves out of my flesh. They all tried to, in one agonizing instant.

Then Jeanette was kneeling by my head, her fractured reflection like a sunbeam in the growing dark. One of her cool hands wound into my mane while the other cupped my snout, stroking lovingly along my fur as if I were no bigger than a house cat.

"Breathe, mon loup," she whispered, not seeming to care that her dress was soaking up the clear, jelly-like liquid that filled most of the narrow walkway.

Mon loup. Wolf. I was a wolf. Her wolf.

Jeanette's hands reached past my skin, spilling herself into me as though our flesh were merely a formality. As if she had every right to be inside of me. Normally, I would have resented the hell out of that. But the cold, crystalline perfection of her mind was a rock I could cling to in a sea of confusion. My body was spasming, trying to choose a form, and destroying itself in the process. Distantly, I could feel the Master of Beasts, stirring the menagerie that I hadn't known I'd possessed into a frenzy. He was trying to kill me from a distance, and it might work.

She laid her body across the shuddering flank of my lion form, leaning her head against my throat. She lay a kiss over my pounding pulse point. The needle-fine pain of her fangs was clarifying, a surge of power straight to the only beast I'd somewhat embraced.

When fur flowed once more, it was a familiar hue and texture. The pattern was familiar, like an origami shape I'd folded a thousand times. By the time I could shrink down from wolf to human, my eyelids were at half-mast. I hadn't passed out after a shift for a long time. Jeanette smiled fondly down at me, cradling my head in her lap. She didn't seem to mind the mess I'd made of her dress.

"Are you well now, mon loup?" she paused, then shook her head with an exultant laugh. "Or should I say, mon lion?"

"Did you know?" I asked. Even forcing those three words out felt like a monumental effort.

"Non," she said, sobering somewhat. "I had no idea it was possible, I swear that to you. But I won't deny that I am pleased."

"Course you are," I said. I meant it to sound accusatory, but it came out on a sigh.

Jeanette's laugh came from a long way off. "Sleep, mon loup. I will have someone watch over you as you recover."

I wanted to argue. She needed a guard. Someone to have her back with Belle on the prowl. But my eyelids had different ideas. They slid closed of their own accord, and I slipped into unconsciousness without another word.

Chapter Text

Richard

The smell was back. The animal scent was stronger now, definitely horse-like. It wasn't exactly equine, but it was the only picture that came to my wolf's mind when I focused on it. There were some things hardwired into the DNA, primal fears of the things that killed so many of our ancestors. For my primate ancestors, it had been things that scuttled or slithered. The wolf was wary of horses for the same reason I was. Hooves to the skull killed as surely as a bullet. But if you caught one sick or injured, it was as appetizing as any deer.

I shook my head with a groan, trying to reset my brain like an Etch-a-Sketch. I hated thoughts like that. The ones that made my heart speed in anticipation of a kill. The exultant euphoria that came with running something down and tearing its throat out. Reducing another creature to blood on my tongue and meat in my belly. I hated how inhuman it made me feel. I'd been so scared of becoming a monster that I'd doomed myself with a vaccine.

But it wasn't really the beast I feared. It was me. The animalistic id that had never quite left our species. I was scared of what I wanted. How rough I liked to be. That I could enjoy hurting and killing, while my tortured superego tied itself into knots trying to tell me it was wrong. The beast was the purest expression that my darker nature had, and I didn't want it off its leash. Only this mission had convinced me there was any hope of reconciling the two for good. I didn't trust my own control, but I trusted hers. Jeanette wouldn't let me turn into a monster. She didn't need to. She was enough of a monster for the three of us.

Enough of a monster to allow us our humanity. To bask in the warmth of it and listen to the advice it had to give. She could be cruel, but it was tempered with compassion. I trusted her to confront me if I started down a left-hand path. She would be my conscience. Anita and I would be hers. I had to be Anita's because Jeanette was too emotionally compromised to do it. Anita was her only blind spot. The only thing she'd cross every line for. She'd also allow Anita to cross every line, to their mutual detriment.

I took stock of myself, using the uncomfortable scent to locate where my face was. It was easy to feel out the rest of my body. I'd shifted back into human shape at some point. The soft brush of air over my skin let me know I'd been left nude. That wouldn't have bothered me much, ordinarily. You got over the nudity taboo really damn fast when you became a wereanimal. There was something about the smell. Despite the scent telling me I was dealing with a herd animal, the beast...no beasts inside me screamed there was something predatory nearby.

I didn't like my beast most of the time, but if it warned of danger, I listened. I was sitting up, noting with exasperated amusement that someone had placed a sequined hat that the performers wore over my junk, shielding it from view. I might have laughed, but something nearby had my skin crawling and my hackles rising. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, muscles tensed and ready. I could shift quickly and be on an enemy in seconds.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye would have had me lunging, claws extended, if the smell hadn't hit me first. Sun-warmed grass. Dry earth. A lion's musk. I knew the scent. I'd been ready to fight its owner not long ago.

Haven stepped into my line of sight, arms raised in a defensive gesture. "Ease down, Fido. It's just me. Someone had to guard you while you slept. At least you let yourself be guarded. It's more than I can say for your girlfriend."

There was a confused second when I wasn't sure who he meant. Jeanette? Anita? Andria? I loved all of them, but my life would only work well with one at the moment. Then it clicked, and the reason for Haven's temper tantrum became clear.

I snorted. "Are you really that pissed that Anita could find her way out of trouble without you? You want to get in a fistfight with me so that you can feel manly again?"

Haven's baby blues faded to lion amber, a hint of his beast coming to the fore. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth a moment later, forcing the lion down. It was difficult, with the full moon only a week away, but he managed it. That alone told me he was powerful. If he hadn't been, Padma could have made him shift. Could have made us attack each other. Belle would have laughed herself sick at that one.

"Augustine told me to guard her. I had a job to do and she's prevented me from doing it at almost every turn. That reflects badly on Auggie. Who do you think he's going to take it out on?"

Ah, so it wasn't a case of machismo. It was a case of 'misery loves company.' Cupid might have been a god of love, but that didn't mean he wouldn't use fear to get his way when it was needed. He was a mobster and a master vampire now, which meant a certain level of cruelty was to be expected. If Haven let something happen to Anita on his watch, Augustine would kill him. It was as simple as that. We knew she was safe with Jade now, but that was the only thing keeping Haven off Augustine's shit list.

"How did you end up working for that asshole anyway?" I asked, stretching to relieve the tension in my muscles. My instincts were still screaming that something was wrong, but I couldn't pinpoint the source of the anxiety.

Haven shrugged. "It's a long story. If we get out of this clusterfuck alive, we can sit down with a fifth of whiskey and talk about it."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought you didn't like me."

"I was neutral about you. Now you're fucking terrifying. I never met Chimera, but I know what panweres can be capable of. I'd rather be on your side while you learn, instead of becoming your target when you get used to it."

"Wouldn't have pegged you as the politicking type."

Haven grinned, and for the first time, I realized what Anita saw in him. It was impish, with a little bit of mischief and a whole lot of regret. Anita hated to admit just how empathetic she could be at times. The danger would intrigue her, but the wounded man would make her stick around.

"I'm full of surprises."

The smell came again, closer this time, accompanied by a sweet note of rot and the dusty scent of dried bones. I whipped toward the door, half-expecting to find the source lurking in the hall outside. I belatedly realized I was in a private dressing room. Judging by the spare costume and the scent saturating the bed, I was guessing it was Nathaniel's. He'd practically lived on set for the past few months and seemed to be loving every second of it. The only thing standing in the doorway was a startled-looking "Puck."

Nathaniel blinked large violet eyes at us, startled into silence when we both turned toward him in unison. His knees wobbled, and I had to lunge to catch him before the combined power of our auras completely obliterated his defenses. Nathaniel was getting better, but he still responded to overt dominance with submission. I had to remind him to breathe a few times before he could.

"Sorry," he panted. "I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you'd be asleep for a few more hours. The show is almost over. I have one more costume change, and then there's the finale. Jeanette sent a runner for a new suit after the shift destroyed the last one."

I felt the absurd impulse to apologize as if it had somehow been my fault that the suit wasn't salvageable. Until a few hours ago, none of us had known I had access to more than one form, let alone the menagerie that Aniat had collected over the years. I couldn't have stopped the transformation any more than I could have stopped my own heart.

"Is Jeanette okay?" I asked, scanning the hallway behind Nathaniel. I could barely see, even with the lights on. It was like someone had smeared mud over my eyes, and I was having to squint to make anything out.

"She's safe with Auggie and Bunny for now. The Master of Beasts stormed out when he couldn't force you to shift. Belle looked put out too, but she was also amused at Padma's tantrum. I think she would have done something sooner, but she just wanted to watch him fail first."

Funny how accurate Nathaniel's assessment of Belle was. Somewhere behind the doe eyes and beautiful face lay a shrewd thinker. He could clock Belle for what she was. A petulant child with the predilections of a predator. She'd rejoice in Padma's suffering, counting it as a win, even though she hadn't been the one to triumph over him.

The darkness behind Nathaniel grew thicker. My eyes itched as I struggled to adjust, shifting just my vision from human to wolf. It didn't help. If anything, it made the anxiety worse. The wolf hated being blind.

"Do you smell that?" I said as the dusty smell wafted closer.

My pulse jumped as the wood in the hall creaked. I couldn't locate the source in the shadows. I saw it register to Nathaniel and Haven minutes after I'd sensed it. Wolves, leopards, and lions didn't share any mutual predators. Or any predators at all, really. But all of us knew in that instant that whatever was lurking nearby was bigger than us and would eat us if given the chance.

"Horse?" Nathaniel asked. "It smells kind of horselike but..."

"But it's not," I said. "It's something close, but I don't fucking know what it could be."

The floorboards creaked again, as though something large had set foot on them. Or rather, hooves on them. The click-clack was similar to the heavy tromping sound of a horse's gait. I could tell roughly how large it was, just by the impact alone, and felt my heart sink. It was at least as large as a Clydesdale. It was bigger and heavier than I was by quite a bit.

As a wolf, that is. It still dwarfed me as a lion, but the weight distribution was more even. Nathaniel was going to be useless in this fight. Even if he hadn't been in fishnets and heels like an absurdly attractive version of Frank-N-Furter, he wouldn't be much help. He was a submissive, bowled over by just two dominant males in his vicinity. He couldn't stand up to whatever was coming, but Haven and I could. Lions weren't wolves, but they did know something about cooperative hunting. Male lions had been known to team up and form coalitions to hunt big game. Here was hoping Haven knew how to extend a little fucking trust to me. If not, we were sunk.

"Get behind me," I said in a low, barely audible voice.

Nathaniel didn't need to be told twice. He scampered behind me, heels clicking against the hardwood floor like a deer's hooves, clumsy and skittering. It made him prey, and I did not need that distraction in the fight ahead.

"I've got its left flank," Haven said under his breath. His voice had already gone low and rasping from the change. He didn't bother taking his clothes off. There wasn't time for that. I was grateful I hadn't put on the suit Jeanette bought. It would be a shame to ruin two in one night.

"I'll take right."

I kept my voice low, but wasn't sure we were accomplishing much. I could hear whispers now, indecipherable vocalizations that made my hair stand on end. Some parts of my brain knew the language on an instinctual level. Knew it was a challenge, like a big cat scuffing or scent marking. It was trying to drive us forth, making us flee like prey so it could run us down.

Well, fuck that. I wasn't barricading myself into the room and waiting for death. This thing had picked the wrong group to prey on.

I threw myself out the door and to the right before I could really think it through. A second later the wall immediately behind where I'd been splintered, sending shrapnel in every direction. Hot lines opened on my face, and I smelled blood. The vocalizations got louder, excited by the blood. It was distracted long enough that the shadows gathered around it flickered for just a moment, and I got a sense of what we were facing.

It was about seven feet tall and hideously deformed. Its body looked too thin to make the kind of sounds we'd heard in the hall. Parchment skin clung to a very human torso, each rib protruding obscenely outward. It had a horse's head and hooves, but a human body. It should have looked comical, but the malice in the red of its eyes made a laugh die in my throat. It looked like some kind of demented scientist had grafted horse parts onto a corpse and sent a thousand volts through the abomination to bring it back from the dead. Power poured over us like a wind from the grave. It felt like a vampire, but it looked too inhuman to truly be one of the undead.

"What the hell is that thing?" Nathaniel squeaked, and I heard him back further into the room.

"I think it's a puca," I replied, though I doubted he was actually seeking an answer. I knew where I'd seen the shadow trick before.

Not long before my first foray into polyamory, Jeanette, Anita, and I had been in a pitched battle against a changeling. We'd been losing when Andias, Queen of Air and Darkness dealt the final blow against the murderous faerie. She could literally bend shadows around her, but it wasn't a power unique to her. Legends said that at least a handful of others in her court could manage it too. And if this was faerie magic, it stood to reason that this was...

"Xavier's," I said, even as the shadows closed in, blocking it once more from sight. "It's a Faerie."

"It feels like a vampire," Haven said from further down the hall. His voice was barely intelligible. The change was coming on fast. Soon he wouldn't be able to speak at all.

"It's that too," I agreed.

Did that mean it was immune to most ordinary weaknesses? If he couldn't be killed with iron or silver, it left fire as our only option. We'd have to lure this thing outside to end this.

I reached deep inside me, groping for the foreign shape that had forced itself from my body hours ago. It was hunkering down in the tall grass, waiting. It came when I called for it, surging with obscene eagerness when I began to shift. It happened in a gout of blood and mucus, splattering Xavier's ribcage. The ectoplasm gleamed in the dark, somehow more real than the magic trying to drown us. I couldn't see the faerie, but I could see and smell my own blood shining like rubies on its coat.

The leonine roar that escaped my throat made Nathaniel whimper and curl in tighter to himself, drawing his heels under him as he shielded his head. I leaped toward that shining spot, claws extended. The flesh gave with a sound like ripping cloth, and blood poured from the thing's flank. It was too thick and foul-smelling to belong to any human or vampire I'd ever met. It was as if every part of this thing was rotten. Had Xavier been turned by a corruptor centuries ago? How had Belle won him from Morte D'Amour? And why send him after me, instead of Jeanette? Yes, my death could mean hers, but as Asher proved, it wasn't a surefire thing. She might survive losing me. So why us? Why now?

A distraction. No matter how deadly this attack was meant to be, it wasn't the true purpose of Xavier's presence in the building. With vamprie mind tricks a common thing in this production, no one would know what was real or fake. The shadows could be a part of the play, for all they knew. It was cover and concealment for whatever Belle was planning to do. If she wanted me busy here, she was executing a plan elsewhere.

Jeanette. She was going to try to kill Jeanette. I was almost certain of it.

Not on my fucking watch," I thought viciously.

I let out another set-shaking roar and plunged forward into the dark, chasing the smell of my own blood as Xavier turned and ran straight for the stage.

Chapter Text

Richard

There wasn't enough room backstage for two lions to walk abreast. Hell, there wasn't enough room for even one lion backstage. I felt too large and bulky, unable to slip through the narrow corridors between vanities without knocking something off. The crashes probably didn't carry to the crowd. Too many velvet curtains in the way, absorbing the sound.

Xavier was sprinting for the stage, forcing us to follow. The unfortunate thing about having a conscience was that you couldn't throw blissfully ignorant sheep to the Unseelie Fae. He could wade into the crowd, slaughtering dozens before anyone was aware anything was happening. Then came the screaming and the stampede. Humans in groups reacted like prey animals, scampering for cover when something scary happened. After that would come the scandal and the lawsuits. Belle didn't necessarily have to kill Jeanette to cripple her power. If she could somehow frame this as a stunt going out of control, Jeanette would be executed in the court of public opinion. It was almost as bad as dying for a vampire of her line.

"Are you okay?" I thought at her.

I'd know if she were dead or seriously hurt, but beyond that, she liked to keep her feelings to herself. She sounded faintly amused by the question. Distantly, I felt bodies around her, Auggie's men closing in around her like a wall of muscled flesh. She could smell their blood, the rich, sun-baked scent of lions crowding near. She wanted to reach out and touch each of their beasts, the novelty of having a new animal to call making her almost giddy. It was like being drunk. She couldn't quite take this as seriously as she should.

"Quite well."

"Good. Mind helping us out here? Belle's people aren't going to stop him. That leaves us between Xavier and the crowd. I'm not going to be able to reach him until he's halfway through the front row."

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, more sober than she'd been a moment before. "More lives will be lost in a stampede than an attack. The key is to keep the crowd docile. I will endeavor to keep the crowd entertained. They will see only what I want them to see. I'm afraid I'll have to spoil Gretchen's careful ending with a little improvisation. Augustine will direct you through the shadows. You must allow him in, mon loup."

I didn't want to. Almost every time I'd opened myself to a new mind, it ended badly. Things might be improving between us, but I wasn't as comfortable about having her in my head as Anita was. It had taken her years to reach that level of acceptance. I hated the thought of Augustine's hands inside me, jerking my beast around like a marionette on a string. But if I didn't, Haven and I would just be blind fools staggering around in the dark trying to score a lucky hit.

I felt Jeanette cast her power outward like a net, snaring every mind in the building. Thousands of humans and nonhumans alike sitting in the ascending rows, and she managed to capture everyone in a single throw. Through her, I felt each bend to her will. She could have taken anything from them, and they would have been helpless to stop her. But she didn't take. She gave. She fed them a vision of Titania fleeing Oberon's monster, a seething mass of shadows and tentacles. In their minds, the pair of lions glowed golden, a light against the darkness. Haven and I were perfect mirrors of each other, circling the monster, keeping it from reaching the wild-eyed Titania. She was singing, but I couldn't make out the words past the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

I felt Augustine's power brush like a hand down my back, and I arched like a cat, unable to stop the impulse. It was a little embarrassing to react like a happy housecat with a literal gangster watching. He'd probably give me shit over it at some point, and I'd take that, as long as we lived.

Augustine's power came in smudges of impressionist thought instead of words. The stage came back into sight, though I was seeing it through an entirely different spectrum of color. I had a moment where I was too disoriented to move. What was Augustine besides a god? I'd never seen someone who saw like this. It was dizzying. If I hadn't been leaning on his power, I would have been sick. Haven looked unfazed. I got the impression this wasn't the first time Augustine had channeled power through him.

Xavier was nearly to the edge of the stage when we caught up with him. I got a running start and leaped over the head of the actor playing Lysander and hit the Unseelie faerie in the back. He went down with a hiss of protest, whirling almost too fast to track to bring a cloven hoof to the side of my head.

It hurt. It hurt more than the blow had any right to. There was power behind it of a more ancient vintage than Xavier should be capable of. Belle was sending her own blend of insidious energy into him, empowering the faerie hybrid through his oath to her. I knew, in a flash of insight, that he'd staked his life on this fight. Belle was his sponsor. He either had to kill us or blacken Jeanette's name. Either would do. But if he failed, he'd die. At our hands or Andias', it didn't matter. If he didn't win, he died.

The strength behind his hoof was strong enough to break my jaw. It missed connecting with my neck by a hair. Something like that would have killed me instantly. If he didn't take my head off outright, he'd snap my spine, leaving me immobile. It was as good as a death sentence when you were grappling with dark fae.

The truncated sound of pain I made came out mushy. My blood spattered the floor, my mandible fusing at an awkward angle in seconds. Jeanette was giving me all she could spare, and it was more than I thought she possessed. She had more reserves than she'd let on. I had a moment to wonder just how deep those reserves went.

My bite felt lopsided when I seized Xavier by a flailing leg before he could fling himself into the crowd. He let out a shriek of pain when Haven seized an arm and began to backpedal. I mirrored him, letting out a frustrated snarl when the little weasel managed to slip my misaligned jaw. He was bleeding profusely now, the sludgy stuff a thick, reeking burgundy instead of the usual scarlet. He moved like a feral whirlwind, always just one step ahead of us. The song was reaching a peak. We didn't have long before it ended. How many encores could Jeanette realistically orchestrate? I had no clue what the audience was seeing, but it must have been impressive because they kept happily oohing and ahhing as the action unfolded.

Besides, if we didn't end this soon, someone innocent was going to die. That was unacceptable.

I surrendered myself to the lion and the press of Augustine's power, giving up that last shred of control that kept me from being one with the new beast. It was terrifying, and not for the reasons that you'd expect. Everyone wanted love. People who'd been hurt needed it more than most. Augustine's power was more addictive than heroin, a high you never came down from. By allowing him in, I'd just fundamentally altered something in myself. Something that had no choice but to love him. It wasn't romantic, but I did love him. And it would be a small price to pay to save lives.

Haven dove from the stage, putting his enormous body between Xavier and a middle-aged Hispanic woman. I vaguely recognized her from some sitcom or the other. I couldn't have told you what part she played. It had been a long time since I sat down to watch TV with anyone just for the hell of it. I'd have to do that if we got out of town alive. I hadn't watched a rerun of Friends in a while.

The shadows descended on Haven, aiming for his throat. I caught a glimpse of crimson eyes and a gaping maw full of fangs. Haven went low and I went high. It wasn't a conscious choice. We were just moving in tandem, the way a good pack did. He felt like pack, though the scent was all wrong. No matter what happened from here on out, Haven and I had a friendship. Tenous, but there. You couldn't fight something this evil without bonding with the person who battled it beside you. I'd have preferred Anita, with her cool confidence, but Haven was a decent substitute.

My jaws locked on Xavier's throat as Haven's claws opened his belly. For a second the slippery intestines that slithered out looked disturbingly like rat snakes, black and writhing. He let out a gurgling cry, the sound cutting off abruptly when my teeth crushed his windpipe like hard candy. The spine made a muffled snap, like someone breaking a carrot. Thick, and meaty somehow, despite no gore fountaining from the wound. Xavier was dead, but his body was taking a while to figure it out.

Eventually, the prey stopped thrashing, and the final notes of Jeanette's song petered away, leaving only silence. The crowd sat, staring blankly for a moment before the actress in front of Haven came to herself. She blinked awake and didn't seem distressed by the corpse hanging limply from Haven's jaws. He looked too inhuman to be real. I saw her embrace denial, and the rest of the crowd followed suit not long after.

They rose to their feet almost as one and began screaming for an encore. Every living actor trooped on stage first, confused but clearly pleased by the reception they were getting. They gave shaky bows and retreated offstage to thunderous applause. The vampires in the cast looked shaken but managed to bow and give the audience convincing smiles. They knew how close we'd come to a disaster.

I thought we'd gotten away with it. And then the screaming started. My eyes wheeled, trying to find the source of that sound, and found a woman near the back half-concealed under the limp body of Sangria Valente. Her neck had been twisted at an odd angle before she'd flopped over the railing. I hadn't heard her fall. No one had. Jeanette was too busy rolling the crowd. Augustine was too busy directing us in the fight against Xavier. No one in the private booth had been near enough or paying enough attention to stop her murder.

The target hadn't been Jeanette, after all. It had been Bunny. We'd won. But we'd also lost.

God-fucking-damnit.

Chapter Text

Richard

I needed a nap. Two shifts into an unfamiliar wereanimal and a fight had sapped whatever energy I'd started the night with. I should have been resting in Jeanette's room back in Belle Morte's mansion, but I'd spent hours at a police station instead, trying to convince the NYPD that Jeanette hadn't murdered Bunny in a fit of jealous rage. Somehow, I just didn't think they found me a credible witness.

They might have been tempted to keep her overnight. They had several days to hold her without charging her with a damn thing. But the pressure to deal with the situation quickly and without fuss was coming from on high. No matter how small Jeanette's star was in terms of her celebrity, she was still a woman with a microphone. They knew as well as I did that all she had to do was get in front of a camera, cry prettily, and the public would rush to serve their asses on a platter. It took years to build up a career and only one careless statement to the press to end it. They were treating her the way I'd treat radioactive waste. As something potentially dangerous that should be kept far away, for fear of contamination.

There were a few grumbled protests when I followed Jeanette into the bathroom. One of the officers had thrown her to the ground outside, even though she'd offered him no resistance. Her satin evening gown was ruined, and her face was streaked with dirt.

"What are you doing, mon loup?" she asked in an undertone when I brought her to a halt in front of the sink.

"Cleaning you up," I said, wetting a paper towel "You know there will be press waiting out there. Belle knows she can't pin it on you, but she also knows it's a bad look for you. Do you want to go out smeared in dirt or do you want to be clean?"

Jeanette eyed the dripping paper towel and smiled softly. "This is very thoughtful of you, Richard."

I tipped her chin up and gently sponged off the dirt, carefully keeping the mud out of her hair. She let her hair down when prompted, and the flowing mass of it foamed around her face in sweetly scented waves. Her breath came out on a shuddering exhale when I skimmed my nose along her jaw, ending in the hollow just beneath her ear. Her scent was strongest there, and I wanted to drown in it.

"Take off your dress," I said, giving her a shove toward one of the stalls.

Jeanette's lips parted in surprise. "Do you really think that's wise? I'm certainly amenable but..."

I laughed. "Sorry, I should have been clearer. Take your dress off and slide it out under the stall door. I changed into the tux you had delivered to Nathiel's room after I shifted back. The cops insisted on it, actually. I don't think they were comfortable with loading a naked shapeshifter into their car for questioning. I'll give you the suit jacket. It should be big enough to cover everything vital. If you cinch it in the middle with my belt it might even look cute."

Though the sight of her bare legs would drive me nuts when we were sitting side by side in the rental car. I was grateful that Haven had been reassigned to her detail by Auggie. Left to our own devices we'd end up fucking in the back of the car, our ardeur goggles too thick to realize why it was a bad idea.

Jeanette's skin pulsed a shimmering silver for just a moment, and then she smiled. It was like watching dawn break over the horizon. It took all my hard-won control not to kiss her. I wanted to taste the joy in that expression.

"Thank you, mon loup. A change of clothes is much appreciated."

She retreated into the stall, emerging a minute later after she'd arranged the suit jacket to her lining. The suit fell to her mid-thigh, only serving to emphasize just how long and shapely her legs were. Her ankles looked delicate in a pair of strappy heels. They didn't quite fit the aesthetic, but people were going to be too distracted by the silhouette she presented to pay much attention to her footwear.

Jeanette rose up on tiptoe with a smile and kissed my cheek. "Thank you, mon loup. I feel much better."

"I don't," I thought at her. "I may not have liked Bunny, but she deserved better than what she got. Auggie knew whoever was posing as his lover was in danger. She didn't have enough protection. You expected her to die, just not so publically."

"The public death was preferable to a private one," Jeanette said quietly. "In private, Belle could make it last longer. Heap indignities onto her body. Dishonor her even in death. The last time Psyche died, she gave the corpse to Morte D'Amour and forced him to watch when the Lover of Death violated her corpse days after. She was bloated and discolored and..."

Even her mental voice trailed off, the horror of it stealing her breath. I didn't press for more. The split-second visual I had was sickening enough.

"But she was being set up to die in Psyche's place. It's not fair."

"No, it is not," she agreed. "I wish it were not necessary. I wish Belle had been deposed centuries ago. There are times she's made me wish I'd starved to death before we ever met. But this is the situation we found ourselves in. Would it make you feel better to know she would have died a decade ago if Auggie hadn't interceded?"

No, it didn't. This still felt wrong. But...

"She was going to die a decade ago?"

"Very likely. Bunny's family had connections to one of the most influential criminal syndicates in Portugal. If Augustine hadn't given her father an alternative, he would have married her to the leader's son. He's had three wives. All of them met with mysterious deaths after months of systematic abuse. She had ten somewhat happy years as a god's concubine. She didn't know fear or suffering. He indulged her every whim. She did not die well, but she at least died quickly. It's more than her own father would have given her."

"That doesn't make it right."

She sighed. "No, it doesn't. I am sorry you had to be a party to it, even tangentially. I know it will weigh on your conscience."

I kissed her. She wasn't expecting it and wobbled uncertainly in her heels for a moment before I let her go.

"What was that for?"

"For understanding," I said. "And explaining."

She took my hand, ignoring the suspicious glances and wolf whistles she got from the cops when we emerged.

"Anytime, mon loup."

Chapter Text

Agent Gillingham didn't look like an FBI agent. Between the big brown doe eyes and the Peter Pan collar and flowy skirt she wore, I would have believed Sunday school teacher, not ice-cold Fed. But we found her waiting exactly where Larry said she would be. The little mom-and-pop pizza place boasted authentic Italian cuisine. Between the stained glass lampshades and the freshly grated parmesan, it was easily the nicest rendezvous I'd ever had with another agent.

She was naturally fidgety, which immediately set me on edge. Anxiousness was contagious, especially when you existed in a heightened state of emotions due to PTSD. For all I knew, she was suffering something similar at the moment. If she was as powerfully psychic as Larry said, she could have come across her share of nightmares in the field. It only took one monster to ruin a life.

Gillingham leaned forward, a small pink tongue darting out to wet her lips nervously. I couldn't tell if the meek exterior was genuine or a very well-done facade.

"I can't tell you about that," she said, speaking low.

She didn't need to bother with stealth. We'd come in after the evening rush, catching the staff just an hour before closing. I'd have felt about that if there weren't so much at stake. I knew a thing or two about being on the closing shift. It was a pain in the ass when people stayed until the doors closed.

"You have to," I said, matching her pitch. If I didn't, I'd shout at her. If she'd watched the terror in the eyes of those ensouled zombies, she'd have been singing like a lark.

Gillingham's eyes flashed with sudden, fiery anger, burning away some of that careful hesitancy. There was a tiger lurking somewhere in her soul, even if she didn't let it off its leash often. "I don't have to do a damn thing, Blake. Meeting up with you like this is already a huge risk. There's a warrant out for your arrest. I should be bringing you in. I trust Larry's judgment enough to keep this under wraps, but you don't get to order me to do jack shit."

I forced myself to lean back, plastering my spine to the red leather booth so I wouldn't lunge across the table and shake her. I so didn't need bureaucratic bullshit right now. Every second we wasted arguing with Gillingham was another moment Sir's victims suffered. That was unacceptable to me. I had to find them and free them. The easiest way to do that was to cut off the energy that animated them permanently. A bullet between the eyes wasn't even a fraction of the punishment he deserved for a crime like this, but it would have to do. I wasn't going to hold their souls hostage a moment more than they had to just to satisfy my own wrathful impulses.

"Fine, I'm not ordering you, Gillingham. I'm begging. I will get down on bended knee and kiss your boots for the information if I have to. Anything to stop the suffering that I saw on those tapes."

Gillingham's head tilted to one side, studying me curiously. She'd curled her fair hair into perfect Shirley Temple ringlets, adding to the harmless impression she was harmless. I had the sense that she was taking in more than my exhausted expression and disheveled appearance. I was still wearing pajamas, for fuck's sake.

"You mean that."

"I'm not a sociopath. Anyone with an ounce of conscience would do damn near anything to save those kids from the animator behind this. I'm asking you to give me a name. I can do the rest."

"Anonymity was a condition for the inmates who participated in the study. If I give you the names, I'm compromising the whole study. Do you know how many people this could get out of jail if it's proven to work?"

I appreciated it, alright. I hated it, but I couldn't change the reality. We needed the name if she had it. Animating was a rare talent. If she could confirm someone with even a low-level ability had the tattoo, we had probable cause to investigate. With the right judge, it could be the difference between bringing this guy in or letting him skate justice.

"I understand," I said in a measured tone. "But I am trying to save kids. Innocent kids who were horribly murdered and resurrected so they could undergo more torture."

Gillingham flinched at that, casting her gaze anywhere but at me. It landed briefly at the table across from ours. Magda and Jade were deep in friendly conversation while Giacomo slouched in his seat, pretending to scroll on a cell phone. Just a third wheel on a girl's day out. Nothing special to see here, folks. Go about your business. We'd entered the restaurant five minutes apart for just that reason, so the nice agent wouldn't get overwhelmed and bolt. If she had enough juice, she'd eventually pick up on the fact they were bad guys and would probably convince herself I had Stockholm Syndrome.

"I understand what you're saying Blake but I can't. I know that this is going to change so many lives. If you get a subpoena and make it all legal, I'll give you the name. Not until then."

I resisted the urge to fling my bowl of ziti at her face. She was so fucking ignorant. I envied her innocence. I'd had one too many nightmares thrust into my mind tonight. It made me willing to bend my rules, just a touch. I'd hate myself for it later, but if it saved those kids, I would learn to make peace with it.

"Giacomo," I said under my breath. I knew the vampire would catch it.

Gillingham's brow furrowed. "Pardon?"

I didn't answer. The guilt was already making my stomach form knots. But we had to know. It was my turn to look away. I saw Giacomo approach the table in my periphery, a bulky silhouette against the multi-colored light from above. Gillingham felt him coming. She tried to slip her hand into her shirt and spill a cross into the open air. It cleared the line of her cleavage, but Giacomo wrapped a gloved fist around the chain before she could spill it out into the open air. It pressed harmlessly to the cloth for a half second before he flung it away.

It happened quickly and seemed more violent than it actually was. I doubted anyone noticed. No, I was sure that no one had. In that one word, I'd given him carte blanche to roll the occupants of the restaurant. When I risked a sideways glance, I saw Gillingham sitting up straight, spine bowed with the effort she was exuding to resist the power of his eyes. Saw it when she gave up the fight and sagged into a pliant doll, leaning her cheek against the leather with a soft sigh.

"Give us the name of the animator with this tattoo," he said, thrusting Magda's sketch into her face.

I would have felt better if he'd screamed at her. The quiet intensity made it worse, somehow. It was as sharp-edged and ruthless as a blade. He'd flay her mind to pieces to get the answer if he had to.

"Javier Vazquez," she whispered. "He was a morgue attendant who was charged with abuse of a corpse when they found him fondling a sixteen-year-old suicide victim. He couldn't explain why he touched the corpses. We tried to get him out on mental health grounds. Larry says that animators are attracted to the dead."

Attracted to the dead, yes. Sexually aroused by the dead? Hell no. Every animator I'd ever spoken to about death had a morbid fascination with their own mortality from the very start. Death was so much more real to you when you could reach out and touch it with magic. When you could draw dead matter into your hands and shape it like clay. I knew from Dominga's journals how to mold flesh into grotesque chimeras. Animators lingered near death, but very few of us wanted to fuck rotting corpses.

"And you let the monster out to re-offend," I muttered under my breath. "An irony, that."

"How powerful is this Javier Vazquez?" Giacomo pressed.

"Larry compared him to a man named Jameson. Does that help?"

"It does, actually." I was relieved to have an excuse to look away from her dully compliant expression. "Jameson can barely call a shambling corpse. He's the least powerful member of Animators Inc. Bert mostly keeps him on because he's a killer PR agent. He coordinates with the city's vampires a lot. It makes things go smoothly for all involved. He's only busy during the Halloween season when edgy attractions want real dead bodies in their haunted houses. With human sacrifice, this guy might be able to call something that looks a few days dead. They wouldn't look lifelike, like the zombies on those tapes."

"So he has a partner," Jade said, disgust twisting her features as she approached the table.

Magda wasn't far behind. I noticed they were holding hands, and had to turn away to hide the twinge of jealousy I felt. It wasn't my business. They'd been in love longer than I'd been alive. I wouldn't tell Jade she couldn't date Magda. It wasn't fair when I was dating so many other people.

"It looks like it," I said grimly. "Let's pay Javier a visit and ask him who he's working with."

Madga showed her teeth. They were sharper than they should have been. For a moment she looked almost lustful. I knew how she felt. I wanted this guy to pay too. We'd have to settle for a little vigilante justice. If Javier ratted out his boss, he might live.

"Let's."

She slapped a hundred-dollar bill down on the table. Gillingham would wake confused in a few minutes. I wondered if she'd keep the remainder of the cash after she paid, or if she'd leave a generous tip. I wanted to consider that a hell of a lot more than what I was about to walk into.

We walked out of the restaurant and melted into the steady stream of humanity outside the double doors. The night was young and we had a name. Things were looking up.

Chapter Text

"Someone is following us."

Jade's voice carried, even over the sound of Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons.' I'd voted for Bon Jovi, while Magda suggested a piece of death metal I'd never heard. Jade hadn't spoken since we'd loaded up and headed out of town. Giacomo had overruled us. His pickup truck, his rules. Which only seemed fair to me, no matter how grating I found the violin in my current mood.

Giacomo had impressed me by being able to do a probation officer over the phone, extracting the man's exact location with alarming speed. He'd stared directly at me while he did it. I could imagine just how easy it would be to call some poor human worker at one of Jeanette's establishments, roll them, and set them to us like a lamb for slaughter. If we made it out of New York alive, we'd have to cut back on human staff in administrative positions. If the Harlequin could roll people that easily, we couldn't afford the security risk.

None of us twisted around in our seats to see if she was correct. Rubbernecking would be a dead giveaway that we'd been spotted. It was a lot easier to lose a tail if they didn't know you'd pegged their location. I'd had bodyguards chastise me in the last few months, shouting me down when I tried to take on potential threats myself, instead of letting them do their jobs. I was trying to take the lessons I'd learned and apply them, but I was used to being the protector, not the protectee.

"Are you sure?" Giacomo asked. He didn't even flick a glance at the rearview mirror. Cautious. Very cautious. If there was more than one car trying to follow us, even that could be a giveaway.

"Fairly. It appears to be a cleaning van."

"Could be a coincidence," I said, trying for a little optimism. At least one of us in the car had to have a little hope. In my current company, I was still the starry-eyed rookie. "New York is a huge city. A lot of businesses are switching to twenty-four-hour schedules now that vampires are legal citizens. Animators Inc is open around the clock, except on bank holidays. If you can't cash a check, it's a waste of a day, in his opinion. He has the cleaners come in between the shifts. It's what? The graveyard shift now? They may be going to a vampire-owned or vampire-staffed business."

There. That sounded plausible. Maybe if I wished really hard, I'd be able to believe it.

Magda flicked a disdainful glance out the window. The street to either side of us was lined with nearly identical homes. White siding, slate gray rooves, identical stone steps leading up to painted doors. The occupants decorated their homes in defiance of the uniformity. One of my favorite displays was an inflatable Santa glowing from a front window, there seemingly to antagonize an HOA with a twitchy trigger finger with its unseasonable cheer. I could respect someone determined to be that contrary.

"Not here," Magda said. "Perhaps there's a vampire realtor in this area, but I doubt any business would survive in this area for long. Anything that defies order here is swiftly escorted out. Vampires will be a minority here."

Damn it, I hated when she was right.

"I was told there's a bounty on my head," I said offhandedly. "Edward came to guard me just in case it was Olaf back for round two."

"It's not," Jade said confidently.

I raised an eyebrow. "Did you kill him?"

She pulled a face. "Unfortunately, no. I tracked him as far as Siberia. I lost him and none of my usual sources are turning up anything useful."

"So he's still alive."

"Despite my best efforts, yes," she said, her tone absolutely arctic. Sometimes I thought she took the assault even more personally than I had.

Giacomo gripped the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, though it was difficult to tell against the pallor of his skin. I leaned forward a little, making as though I wanted to check my reflection in his rearview mirror, and saw it. The white cleaning van waited a few beats before following us into the next lane like a pale phantom image.

Jade mirrored me, putting her shoulder to mine. It made a solid barrier of flesh between Giacomo and whoever was tailing us.. In suburbia, I was more afraid of going off the road and mowing down a nice suburbanite than I was of being shot. The bounty on my head specified that I was supposed to be taken alive. Hard to collect if they put a slug through my throat.

"You should have led with that nugget of information, Anita," Jade said. I didn't think I imagined a note of accusation in her tone.

"You don't report to me every time you're in danger. If I was really hurt, Jeanette would let you know."

Madga was staring at us, eyes bleeding to lion amber. She didn't look violent per se just...intense. I felt her discomfort breeze through the car. She reacted like someone who'd taken a sip of soda to find a squirming bug in their cup. Nauseated and in denial.

"You two are...together."

It wasn't a question. She kept her tone neutral, as though she would scream at us otherwise. Whatever was going on behind that placid mask was nothing I wanted to be a part of.

"We've only slept together twice, if that's what you're getting ready to bitch about," I said, cutting her off before she could work up to a sharp retort. We didn't need to fight with a potential mercenary on our tail. "And I only consented to one of those times. The ardeur chose Jade the first time. It gave her just enough freedom to slip her leash. If you want us to stop seeing each other, that's a conversation you'll need to have in private, not while there is a potential threat behind us."

Giacomo snorted. "At least someone in this car had sense."

I hated that I was vibing most with Giacomo in this instant, but I couldn't help it. Magda seemed desperate to have beef with me, and I couldn't afford that kind of distraction at the moment.

"I don't suppose you have a super spy gadget that could run that plate, do you?" I asked. "Give us photos with extreme zoom so we could get a sketch?"

"Not in this car," Magda replied.

I blinked, checked to see if she was joking, and whistled when I didn't find a trace of humor on her face. "And I thought Edward's gadgets were neat. Why the hell haven't you guys punched my ticket yet?"

"Rules," Magda grumbled. "Always the bureaucracy. We have to run it through Harlequin, and he's reserving judgment. He's heard the rumors about you. He wants to know if they're true."

I shrugged. "Hit me with it. I'll give you the answer if I think it's appropriate."

Magda turned just enough to look over her shoulder. She seemed very intent on me, as though she might be able to crawl inside my head and snatch the answers if she just stared hard enough. Envy didn't do the emotion justice. She didn't just want what I'd gotten. She wanted to be me in this instant. To have Jade's regard the way I did. To be bound even a fraction closer to her, the way I was.

"Are you a succubus? Did you feed on Amir?"

"Yes on both counts, unfortunately."

Magda wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't literally shrink down into her seat, but it was a near thing. The disgust carved hard lines on her face.

"You shouldn't have been able to do that. The Sweet Dark guards our minds from all but our other halves."

"Well, tough. I did it, and it loosened his hold on her."

"We heard that too," Giacomo said. "That you could break the bonds between master and servant. That you could command the zombies of others and raise them in daylight against every known law of magic. That your master's power has been rising and doesn't follow any of the rules as we know them."

The statement was pointed. I considered whether I could sneak a lie past him, and had the sinking feeling I'd fail. Truth then, as dangerous as that was.

"Yes, I've done all that. I thought it was her magic at work. It helps necromancers bend the rules."

"Bend, not break," Magda said. "Your master has risen in power faster than any other vampire in recent memory. She bound you and Richard Zeeman into a triumvirate, which is remarkable enough. Even the council can rarely accomplish a three-way bond without something going horribly wrong. You have bound a vampire to your service and formed a second triumvirate of your own, despite every scholar we have saying that should be impossible. What the fuck are you, Anita Blake? How the hell are you doing this?"

I was silent for a long time, tracking the white van in my periphery. It was falling behind. Eventually, it was lost from sight. A coincidence after all, or had they realized we were onto them and bowing out for the next few miles?

"And why should I tell you that?" I asked, voice quiet. I sounded dead inside, my voice ringing out from that hollow place where I went when I killed. My brain knew what my body was too slow to prevent. Magda would kill me at some point if she could get away with it.

"Because it will determine exactly how we proceed from here," Giacomo answered.

"Meaning?"

"That if your answer is good enough, you might earn yourself a ceasefire, just for a while."

"How do I know you won't turn around and use the information to kill me?"

"You don't. I'm asking you for trust."

I laughed. "Pull the other one."

"Fine. I would find it inconvenient to kill you at this juncture. Give me something to tell Harlequin."

"Why?" I pressed.

"Because," he said. "If you break the foundational rules, perhaps you can do it."

"Do what?"

"Kill the Mother of Us All," he said gravely. "I think you can do it. Let me tell Harlequin how."

I didn't trust Giacomo. I wanted to tell him to go to hell. That this wasn't his business and he had no right to ask. There was every chance he'd take the secret, sell it to Belle Morte, and sit back to watch the show as she tore us to shreds. At least, I hoped I was torn to shreds. Anything to avoid the nightmare scenarios Jeanette had endured over the years. I'd been raped before, but it had thankfully been a single-party event done in relative privacy. Belle would make my humiliation a spectacle.

"Jade?" I asked.

Jade's shoulder brushed mine. Her breath was warm on my cheek in the dark. The GPS directed Giacomo to the right. Javier's most recent address was just ahead. He'd claimed he was staying with his sister and her husband. If I was right, both were probably rotting in the backyard. For all I knew, both were on the adult tapes, starring in their own pornos. I'd only seen the teenagers on film because it was all Valentina had access to on short notice.

"Tell him."

"You sure?" I asked.

"Yes. Because if he betrays us I will kill him."

"Even if that kills me?" Magda asked.

"Even if," she said. "I'm sorry, Maggie. Truly."

Magda sighed. "It can never be easy, can it?"

"Afraid not."

"Tell us what you're hiding, Executioner," Giacomo said.

I told him and prayed that Harlequin believed I could really win a fistfight with God.

Something told me he'd be skeptical.

Chapter Text

"Do you feel it?"

Giacomo's voice seemed loud in the stifling silence of the car. We'd coasted to the stop half a block up from Javier's cookie-cutter suburban home. The place looked too bland to be a house of horrors. Then again, a coat of paint could cover up a multitude of sins. Unless you had psychic abilities, you wouldn't pick out the house from a dozen others on the street. Most people don't know a metaphysical stain when they feel it. But I did. This wasn't the darkest magic I'd ever felt, but it was close.

"Death," I said.

We could all sense it—the dense, oppressive aura of blood magic that saturated the air. My hands sought the Browning in its shoulder holster, stomach tumbling into freefall when I didn't find it where it should be. Damn Shields and his people for confiscating my weapons. The pair of silver alloy blades that Magda had been willing to part with weren't as comforting in a close-quarters fight as I'd like. Zombies didn't give a rat's ass about torn arteries unless they were prying them open with their teeth. But as she'd pointed out, the blades were easier to explain if authorities got involved. Nothing I was carrying now was illegal or needed to be registered to me like the Browning.

The moonlight cast long, sinister shadows over the sidewalk as we exited the car and began the slow, deliberate approach. I brought up the rear, reasoning that the longer a rival necromancer went unnoticed in the wash of power, the better our chances of beating this guy would be.

I kept expecting to trip over a pail of chalk as we crept closer to the two-story home at the end of the block. The first snuff film I'd seen had taken place somewhere with a cracked sidewalk and a child who enjoyed drawing ducks. The journey to the front door was duckless, much to my displeasure. The stairs leading up to the front door were iron, not wood, like the location in that first film. I could tell, just from the note of sweet rot that rode on the air to us, that people had died here. Enough power had been called in the suburban home to forever taint the entire subdivision for any powerful psychic. It wasn't a physical smell that could be smothered with enough dirt. It was a psychic stench that would last long after the person who created it left this life.

Giacomo didn't bother with the front door, melting into the morass of shadows that claimed the yard in seconds. Magda, a bright flash in the dark seemed to turn sideways and disappear. Jade and I approached last, coming off clumsy and obvious after the show the Wonder Twins put on. Giacomo had flexed some metaphysical muscle, shrouding them both in smothering darkness to remain out of sight. Even if the neighbors were up and watching the block with binoculars, none of them would spot an Asian vampire or Nordic werelion lurking in Javier's backyard. Even Jade and I would be hard to confirm as we wiggled in through an unlatched window.

Something crinkled beneath my foot when I touched down, freezing me to the spot. It sounded like a gunshot in the relative quiet of the house. The air conditioning was on, circulating musty air through he house. It was the ordinary filth of unwashed bodies and too much trash. I had to squint to see further into the room. The bed was only half-made, and so coated in crumbs that it crunched on contact with flesh. My foot was planted on an empty Doritos bag, which lay like a wounded soldier over the remains of a half-eaten Subway sandwich. We'd set foot in a bedroom too disheveled to belong on any porn set. Pornography was about the illusion of sex, not the reality. No one was going to find dorm-room decor sexy. This had to be Javier's room.

"He's not here," Jade said, sniffing the air delicately. I wasn't sure how she could stand the smell of this place. I was getting a little nauseated by some of the ranker sights and smells, and I didn't have supernaturally keen senses.

"Not in this room," Magda corrected. "But he is here. The feeling would not be so oppressive otherwise. I know necromancy in action when I feel it. You must have lost some of your ability to sense her power when you parted from us, Yiyu."

Now that she mentioned it, I could pinpoint the feeling too. It felt like the phantom feeling of a mite squirming over your skin. Something that was real and happening, but that your mind refused to acknowledge. Now that I was looking deeper, searching for that note that resonated with my power, I could feel it. More faintly than I liked, but the power was still there. I'd meant to be hyperbolic to gain their help, But we were dealing with a genuine necromancer. Shit.

I made it a few feet before setting off an avalanche of trash and uncovered a human hand. It was attached to someone wearing a smock of some kind. The nametag clipped to the front identified her as Lucy. The put-upon sister that Javier lived with, or a more recent victim? I couldn't say. And honestly, I didn't want to know. What I wanted to do was find this bastard and administer a 9mm dose of mercy to every single one of his victims by taking him out.

I tried to step over poor unfortunate Lucy and froze when her eyelids flickered once, mottled face scrunching like a sleeper about to surface. A scream caught in my throat when the lids parted to reveal black, starless pits. The Dark Made Flesh poured into the empty vessel and rose onto its elbows, smiling at me.

"Ah," Marmee said, rising onto her knees to face me. "You again."

I didn't think the temperature in the room actually plunged, but the air in my lungs solidified, preventing me from taking a deep breath. My vision swam as Marmee rose to her feet, reveling in the pulsing beat of Javier's power. The poor, deluded fool knew we were here, and he was reaching for the favorite strategy in every necromancer's playbook-- raise an army of the dead. If he could throw enough corpses between us and his location, he might be able to slip away and kill another day. He had no idea he was dooming us all by giving her a way into the mortal world.

"Me," I managed, proud when the word came out level. I hadn't squeaked. Anita one, Marmee zero.

Marmee reached for my face, smirking when I flinched away from the bloated tips of Lucy's fingers. The flesh was rippling unpleasantly with every movement. I had the horrible thought that if I pricked the corpse's distended belly with a pin, it would burst like an overripe zit.

"Give yourself to me and I will spare the others," she said, her whisper carrying like a broken promise on the breeze. "I have ten bodies already, Anita. Soon it will be fifteen. And he has others in the yard. Runaways. Prostitutes. Deluded men who were fooled by this flesh while he could still keep it animated. I will have dozens. Your pets cannot stop them all."

No, they couldn't. Skilled as they were, we hadn't come with every tool we needed to handle a zombie apocalypse. Marmee Noir fed off every death and performed the impossible, raising a body before the soul exited the flesh. Anyone who was contaminated by one of her corpses would become another pawn when they passed on. It didn't take long for that to spawn into a global pandemic. Everyone liked to think they'd survive the zombie apocalypse. When the zombies were guided by the inhuman intelligence of the cosmos' most deadly predator, you were fucked.

"They can't stop you," I said quietly. "But I can. I'll race you, bitch. The one with the most zombies at the end wins."

Chapter Text

The goddess of primordial night began to spill into the suburban house, as unstoppable as the tide. But somehow I did stop it. The waves beat mercilessly at every sugar glass window, threatening to reduce them to only so many candied shards. Sweat popped on my brow instantly, and my strain of keeping her out of the house, out of the bodies, out of me was so monumental that I couldn't move. I was Atlas, and if I shifted my metaphysical posture even an inch, the sky would fall, crushing every living thing beneath its weight.

I could taste the flavor of her power on the back of my tongue. It was rot and ruin. Frozen blood and bodies. The winter that followed her victory would never thaw, sealing every single thing on the planet into the lowest ring of hell.

I risked a glance at the doorway and found Giacomo and Magda staring at me, mouths hanging open. Jade was the only one who'd lurched into action, separating the zombie's head from its shoulders. The mouth was still moving, letting out a sludgy laugh, though it had no air to make the sound.

"Ten to twelve incoming," I managed. "Up to...God...uh...twenty-six in the backyard. I can't feel all of them. There's too much of her."

"You can't be doing that," Giacomo said, speaking more to himself than to me. "It's not possible."

"I'm that fucking special!" I hissed. "Get Javier! If I can keep her out, he'll be her next target."

Magda startled, the words acting like a shot of pure adrenaline to her system. Where logic failed, training kicked in. She might have complicated feelings where I was concerned, but she knew and believed in her task. Eliminate all necromancers. A blade simply appeared in her hand, and she darted further down the hall, disappearing from my sight.

Giacomo raised a hand, tracing the air in wonder as I flung open every mark I possessed and reached for my people. At first, it was only a dizzying array of sensations. Too many sights and smells to take in all at once. Jeanette, wearing only Richard's tuxedo jacket and a pair of heels nervously anticipating her rendezvous with Augustine in the evening. She was leaning against Richard's side, cheek resting on his broad shoulder. She sat up straighter when she sensed my power brushing past.

Richard's head jerked up, nostrils flaring as though I was nearby. His beast spilled through the marks that bound us, an enormous wolf loping through the snow-covered bones that paved the path forward. The wolf charged down the connection that tied me to Jamil, and I felt his back bow and a howl form in his throat. And then he was with me in spirit, surrendering his beast to me the same way Richard had, using that supernatural speed and mass to barrel forward, so that my necromancy sank into the ground long before Javier's.

Marmee's power crashed through the yard and was rebuffed, the tide washing harmlessly over the base of a mountain. We were layers of individual power, forming a metaphysical sediment. Any one of us alone wouldn't have been enough to stand up to her. None of us alone could defy the sea. But we were big enough now to stand our ground. To keep her out. And that could make all the difference.

"Go," Jade ordered, and I could hear the strain in her voice. Her beast wasn't rampaging through me, like the small zoo I'd acquired over the years. It was a distant thing, bound loosely to Jeanette, who was giving me everything she believed she could spare. "I'll keep them off her."

Jade produced a machete from somewhere. God only knew where she'd been hiding it. She was a little person, and blades that size were difficult to conceal without some creative placement choices. If we survived, I was asking for pointers.

"Don't move," she ordered, pressing me into the far corner. I landed ass-first in a pile of trash and didn't even have the energy to bitch about it. I could barely breathe, let alone move. Just keeping her in gridlock was so fucking difficult that I thought I'd collapse under the strain.

A fresh zombie lunged from under the bed, its hands outstretched. It looked to be an older man, with a grizzled beard and a handful of age spots. I didn't even have time to be alarmed. Jade sidestepped calmly and removed the man's grasping hands. It reared back, a gurgling moan escaping its throat. Marmee stared at the stumps where her hands used to be for a second before surging forward again, jaws snapping. The next stroke removed the head. I tried hard not to notice when congealed blood seeped into my tennis shoe and soaked my sock.

The struggle inside my head was so momentous that it was difficult to believe that the Harlequin, both past and present members, were astonishingly swift and silent in a fight. The only sounds I could make out over the furious pounding in my ears were grunts of exertion, and the hiss of displaced air before a blade found its mark. The zombies made a hell of a lot more noise, groaning piteously when they lost life and limb. It was Javier who made the most noise, shouting and cursing as he was driven forth by the deadly pair. The bark of a gun was like localized thunder in the early morning silence.

Just one shot and the pressure disappeared, the flood of Marmee's power dissipating like a wave drawing back from the shore. She wasn't gone, but she was at a distance, unable to advance quickly again. Which could only mean one thing.

"Is he dead?" I wondered aloud.

My voice sounded thick and syrupy with the desire to sleep. I must have passed out, if only for an instant because when I could pry my lids open, I found Magda crouching beside me. She was waving something in my face, and it took me a distressingly long time to bring it into focus. She could have slit my throat a dozen times over before I recovered, but she waited, trembling with impatience as sirens approached the house. I'd definitely passed out at some point. The police would have great response time for a neighborhood like this, but not this great. I'd lost a few minutes.

"What is this?" Magda pressed.

It looked like a small burlap sack sealed with a drawstring. When I tugged the twine, bleached bones, pieces of silver, a charm, and a length of dark, sweetly-scented hair fell into my palm.

"It's a gris-gris."

"I know that," she snapped. "I want to know what this one does."

My heart sank when I took inventory again and compared the ingredients to the lists I'd seen in Dominga's journals. I cursed aloud when the answer came to me.

"It's a gift of power from a necromancer to a lesser practitioner. He made this charm the focus of his power. As long as it was touching Javier's skin, he could channel Sir's power like it was his own."

"So he had a partner," Giacomo said, spitting in disgust. "And the necromancer could be anywhere."

Sir was still out there, and still raising teenagers to perform unspeakable acts on camera. Javier would take the fall, and the case would close. By the time we caught up with the sick son of a bitch, he might have settled someplace without extradition to America.

"I'll give the evidence to Manny," I said quietly. "He might be able to help me track the magic back to the source."

"If you find him, I want in on it," Giacomo said.

I smiled wearily. "One zombie fight with me and you're getting attached. Careful, Big Guy. You might learn to like me. Can't have that."

"Indeed," he said, mouth mashed into a thin line. I had the feeling he was trying not to laugh. At least, that's what I hoped he was doing.

He glanced around and then gave up the fight. He laughed, and it was a rich bass sound, much deeper than his speaking voice. I could picture enjoying that laugh if I heard it enough.

"Have fun explaining the scene, Executioner. We left things a bit...messier than when we arrived. You might want to kneel in the living room when the constabulary arrives. We piled most of the remains there. The twelve-year-old Javier was keeping in the cellar is going into shock. You may want to take her to the hospital."

Zombies piled like kindling in the living room, a traumatized survivor, and an animator wanted for murder. It wasn't like that might go over poorly with the local cops. Had any of them ever trained to defeat zombies? Animating was relatively rare in this corner of the state. There were local ordinances against purposeful zombie raising in city limits without a permit. The fees were steep. I was going to be in so much shit for this, even if they didn't toss me in jail, and he knew it.

"Petty motherfucker," I said, climbing shakily to my feet.

The answer was the echo of the vampire's laughter, the only thing left to linger in the wake of his passing.

I just hated showoffs.

Chapter Text

"Super special jail," I said, glancing around. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or flattered that you think you need this much security for little old me."

The walls were made of a gleaming steel-silver alloy. If I'd been a true therianthrope, being around so much concentrated blessed and silver-tempered metal would have given me a migraine at thirty paces. Right now, the only thing trying to make my eyes cross was the intensity of Detective Larsen's suspicion.

I didn't blame her for going by her last name. It was hard to get respect from the other cops when your parents had saddled you with a name like Daisy. Heaven help you if you were a detective who liked cars. You'd be saddled with the Dukes of Hazzard jokes for the rest of your career. No wonder she had a chip the size of Dallas on one shoulder. I'd finally chipped mine down to the size of the St. Louis Metro Area. It was an improvement. Really.

Larsen's eyes were startlingly dark in her pale face. She was one of those blondes who could look ethereal in the right light. Cornsilk hair and a cute button nose. She should have had cornflower blue eyes to match all the glacial Nordic paleness. Instead, they were a sooty gray so opaque that they almost appeared black at a glance. It was the eyes that had gotten her this far. The face was inviting, but the eyes told you that there was nothing friendly waiting inside. I was betting they'd paired her with a forty-something cop with a bit of a beer gut and a retreating hairline. Someone with a cozy, paternal air would be a relief after her x-ray stare.

"The officers on site said you were sitting in the middle of a pile of squirming body parts while holding a screaming twelve-year-old runaway who'd been reported missing months ago. Excuse the hell out of me for thinking that a scene that fucked deserved anything less."

Fair enough. Even I'd been impressed by the intensity of the carnage in Javier's home, and I'd once fought a town full of demon-possessed undead. The bodies in Javier's backyard had been a hell of a lot more fresh than the ones in Lockridge. Some of those corpses had been hanging around for a century or more. The more fluid there was in the body, the more dynamic the scene for the blood splatter analyst. I pitied the poor tech who tried to map that crime scene.

"Did you at least have the cleanup crew burn the pieces like I told you?"

Larsen's eyes flashed once. "They're still archiving all of the evidence. If our psychic seconds your recommendation, I'll have the parts burned and the ashes scattered. But until then, anything you say is just more evidence for the prosecution."

Fine. If she wanted to play it that way, we could. I'd done more than my share of ass-kissing and ego-stroking during this visit. I didn't have it in me to tolerate another officer with an agenda.

"And what is it I'm being charged with, Larsen?" I asked. "Because Shields' arrest warrant was bullshit, and you know it. Whether what happened to Musette was self-defense or manslaughter is for a judge to decide. I am not guilty of murder or magical malfeasance. Hell, Larsen, I just saved your boys from having to face a zombie horde! Do you know how many you would have lost before they stopped aiming center mass and went for the head? His zombies were fast. I barely kept up, and I have experience. You would have at least a handful of cops in body bags. If I were you, I'd try for thank you instead of threats."

“So, you’re telling me you handled this incident all by yourself? Took down a dozen zombies single-handedly?”

“While keeping others in the grave. The animator in question was trying to raise several more to attack me."

Larsen's lips curled upward, but it would have been generous to call it a smile. She shook her head slowly. "I'm not an idiot, Blake. No psychic alive can do both."

"I can," I said. It didn't even sound like a lie anymore.

Larsen tapped a carefully manicured nail on the steel table I'd been cuffed to. The frown lines creasing her brow were severe. They'd get stuck that way if she wasn't careful. “See, that’s hard to believe. Witnesses reported hearing multiple figures fighting before the gunshot that ended Javier's life. Care to revise your story?”

I leaned back in my chair. "Now who's bullshiting whom, Detective? I know you're allowed to lie if you think it will help the charges stick. The only person who saw what went down in that house was a traumatized little girl. She told you what I did."

Because she had to. Giacomo and Magda had elected to wipe Chrissy's memory of the zombie fight. I trusted her to share only what would keep me out of jail. She knew she would have died without our interference. It would guarantee her silence. But in the end, the decision wasn't up to me. I hoped he'd at least made the memories easier for her to hold at a distance. If he was going to invade a child's mind, he might as well blunt the trauma while he as in there.

"Neighbors reported multiple voices."

She tried to stare me down, but I'd seen better. Dolph could usually guilt a confession out of me, but it had taken his death and return to earn that kind of trust. I stared back, giving her blank cop face.

"People see and hear a lot of things in the heat of the moment, Detective. Panic can play tricks on the mind.”

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting our witnesses hallucinated your backup?”

“Not hallucinated, Detective. That would mean they saw something. They heard voices and misinterpreted the numbers. Zombies can talk if the animator is powerful enough. It was dark and chaotic. Even I don't remember it all clearly."

Larsen's lips pursed. "I don't believe you."

I clutched my chest with a gasp. "Whyever not? I'm a very trustworthy person, Larson, just ask anyone."

"You think you're clever when what you are is too damn powerful. You shouldn't be working with the police, Blake. You should be put in a lab and studied."

"Aaaaand that's where I draw the line, Larsen. I know why you had to bring me in. There was a big to-do, and there was property damage. I've already agreed to pay for all of it, plus interest. I'd give you the bank contacts to make it happen tonight if I thought that was the real problem. You've contorted this interrogation into a pretzel trying to put words in my mouth, and now I'm done. Get me my damn lawyer now. Charge me or let me go, but I'm not saying another word until Mr. Thomas arrives."

There was a tense half-second where she considered hitting me. I could beat her to the punch, figuratively and literally, knocking her on her ass before she had a chance to swing. I stayed sitting, braced for a blow if she decided she wanted to throw her career away. If she wanted to make my case for excessive force for me in front of a video camera, I was game.

Larsen settled for leaning close, breathing the words into my face. "Shields was a friend, Blake. I know there's something you're not telling us. I'm going to prove it and when I do, you're going to face justice for what you did."

"And until then, you'll get the fuck out of my face, Larsen," I said, resisting the urge to slap her face away from mine. It felt claustrophobic to be pressed so close to a stranger, breathing in their air.

Larsen lingered for a beat more before striding for the door. It rattled in its frame when she slammed the door shut. It took another half hour to get the paperwork signed and my contact information recorded for a follow-up visit. By the time I reached the lobby, I was ready to sink down into the first chair I saw and sleep for a week.

Her scent, sweet enough to cause a toothache, swirled around me before her arms actually closed around my waist. I sagged against the lithe frame bracing my back, all traces of tension gone in an instant when she touched me. I didn't think that her skin was actually narcotic, but it felt like that when her arms closed around my waist. I rolled my eyes up to meet hers and almost drowned in a sea of midnight blue.

"I've missed you, ma petite," Jeanette breathed against the shell of my ear.

Tears stung my eyes. Five simple words. Five important ones. Almost as important as the four words I'd been weighing in my mind for a while. My heart was willing, but my tongue was cautious. So I settled for the second best thing I could say in reply.

"I missed you too, amorcita. So goddamn much."

Chapter Text

Steam wrapped the near-total darkness in the room in gentle gauze, preventing anxiety from overwhelming me.

However, the company helped on that front too. Jeanette had left the door cracked just enough to allow the lamp light from the spacious room beyond. It was one of the nicer suites in Belle's mansion. A backhanded gesture meant to provoke fights among her brood. Someone would resent our room placement and take it up with Jeanette during the masquerade, I was sure of it.

Belle hadn't skimped on the furniture or fabrics in her home. It would have been nice, like staying at an opulent hotel, if I hadn't known who owned the place. We had four guards and Death on the door, and I still didn't feel secure. I couldn't quite uncurl from my ball, even as Jeanette removed the congealed blood and sweat from my back. Her strokes were long, firm, and clinical, with none of her usual teasing. Which just went to show how seriously she was taking this.

Or maybe the truth was just that she didn't like being here either.

"I would have preferred a rat trap motel," I said under my breath. I didn't care if Belle had put listening devices in every room and was insulted by my statement. It was true. At least in a bedbug-infested hotel room, I wasn't worried about my rapist waltzing in.

"Oui," she sighed. "But it is only a day more, ma petite. Win or lose, the masquerade is where we will make our stand."

I rolled my eyes upward so I could study her face. Her expression was bland, betraying nothing, but there was a tightness to her jaw that made me hesitate to say she was calm. She had the sense of a lurking predator, something that was conserving its energy for the next fight. I doubted she'd ever relax totally. I knew I wouldn't. You couldn't afford to get lax when you had enemies. And our list of enemies seemed never-ending.

Jazz poured in through the gap in the door. Our room looked like a combination between a brothel and a speakeasy. I had a feeling it had been both at certain points in time. The damask wallpaper was red, giving the room beyond a womb-like feel. The carpets were piled so high that someone could sleep on them in a pinch. If this suite had a history that matched the exterior, more than one person had probably slept away an ardeur-induced orgy off on the floor.

"You don't have to make a stand on my account. She hurt me. I expected that."

Her expression hardened and became as stiff and multi-faceted as the crystal doorknob on the door. No emotion remained on her face long enough to decipher properly.

"Yes, she did. And she will pay for it."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but can we beat her? She's..."

The words failed me. How did you describe the creature that was Belle Morte? Vile, vicious, and ugly were all there, of course. Underneath the pretty wallpaper and fine filigree lay a monster that couldn't conceive of love in any of its forms. It made her one of the scariest damn monsters I'd ever met. Not because she was powerful, which she was. Or because we were in her territory, at her mercy, though that was in there too. It was the fact that I knew we had no common ground. Nothing about myself that could possibly reach across the chasm and touch Belle. To make her see me as human as others saw her. She was a monster, alien and cruel, and I couldn't kill her. I could just survive her.

Steam rose from our bathwater, perfuming the air and obscuring her briefly from sight. It tasted and smelled like an herb, something complex, with notes of citrus to it. It wasn't her usual bath oil. Jeanette liked to smell sweet, like a confection when she could swing it. This was new.

Jeanette moved back from me, just a little. She'd neglected to take off the slip she'd been wearing, submerging without any regard for the silk. She knew as well as I did that if she stripped, I would come onto her. We didn't need a complicated fuck right now. We needed a plan.

"If we do it carefully."

I glanced around the room. "Are you sure you want to be plotting aloud?"

Jeanette smiled, though there was no joy in the expression. Her body was relaxed for any watching cameramen, but in her own way, she was just as tightly wound as I was. She tucked her legs beneath her on the opposite end of the jacuzzi.

"Belle knows there's a score to be settled. She's counting on one of her ploys to infuriate me enough to make me give up the game first. If I challenge her, she gets to choose the weapon and a proxy if she doesn't wish to fight me."

"Why do I sense a but coming?"

Jeanette's smile grew by a few molars, and this time there was a little life in it. She reached out to stroke one of my damp curls, moving it out of my eyes.

"Because there is always a conjunction where Belle is concerned."

"No chance we can throw her under a train, like in that educational cartoon?"

"I don't think Schoolhouse Rock logic is going to suffice," she said with a light laugh. "Though I will keep the idea of tying her to the tracks like a mustache-twirling villain close to my heart. It would be satisfyingly messy, if not altogether practical."

I sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. Tell me what we're doing to piss her off enough to give up her home-field advantage."

Jeanette leaned down and whispered into my ear, low enough that not even the most sophisticated microphone would catch it over the record and the bubbling jets. She told me exactly what I'd missed in the last day and a half. What Belle wanted from me. How my participation in a fucking porno movie could be the difference between a successful duel and a failure.

"It doesn't feel like I have many choices, here," I said when she finished.

My throat felt tight. Of course Belle wouldn't leave me the hell alone. She was a tantrum-throwing toddler who had a burning hatred for me, specifically. I'd seen past all her careful illusions to the grotesque creature beneath. She'd never let me have a moment's peace, too frightened I'd reveal the awful truth to other, more influential people. Afraid they'd believe me and somehow see through the careful guise she'd built up over thousands of years.

"You always have a choice, ma petite. I made that quite clear after our first disastrous romantic encounter."

I bit back a snort of laughter. It felt false in the suddenly oppressive atmosphere of the room. The bath oil didn't smell or taste like citrus now. It clung to the back of my throat like the chemical scent of Pine Sol. We really had been a disaster back then. The Anita of only a few years ago would have laughed her out of the room. I didn't want to do this. Belle had paired me with a man on purpose, intent on riding us all so she could use Augustine to retraumatize me all over again. It might work.

"I don't think Belle is going to let me get away with sitting in the corner touching myself while you get it on with Divine and Studly."

Though the idea had possibilities with the right third partner. It had been a shock to realize that with the right audience, I did like being watched. If the spectacle was good enough, I didn't mind watching. Sex between a literal succubus and the Greco-Roman god of erotic love was sure to be nothing short of spectacular. I was sure that being in the room with them with the ardeur in full swing was likely to get me off, all on its own.

I tried to suck in a deep breath to steady my nerves and cursed, running my fingers through the water. "What the hell is this stuff?"

"Myrtle," Jeanette said. "It's one of Augustine's favorite scents. Psyche put the oil on her hair and skin before entering his chambers naked every night. She knelt at his feet and asked what his pleasure was. And he always told her that it was his pleasure to love her. That is his gift. He loves. Deeply. Hopelessly. And yes, sometimes tragically. He was the one who asked for sex. I am happy to leave you out of it entirely. Belle is going to have to punish me at some point. Refusing to include you is as good a ruse for a duel as any."

Which wasn't quite true. She would leave me out of it if I asked her to. She didn't want me waiting in our room alone, fraught with tension and the unfairness of what Belle was making her do. And beneath that was the draw of power. She'd made the mistake of using me as a tool to gain power before, and it had only driven me away. She wasn't making the mistake again.

But for once, I was more willing to trade my body for power than she was. If Cupid's ability was as potent a weapon against Belle as she claimed, we couldn't afford not to go through with it.

"I'll do it, under one condition."

"Oui?" she asked, and that one word carried a world of caution. She tucked her knees further under, drawing away from me.

"Don't go poking around my head, please. There will be enough of that with Augustine, and you know I hate it when you are in there. There's..." I paused and had to clear my throat. "Damage, in there. Stuff I don't want you to see. Just stay away from my head. I know it's not fair but-"

She leaned toward me, pressing her lips very gently to mine to silence the budding apology. I groaned into her mouth, blood stirring beneath my skin. Screw Augustine. I wanted this. Wanted the evening in this hot tub. If Belle couldn't sell a lesbian seduction in a hot tub, then she wasn't the businesswoman I thought she was.

"It is more than fair, ma petite. Would you like a top for the evening? So you know exactly what's coming and when?"

I almost sagged in relief. Belle couldn't force the video into damaging territory if I got to okay every activity under the guise of kink.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Thank me after we're through," she said, offering me a hand. Her skin glowed like backlit alabaster in the low light. The water dripping off her skin looked like quicksilver. I wanted to run my tongue from the bend of her elbow to the inside of her wrist. A bite there would sometimes make her cry out. It was a common formal greeting to take blood from your servant. Though in these instants, we weren't entirely sure which of us was the master.

I took her hand and let her lead me toward the door. There were still a few hours left until dawn. Long enough to don a costume, get made up, and join Augustine in one of Belle's private rooms.

Lights, camera, and a whole lot more action than I'd bargained for.

Chapter Text

"Relax," Jeanette said, curling a perfumed strand of hair behind one ear.

Apparently anointing people with myrtle was a traditional way to worship Venus and, in our case, her son. Funny what you learned when you asked probing questions to avoid thinking about the sex you'd reluctantly agreed to.

The scent was tart, like a freshly squeezed lemon. It mingled pleasantly with the nutty scent of almond oil she'd massaged into my skin after our steaming bath. She wasn't oiled up or perfumed because she was directing our scene. With Cupid.

Gulp.

Jeanette used the tip of one finger to tilt my chin up. I couldn't look her directly in the eye. I'd made that mistake once. With a face free of makeup, she was stunning. Expertly done makeup made her heart-rendingly beautiful, drawing out new facets of her loveliness like turning a jewel under a beam of bright light. She pressed the delicate tip of the liner to the edge of my mouth, using a few light flourishes to complete her masterpiece. Though, was it really a masterpiece if you drew Starry Night onto a burlap sack? Impressive, maybe, but surely not art. Sub-par canvas could ruin an otherwise incredible work.

She examined my face critically, frowning. I inwardly cringed. What was it now? Did I need a few layers more to make me look airbrushed enough to suit Belle's usual standards? The makeup and perfume thing was already making me wildly uncomfortable. Sex was supposed to be fun. I rarely put on a face of makeup before going down on my girlfriend. Counterproductive, if you asked me.

Her thumb swept over my bottom lip. The matte, smearproof medium didn't come away on her finger. I shivered when she pressed the barest of kisses at the edge of my mouth.

"You scowl, ma petite. Didn't I just tell you to relax?"

"I've never had sex on camera before," I snapped. "I think I'm entitled to a little performance anxiety, don't you?"

Her expectant gaze didn't relent. "I am besotted with you, but it doesn't make me a blind fool. If we cannot be honest with one another, there is no point to this exercise. I will not dominate you while you are impaired. Talk to me, Anita."

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to take the hand cupping my face to hold it or shove it away. Anger trickled in, an old, familiar companion. It felt good. It would be easy to lash out and ruin the night. But even in my own mind, it was too much like cowardice. I was getting a chance to fuck the Greek god of erotic love. I was certifiable to walk away, even if you left out all the fringe power benefits that this union offered.

"I..." I swallowed hard. "I haven't had sex since...I know it won't matter when the ardeur gets going but..."

I couldn't find the air to finish the thought. I wrapped my arms around myself. The sheer, royal blue lingerie was vaguely Roman in style, the loose-weave fabric hugged every curve, secured here and there with a golden strap or two. Jeweled anklets clattered when I moved. Jeanette was wearing a similar garment in royal purple. She definitely won the 'Who wore it best' contest.

The costumes had been selected by Belle to mock us. High-class Roman courtesans wore sheer silks in bright colors, and bangles on their ankles, setting them apart from ladies of polite society. She was reminding me very subtly where I ranked. I was a whore. Whores didn't get to say no.

"You can say no," she reminded me, as if she'd heard the thought. "I will deal with the fallout."

I shook my head, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I seized a Kleenex and dabbed, trying not to ruin her hard work.

"We need every advantage we can get. I'm fucking him, end of story."

I thought it at her, lowering my shields only enough to allow her room to speak. I kept the rest of our connection closed off, giving her my thoughts and nothing more.

Her lips pursed once in distaste. "It's not an obligation. There are other ways. I will gain from tonight's entertainment, no matter your participation."

And leave her alone to face Belle's wrath for fucking Auggie? No. It was better if I was the one who actually slept with him. She was hiding something from me. I'd known that for a few months now. I trusted that she'd tell me before she made a move. Jeanette worked best in shadows. I was loud and obvious. It made me the ideal candidate to distract Belle.

"I'm doing this."

"But you won't enjoy it," she said. "And that is unacceptable. I enjoy sex with Augustine. I will come away from our tryst with more power than before. That is enough reason to risk this. I would sell my soul to keep you safe, ma petite. I will not do harm to your mind or body without your consent. Coercion is rape."

I swallowed thickly, the taste of bile staining the back of my throat. The word made my skin prickle unpleasantly. Jeanette knew what had happened, at least subconsciously. Saying it out loud made it real. Made me Belle's victim. And I couldn't go into the next room thinking like that.

"I wish it were you," I said aloud. It came out a hushed whisper. "I wish you were the one I was with. I'm sure he'll be great but..."

But I didn't want a stranger, no matter how attractive and powerful he might be. I wanted her hands on me, banishing the ghostly reminder of Belle's touch. I loved her. I wanted an evening alone with her. One night where I could pretend I wasn't surrounded on all sides by lions of the real and metaphorical sense. And afterward, I wanted to put on flannel pajamas and provide a scathing commentary on infomercials. I wanted to hear her laugh. I wanted to go hunting for the surprise I'd brought in my carry-on bag and hand it to her.

She ducked her chin, angling her face away from the cameras. Sad that she knew exactly how to conceal her face from Belle's watchful eyes. She'd been here too many times not to know how to pose. Belle wouldn't see the single tear escape Jeanette's control.

It was the tear that did it, I think. The crack in her calm facade. The only indicator that she had any qualms about this at all. I wasn't the only one nervous. I wasn't the only one wishing we could leave Augustine out of this entirely. I wasn't alone.

"I can't."

"Can't sleep with me?" I asked, hurt twisting like a knife between my ribs. "Why?"

I felt grubby. Dirty, despite the bath. Jeanette caught my face before I could jerk my gaze away from hers. She held me steady, eyes boring into mine with almost painful intensity.

"Because Augustine's power is all-consuming. Because I cannot always shield myself from you when we are in the throes. Because you have drawn a boundary around your mind until such time as you are ready to speak to me about what transpired during the show. If I make love to you, I want to know all of you. Mind, body, and soul. I cannot love you the way you need to be loved, heal what needs to be healed, and be absolutely certain no lines are crossed."

Another tear streaked down the opposite cheek. She leaned into my hand when I made to wipe it away. She turned her lips into my palm, laying a gentle kiss over my lifeline. I let out a shuddering breath when she leaned her forehead against mine.

"Let me love you by proxy, ma petite. Please."

I took a deep breath. It helped, a little. My heart slowed to a less frantic rhythm.

"Okay." I stood, brushing the sheer fabric down the line of my body. The blue contrasted vividly with the rusty red of the scarification on my skin. "I'm ready. Let's do this."

Chapter Text

Jeanette went through the door first, gliding on her bare feet toward an enormous four-poster bed. It didn't quite fit the courtesan vibe that Belle was going for. The man on the bed did however.

I'd only caught glimpses of Auggie's face thus far. That had been devastating enough. Without the blinders on, I could get a good look at him, and wasn't sure I could ever stop looking.

Fuck Belle, with her unforgettable figure. Cupid was the one the world really wanted. Pure, unattainable, perfect love. I was almost frightened to subject myself to it. His power was thick in the room, pulsing in time with my heart. My legs quivered and gave out without warning. The plush rug was the only thing that kept me from bruising my knees. Tears stung my eyes.

"I shouldn't be here," I whispered.

"Ma petite..."

"I don't belong here," I said. "Not in this. I'm not good enough."

They were a perfect pair. Light and dark, the ideal feminine and masculine curled around one another. They worked in concert. Love and lust, a potent and explosive pair when you found them in the same place. I was small. Insignificant. Human. It was like putting a kid's drawing in the Louvre. Sure, it might be well-made for the artist's skill level, but it didn't belong in a place of prominence.

Jeanette slid off the bed in a rustle of fabric. It was barely audible over the music pumping in through an unknown speaker. Belle really did like to have high production value for her porn. It came with a soundtrack and everything. I heard a lyre in there somewhere, and some kind of cymbals. Augustine watched the graceful curve of Jeanette's back as she crawled on her hands and knees toward me. I didn't resist when she pulled me to my feet, but I still couldn't look Auggie in the eye. If I looked, I would do something stupid like giggle hysterically or burst into tears.

Her hand dropped to the curve of my waist, turning me so that my back was against her front. Cradled against her, I felt every dip and curve of her body. I felt it when she managed to undo all her fasteners and let it fall away. Heard the ripping of cloth behind me. But before I could turn and ask what she was doing, the loose-knit fabric came down over my eyes, folded over enough times to plunge me into total darkness. Don't ask me how she managed to knot the damn thing without tangling my hair, but she managed.

"Hands, ma petite," she said, manacling one with her fingers. She pulled it behind my back in demonstration. Heart pounding, I offered her the other without argument.

The music seemed louder, and the tastes and smells were more intense without my sight. But most importantly, I wasn't looking directly into the face of a god, trying to figure out why he'd chosen me.

"There," she said with a satisfied purr once she had me tied. "Two less things you can use to flagellate yourself."

Her hands once more dropped to my waist, holding me in place. The air currents shifted, the cool wind of her power moving through the room like a gust of Autumn wind. Crisp but not unpleasant. When she leaned in to whisper in my ear, her voice seemed directionless, like a pagan goddess speaking truth into being.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."

Her hands glided across my stomach, tracing every upraised glyph on my skin with her tender touch. In my mind's eye, a warm golden glow seemed to emanate from any skin she touched. I arched, and she lifted one hand to wrap her delicate fingers around my throat. There was no pressure to it, just the sense that I'd been tethered in place, held captive by the woman at my back. The fingers of the free hand slid upward, cupping one breast. She could no doubt feel the hammering of my heart just beneath her hand. A paper-thin layer of fabric was all that separated our skin.

Her mouth closed, wet and warm, around my earlobe and pulled with just an edge of teeth. The sweet bite of pain had me going up on my tiptoes, unable to go far as I involuntarily fought the tether of her hand. A quick flick of her tongue cleared away the single droplet of blood that threatened to slide down my throat. Her nearness made it hard to breathe, even without a hand around my neck. I let out a shuddering breath when she turned her face into my curls, breathing me in.

"I love your hair," she said low enough even the high-tech microphones around the room would have trouble picking it out. I knew, somehow that Augustine would hear. Cupid was a god of love. He'd hear the whisper of lovers like fervent payers.

Jeanette fisted a hand in my hair in demonstration. The noise I made in reply would probably embarrass me in hindsight.

"I love seeing this hair splayed out on my pillow, framing your sweet face like a dark halo. I love the scent of you that lingers in my bed on nights we are apart. Love threading my fingers through it when I have you at my side. I love it when it tickles my chin when we watch movies together. That you let me hold you like the fragile doll I know you are not."

She lavished my throat with kisses, the gentleness of her mouth a contrast to the firm grip she had on me. There was no pressure. Not yet. But even the threat of it made me feel a little more stable, my mind starting a slow slide toward a blissful place where decisions were someone else's problem.

"I love the softness of your skin, the frantic surging of your pulse when I touch you. The way your heart calls to mine."

She cupped my breast gently in one hand, running a thumb along the underside. The ticklish sensation made me squirm, which only pressed her tighter against my back. I was still dressed, and the fabric blunted the feeling of her chest pressed against my shoulder blades. I wanted it gone, so I could feel her soft warmth pressed in a line against me.

The hand around my throat slid upward, stroking along the curve of my jaw, leaving sparkling tingles in her wake. I couldn't tell if she was actually using some kind of faerie magic on me, and didn't really care even if she was. She traced my lips, the bridge of my nose, over each eyebrow.

And a new touch followed in her wake. Augustine's hands were broader, his skin firmer. Unless you've dated women, you don't really understand how much fat distribution in the body affects the softness of your skin. I liked men and women, but if you wanted comfort, you chose the female body every time. His god-like physique was sure to be nothing less than chiseled. After the infinite care of Jeanette's trailing fingers, the roughness of his hands felt like an erotic slap. His hands traced burning patterns over my skin as he sandwiched me against Jeanette. A strangled sound caught in my throat when the fullness of his mouth replaced his hands.

Augustine cradled my face as though I was something breakable. His lips had no such qualms. He demanded my submission, and he damn well got it. My knees wobbled again, threatening to give way when he tipped my chin up for a more thorough exploration of my mouth. Only Jeanette kept me upright.

"Your lips," Jeanette continued as though she'd never paused. Her voice sounded far away. My head was swimming. "The words you say. The promises you make and keep. Your voice, that commands respect and adoration. The pre-dawn whispers only I hear."

If I had a voice, I probably would have whimpered. Her fingers dragged through my hair, a reminder of all the moments just before she died for the day. I'd been working hard not to freak out every time she checked out at dawn. I had to admit the hard truth. I hated watching because somewhere in my head, I was convinced she wouldn't rise again. She'd leave me here alone, slipping away in death, just as so many other people I cared for had. Even now, there was a pang of worry every time light tipped over the horizon and her hand went very still in my curls. I tried to bury just how much I loved her. If I let myself feel it, I'd be paralyzed by the fear of losing her.

But there was no denial when the god of love had his hands on you. He reached in and effortlessly plucked out every denial, every barrier, every inhibition. Jeanette had been right. If we'd been touching mind-to-mind, we would have practically merged into the same person. I wasn't ready for that kind of intimacy with her, raw as I was. Augustine was like a balm and a layer of gauze, blotting out the pain for just a little while.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I wasn't sure if I was in ecstasy or agony. Every nerve ending burst into glorious life. I could feel every micro-adjustment in the air. Taste the myrtle like a citrus fruit on my tongue. Felt the hard press of Augustine's arousal against my thigh. It was perfect, not because I was sleeping with Cupid, but because Jeanette was in the room with me. He was a god of love. His presence could only amplify what was already in the human heart. And for once, it let me feel the enormity of my love without the fear.

Jeanette stroked a lazy finger down of the side of my face, and Augustine's lips followed like a magnet in its wake. A rather hard nip to my clavicle had me going up on tiptoe again, anklets jangling. It ground Augustine against my front. My legs were completely boneless at this point. Only Jeanette's grip was keeping me upright. The desire was an almost unbearable ache, and they'd barely touched me. I wasn't sure I was going to survive whatever fuckery they had planned.

I gasped when she gave one nipple a cruel twist, then let out a protracted moan when the warmth of Augustine's mouth chased away the ache. The gentle suction made things low in my body tighten. My hips gave one involuntary roll, and it took all my willpower not to climb him like a tree.

Her fingers continued a spiraling path down my arm, tracing each raised design with an expertly manicured nail.

"These marks," she began quietly. "The proof of a proud lineage. A woman of power. A woman who demands respect from everyone but herself."

Augustine began to follow the finger as if pulled by a string. They'd planned something around the motion, I was sure. Directing the scene without ever saying a word of warning to me. The whole point of sensory deprivation was to put the submissive in a semi-anxious state, anticipating what was to come. But when his lips touched one of the scars, it flared uncomfortably hot, like a sunburn.

They were more alive than the rest of me, somehow, and I had the sudden and iron-clad belief that they weren't just scars. They were cosmic phone numbers. A way to get their attention if I needed them. A bit of each god who'd been born again into the world through me. Augustine had just poked the god connected to that glyph.

"Interesting," he murmured and then picked up where he'd left off, carefully teasing the skin around each mark without directly touching them with his mouth.

Jeanette undid each of my straps with agonizing slowness, laughing at the tiny gasp I uttered when it fell away, baring my skin to the cool air of the room. She nuzzled my throat, pressing more searing kisses above my throbbing pulse. I could feel her hunger pressing like a keen blade against my back. A hunger to drown me in a tide of hands. To shower me in kisses until I no longer remembered my own name, let alone the concept of pain. She wanted to rip away the flimsy material over my groin and spin me around, dropping to her knees in front of me like a supplicant. She was holding so much of herself back.

"Bite me," I said quietly.

Jeanette went very still behind me. "Non, ma petite. I promised."

"Fuck your promise. I'm a big girl. I know what I want. And I want you. I trust you not to poke at that particular nightmare. I want some part of you in me. Please, I can't stand it if you just watch."

I couldn't be sure, but I thought she shivered, just once. The weight of her hunger intensified.

"Es-tu sûr, ma petite?" she asked, eschewing English entirely. But I didn't have to be a linguist to interpret the question. Just the fact she couldn't find the words in any language but her own spoke volumes.

"Yes."

I expected the spiderwebbing touch of her aura, gently snaring my mind even as she tore my flesh. The touch was anything but. The bite was almost savage, a pain so primal and clarifying that the resulting orgasm once again rode the line between nirvana and hell. My knees buckled, and she rode me to the ground, one arm braced around my waist. Augustine let her do it, releasing his grip on me. I was sure he was watching in amusement as she drew me into her lap despite my flailing. There was a line between her mouth and my clit. I was throbbing. Aching to be touched. Held. Loved.

Strong hands nudged my legs apart a moment later. I jerked in surprise. I hadn't been able to focus on anything but her mouth and the furious pounding in my ears. A calloused finger teased my entrance, swirling in my wetness like a painter mixed the colors on his palette. I moaned aloud when two fingers pressed into me, and the pad of a thumb brushed my clit, providing desperately needed friction. My hips bucked, trying to draw more of him into me. He drew back until only the tips of his fingers remained, leaving me empty. He repeated that pattern a few times until a strangled, "please," escaped me.

I wasn't sure what signal I missed, but Jeanette's bracing presence at my back was gone. I wobbled, falling backward...into arms that hadn't been there a split-second before. Augustine was a pillar of strength behind me, and it was suddenly Jeanette tilting my face up for an achingly slow kiss. I gasped into her mouth when Augustine pulled me onto his lap, burying every inch of himself inside me without warning.

"Oh, God!"

The words escaped, gasped out like a fervent prayer for salvation. Augustine's rolling chuckle did interesting things to the way we were connected. I writhed, on a precipice once more.

"Yes, love?" he asked, laughing when his first experimental thrust sent me plummeting over the edge, screaming so loudly I was sure that everyone in the neighboring county would hear me.

If I could have drawn in anything but whimpering breaths, I might have had a sharp reply to that. But I couldn't think. I could barely remember to breathe. Jeanette leaned her weight into me, guiding my hips in a rhythm that was slow but driving, setting a pace for me to follow. The pressure coiled unbearably in my belly, a spring ready to snap back into shape. I had to pull back from the kiss, afraid it was less of a liplock and more of me panting in her face. If it offended her, she didn't let it show. She even huffed a little laugh, as if amused by Augustine's attempt to smother her servant.

Augustine beneath me. Jeanette straddled both our thighs so she could lean forward and suckle the marks she'd left on my throat.

Augustine's ardeur rode over all of us as he gathered speed, pistoning inside me. My thighs clenched, and my spine formed an almost painful arch as I came. Jeanette's heat was maddening against my leg as she tried to find just the right pressure to bring herself as well. For just a moment I saw her through Auggie's eyes, elegant fingers playing over her clit with the mindless precision of practice. It was one of the most goddamn beautiful things we'd ever seen. For just a moment, Cupid wasn't just inside me. We merged. That's what you did with soulmates. He was love incarnate. Where true romantic connection lived, he was an element of it.

For just a moment, I saw a fine red thread looping around her wrist, pulling her with the force of gravity. It wasn't a theory I could pick apart. It was a solid, concrete fact. She. Loved. Me. It was insane to doubt it.

"What is that thread?" I asked Augustine.

"The fates weave with more than just the thread of life. Love was always inevitable. You hurt her when you deny your own desirability. Do you think that she's a fool? That you've somehow duped her into taking something sub-par? She found you. She chose you. You will always choose her. What the fuck is holding you back?"

The restless skeletons in my closet fell silent when Augustine's voice rolled through my mind. Happiness is a choice. Love is a choice. I could let Belle's voice pour poison in one ear, or I could choose to ignore it. Not saying the words that I've been turning over in my head was a choice. One she didn't get to take away from me.

We ended up in a heap on the floor in front of the bed. When Jeanette untethered my wrists and removed my blindfold I found her beaming down at me. Fresh ruby droplets stained her lips for a moment before she erased the evidence. If I had the strength to turn my head, I would have checked to see if Augustine was bleeding. I'd lost time while I recovered from Auggie's ministrations. They'd already done it. He was hers now. They'd waved the red flag in front of the bull. Now we just had to wait.

Jeanette smoothed my hair back from my forehead, feathering kisses along the edge of my jaw. "Are you alright, ma petite?"

"Mmm," was all I could manage.

The velvet caress of her laugh almost brought me again. I aimed a pitiful glare in her direction and the sensation subsided. I was too sensitive for another orgasm, and she knew it.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"A ring," I said, the words slipping out with almost obscene ease. What had seemed impossible only an hour ago was simple now. "Because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I already asked Grandma Blake for her wedding ring, and she said yes. I've been desperately trying to keep you from finding it in our luggage for days now. Nathaniel finally took it to his dressing room. I was going to propose and then..." I took a shuddering breath. "It doesn't matter. What Belle did doesn't matter. I love you, and I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?"

Jeanette sank into that eerie stillness that only the dead could manage. She rarely let the inhuman side of herself show around me, terrified one wrong move would send me bolting into the woods like a frightened doe.

One tear rolled down her cheek. Two. And then she was throwing her arms around my neck, gathering me close.

"Oui, ma petite. Nothing would make me happier."

"No big spectacles," I warned her. "I did that once and it ended badly. We'll find a justice of the peace for the ceremony. You can throw a party afterward and I'll grin and bear it."

I expected her to argue, but she just pulled me closer. I couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying. Maybe both.

"As soon as I can possibly schedule it," she promised. "Secrecy is preferable in Belle's territory anyway."

I raised an eyebrow. "You want to get married in New York?"

"If there was a minister present, I would marry you this instant."

"If there were a minister present, I'd apologize for flashing the man. That's not what he came here to see."

Augustine laughed and rolled onto his side, watching us through half-lidded eyes. He looked supremely satisfied, like the cat who'd been into the cream. He was still half-erect, always ready for more. There was an echo of the Agean in his voice when he finally spoke.

"Ah," he sighed, voice licking along my spine like fire, setting my nerves aflame once more. "I just adore true love."

Chapter Text

"That's a bit on the nose, don't you think?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

I needn't have bothered. There was attention on us, for sure, but no one but the dancers immediately to our right, and I had nothing to fear from Haven or Jacklyn. The former wasn't happy with me for running off, but some pointed comments from his subordinate had convinced him to knock the passive-aggressive bullshit off before we waltzed into the party. We couldn't afford to present a divided front in Belle's presence.

In a way, I found his frustration with me comforting. He was taking his responsibility to Augustine seriously. If our positions had been reversed and he'd run off to face God only knew what without checking in when things were safe, I would have been pissed too. I could let him do his job now that we were in the proverbial lion's den.

Jeanette had assigned Asher to stay by my side, twirling me through the room with liquid grace, inserting himself into conversations as smoothly as if he'd been there when the topic had first been posed. He was effortlessly charming. All I'd been instructed to do was cling to his arm and look pretty. Normally that would have bugged the hell out of me, but tonight I could manage.

The theory was, that if I remained on the move, it would be harder for Belle to pin me down and invite me to the head of the room under the pretense she was honoring me. In reality, it was a way to get her knobby little hands on my body. She'd hold me close like a hostage and hurt me just to prove she could. In this case, retreat was the better part of valor. The cat and mouse games couldn't last all night. The devil would get her due tonight, one way or the other.

Asher must have sensed my fraying patience for the petty politics, because he'd spun me onto the dance floor with an utterly touchable laugh, pressing our bodies as close as propriety would allow during a waltz. Even if I hadn't had Jeanette's memories to draw from, he would have made the steps look like an afterthought. He danced the way he did everything else, with the utter surety that I would submit. Even the gentle pressure of his hand in mine had the potential to be erotic. I was a little miffed the music was too formal to tango to. The tryst with Augustine had left me feeling more like myself than I had since the assault. I could relish the effect I was having on him.

He smiled widely enough that he flashed the tip of one delicate fang. He spun me out of our close embrace, holding me at arm's length for a moment so I could get the full effect of the costume. Belle had changed the theme for the masquerade at the last moment, probably hoping to catch us off-footed. It was a petty move that would force Jeanette to scramble. The tailor had pulled off a minor miracle with our wardrobes, adapting what remained in all our closets into pieces of avant-garde art.

"We are dressing for Belle's menagerie. You don't like the inspiration for this number?"

I did, actually, but I couldn't say it aloud. Asher was already preening, obviously elated by the reception his newly healed face was receiving. He seemed to glow with it, as though the confidence was shining through his skin. I hadn't been able to reduce the appearance of the scars further down yet, and it didn't seem to bother him. So much of our self-image is tied up in what we see in the mirror. Having his face whole once more had been almost as healing as getting Julian back. I didn't need to feed his ego now by complimenting the outfit.

Elinore had truly outdone herself this time. She'd taken inspiration from one of Belle's toadies, who'd compared Jeanette to an insect. Elinore had fashioned each of us something bug-like and exotic to wear. Asher's suit was done in muted colors. Browns, blacks, ivories, and whites. The cloak hung around his shoulders and fluttered in a wing-like fashion as he moved, but it was the mask that made the costume really striking. The half-mask had been designed to look like a bleached skull. I waved at it with a frown.

"It's the mask, I think. Too Phantom of the Opera for my taste, but it's certainly interesting."

Asher's expression shifted into a more sultry smirk as he scanned me from head to toe. My dress had been tailored to appear as a twin to his. The first layer was a mosaic of browns, but when I moved, a vivid splash of blue flashed from beneath. More shimmering blue edged the sleeves, so I appeared to be in flight with every turn on the dance floor. The blue morpho butterfly was a favorite of mine and a burst of much-needed color against the sepia tones of the Death's Head.

"You look incredible tonight, mon lapin."

My bunny. Head prickled along the nape of my neck, and I ducked my chin before he could see the flush stain my cheeks. I'd learned that I liked ropes alongside my spankings. A rope bunny, Nathaniel said. The name had stuck.

"Not as incredible as Jeanette," I said with a rueful shake of my head. As if there'd be anyone who could outdo her in a beauty contest. Even Belle didn't look half as good, and she was the literal embodiment of lust. Though, I was biased, personally. She was my fiancee after all.

A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Fiancee. I had a fiancee. I was getting married. There were still details to work out, partners to be notified, and a ring to acquire, but the hard part was over. I'd put myself out there. She'd said yes. The rest I could deal with.

Asher's eyes skimmed the crowd, softening when they fell on Jeanette's bare back. Her outfit trod the fine line between salaciousness and propriety, plunging to the small of her back, teasing the shimmering, black temporary tattoos Elinore had inked along her spine, accentuating the gentle curve. You couldn't help but stare at the contrast it made against her ivory skin. The dress was voluminous, the skirts made of brocaded black, with red organza peeking out from beneath when she moved, mimicking the markings of a velvet ant. The train was detachable, in case of a fight. She was probably hiding a rapier somewhere in the skirts, but whatever textile magic Elinore possessed kept any weapons from being immediately noticeable. The bodice was made of more brocaded velvet, this time in red. The beaded bodice drew the eye to the mounded cleavage peeking out of the top. She'd done her makeup in harsh angles and bright colors. It wasn't hard to interpret why.

This was a threat display. She'd come to throw down, and she didn't care who knew it.

The other designs were no less spectacular. Gretchen's look had been inspired by a yellow jacket. Meng Die had opted for the black widow. There were dragonflies and jewel beetles as well. If we all survived, I was going to insist she get a pay raise. She'd gone above and beyond for the cause.

The tension in the room was thick enough that I could taste it. Sure, everyone was putting up a front of having a good time. But underneath the calm facade, every single person was trying to figure out which way they needed to flinch to avoid harm when the fists started flying. It was coming. The truth had gotten out, despite Belle's strict control of her Kiss. Someone had seen the tape. Had seen what Jeanette and Augustine conspired to do, and now it was out there. Belle couldn't brush it under the rug and discreetly punish us for it later. No, this was a public insult to her authority. She would have to answer it or lose face in front of the other council members.

Belle was seated at the head of the room, lounging on the gilt-backed throne like a spoiled teen, watching events unfold through half-lidded eyes. Padma sat on her other side, still looking petulant. The Traveller was staring off into space, probably too busy using some poor hapless schmuck elsewhere to pay attention to any petty drama playing out in the ballroom. Only the Dragon was missing from the proceedings, declaring that she was too busy for Belle's theatrics and would be spending her evening watching opera instead. At least it would be enriching.

Boy did I envy her right now. I would re-watch Carmen with Jeanette a million times if I could skip over this night.

Belle's eyelid twitched once when Jeanette let out a high, pealing laugh in response to something that Augustine said. He looked resplendent, literally glowing with happiness. On his arm was Phoebe, the personal assistant who'd been forced to endure all of Sangria's abuse for years to skirt Belle's notice. I suppose she'd gotten used to it, considering who her mother-in-law was. They'd been styled as swans, brilliantly white against the backdrop of the crowd. It should have been cheesy, but it wasn't. There was something terribly intimate about the glances they shared. How long had it been since they'd been able to be openly in love? Centuries? Millennia?

A pulse of Belle's power ran through the room when Augustine laughed in reply, and his voice was like candy to the ears. For an instant, every one of us felt her disgust. Her hatred. Her envy. Any vampire she turned fell silent, tensing as though to hunker down. When the predator was on the prowl, lesser creatures shrank back, praying to escape notice.

Their laughter fell into a deep well of silence that should have swallowed it and dragged it to a quick death. Jeanette just threw her head back and laughed once more, the sound ringing with scorn. This time there was no mistaking it. Jeanette was laughing right in Belle's face.

"Is something funny, dear Jeanette?" she called from her position on the dais.

Jeanette half-turned from her conversation, as though Belle weren't even worthy to merit full acknowledgement. Belle's face had blanched white, her fingers turning into bony claws around the arms of her golden chair. Her eyes burned with hatred when they fixed on Phoebe, realizing too late that she'd killed the wrong woman. Augustine had bound Phoebe as his lioness to call last night. Now that he was Jeanette's, not Belle's, he was free to claim a servant. Belle knew as well as I did that if she killed Phoebe now, she might kill Augustine. She couldn't have one without the other, and she detested sharing.

"The look on your face," Jeanette said, voice bubbling with laughter. It reminded me of champagne, a sweet sensation that slid through you and made the tips of your fingers tingle. "The last time I saw grapes this sour, I was babysitting for a vassal of mine. She had a late-night court case. Impressive that you can rival a two-year-old in petulance. Shall I give you a cup of milk and read you a story to pacify you?"

The room sucked in a collective breath, and then furious mutters began on the fringes. Furtive glances were exchanged, and a few vampires and wereanimals leaned forward eagerly, watching the conflict unfold. There was going to be blood. No avoiding that now.

A chilly smile curled Belle's sumptuous lips. "I don't share my things, Jeanette. You should know that by now."

Jeanette closed the gap between her body and Augustine's, pressing him against her front, while Phoebe clung steadfastly to his side. She didn't argue when Jeanette reached up a gentle hand to cradle Augustine's cheek. The look he gave her was so full of warm, genuine affection that it brought tears to my eyes. I couldn't find a scrap of jealousy in my heart when she went up on tiptoe to press her mouth to his. It was brief and almost chaste, by their standards, but I felt the power thrumming through the room, building in concentric rings as their combined energy pulsed outward, touching everyone, even Belle. She flinched away from it like she'd been struck, hands tightening until she left finger-shaped indents in the gold.

"Who do you belong to Augustine?" she asked, curling fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him fast. His breath sped, and you didn't have to have magical sex powers to know he was happy to be pressed against her.

"You," he said, voice carrying through the room as though he'd shouted it into a megaphone. The crowd had drawn back from them like a tide, sensing the oncoming storm.

I tried to move past Asher, to go to her, but he held me back and gave his head a curt shake. "Non, mon lapin. She does not wish to risk you."

"But-"

I might have protested harder, but the unthinkable happened in that split second of hesitation. There was no warning. One moment Belle was on the dais, and the next she was standing a foot away, screaming like a damn banshee. It wasn't so much a sound as it was an intention, like a bear's roar. It was meant to send the victim skittering backward on their ass, hands over their head to ward off a lethal blow. Jeanette barely had time to turn before Belle was on her. The slap was so violent it rocked Jeanette's head back. Belle seized her by the sequined bodice and used her grip to tear the magnificent creation clean off. I had a perfect view of all that ivory skin when Belle cut at Belle with her power.

If I thought what Belle had done to Melanie had been bad. Blood had burst from the lamia's chest in scarlet arcs as she slashed at the aura that surrounded her. Some very powerful vampires (and necromancers, as it turned out) could turn all that energy in on itself to harm the user. Great gaping wounds appeared on the lamia's skin.

Jeanette practically exploded, gore fountaining from almost every square inch of exposed skin. The force of Belle's concentrated wrath sent her flying, spattering the guests and decor alike in shining scarlet. When she hit the far wall she sailed through, knocking a section around three feet across from the side of Belle's mansion. The garden was visible through the gap. Jeanette had landed shy of a hedge maze, the cobblestone of the path peeling skin off her back as she tumbled. There was a rose garden somewhere beyond, a rose only she bred. It had been named for her by a botanist centuries ago.

My heart rode up in my throat. I could feel, distantly, that she was hurt. Strangely enough, she wasn't frightened. I'd seen her backed into a corner by Belle before, and this didn't have the crouched posture and calculated flattery to appease her. She was so coated in blood that the skirts were heavy with it. I felt her distantly, one throbbing nerve ending, forcing herself to unlatch the skirt she'd been wearing. It was a clever arrangement, designed to resemble a skirt, and was able to be ripped off at a moment's notice. It left her in the torn remnants of her bodice and a pair of lycra bike shorts. I'd been right about the weapons storage. She had so many knives strapped to her person that the blades were practically armor all by themselves. Many were bent into uselessness by the attack, but there were enough to get the job done.

For a moment, I was sure she'd relax into utter stillness and slip away from me. There was too much blood. She was a waif. Surely there wasn't that much blood in her body? How was she able to keep moving, with so much of her skin flayed from her body? But move she did. She struggled to her hands and knees, keeping her palms pressed flat to the earth. With the marks partially open, I could feel the earth as though it had a pulse, a thrumming beat I could memorize and learn to manipulate if I tried hard enough. She managed to communicate with the semi-sentient animating force running through every living thing. Religions had the concept of primordial gods for a reason. Mr. Oliver hadn't been a god, but when he spoke, the earth listened.

And now it was leaning close once more, listening to the coaxing whispers of a long-dead vampire. The hardwood floor beneath Belle didn't explode upward in a shard of deadly shrapnel, impaling her through the chest. The ground beneath it simply dissolved, weakening the spot so that it only took a mild effort to send Belle careening into a rapidly forming sinkhole.

"Oh my God," I whispered. "I forgot that the Earthmover attacked me."

Asher's smile was fierce and a little wolfish. "That is the true horror of the mimic, is it not? A creature that must subsist on power to survive? It isn't even voluntary. Powers that attack you are automatically channeled to satisfy its cavernous appetite. No amount of power will suffice. She could eat the whole universe in time."

I stared at Jeanette as the weight of that implication sank in. Was this how Marmee had started? As a creature just like this one? I hoped not. Because no matter what she became, I knew there was no leaving her. I couldn't. Wouldn't, unless forced. She'd survive me now. I knew that with surety. My death wouldn't drag her down. She could save herself and the others if something happened to me. It was oddly reassuring.

The glow began at her scalp and spread outward from there, as though someone had cracked the moon like an egg on her head, spilling silver down her body in a shimmering rush. Her face thinned into that almost cadaverous mask, the way it often did when she played hardball. It was the true face of the vampire, with all pretenses stripped away. Most of the time, that almost bestial expression scared the bejesus out of me. At this moment, she reminded me of a snarling wolf, feet planted wide apart as she prepared to charge.

The silver light poured inside the gashes in her flesh, knitting them closed as I watched. The ruby red of the blood looked like decorative paint against the chrome-like shine of her skin. She stood alone in a corona of her own power and met Belle's eyes. The vampire in question had managed to struggle out of the hole, and knelt, staring up in utter incredulity. The shock was echoed on other faces. Her vampires. The Traveller. Padma. No one could tear their eyes off the unfolding drama, including me. I was shocked too. I knew she'd been hiding things from me, keeping the extent of her powers a mystery. I knew she'd gotten more powerful. I just didn't know how powerful. Where was all of it coming from?

I felt, rather than heard the answer. For just an instant, every glyph on my skin flared white-hot as she drew upon their power. So she hadn't just mimicked the Earthmover thanks to one offhand battle, she'd managed to copy an entire fucking pantheon's worth of abilities. Just trying to take in the depth and breadth of what she'd absorbed when the Aztec pantheon re-entered the world through me made my eyes cross. And now I knew exactly why she wasn't afraid of Belle. Why she'd kept things a secret.

My fiancee was a fucking goddess in more ways than one.

Jeanette's tongue flicked out to catch a bead of her own blood before baring her teeth in a sharp, anticipatory smile.

"Now," she purred. "I believe it's my turn."

Chapter Text

Jeanette's backhanded slap broke something in Belle's face. There was a series of grinding and popping sounds before Beautiful Death herself went careening backwards, upending a chocolate fountain, sending the molten stuff high into the air. It didn't quite reach the ceiling, but flecks of the stuff spattered the crystal teardrop chandeliers above our heads. Some of the vampires actually reared back, unwilling to subject their clothes to more mess. A few flecks landed on my arm and I wiped the hot, sticky chocolate off my skin, popping my fingers in my mouth. It was good stuff. Shame I hadn't had any before it ended up on the floor.

Belle bounced twice, ending up at the foot of her dais, one arm hanging at an unnatural angle. When she raised her face, her fine, aquiline nose was little more than pulp, and it clearly pained her to move her jaw. It might have hurt less if she wasn't staring open-mouthed at her shining beacon of a protegee.

I couldn't really blame her though. I was watching Jeanette intently too, unable to tear my gaze away. There was something horribly compelling about this side of her. She was like a carnivorous flower, beautiful to look at, but deadly to touch. Her eyes were drowning deep but weren't lost to blue fire. They were the tri-colored rings of the high sidhe. The outermost ring was midnight blue flecked with tiny burning points of light as if someone had stolen pieces of the night sky and fixed them in her face. The second ring was the gray-violet of swirling nimbus clouds, and the third was shining onyx, barely distinguishable from the pupil.

The silver pouring from her skin intensified, power pouring over her skin. Brilliant pulses of golden light showed beneath her skin occasionally, an iridescent echo of my own scars. She pushed her power through me, plumbing every reserve I had as she sauntered forward on bare feet, still dripping blood. It ran without source now, smearing like war paint over her arms and face as she advanced. She casually drew a long blade from a sheath strapped to her waist and held it aloft. The metal looked tarnished when juxtaposed with the glory of her skin. I was going to be blinking spots out of my eyes for days if she kept it up.

I let her take from me. Felt her take from Richard. Her curls fanned out around her head like living things, whipping in the unseen wind of her power. There were whispers in that gale. A promise of unbearable lusts and unspeakable secrets. She was a beautiful, terrifying monster.

And she was mine, lock, stock, and soul. How the hell had I managed that?

Jeanette raised the blade above her head. For a second, I thought she was going to bring it down in a vicious slash, opening Belle's throat. Belle must have thought so too, because she let out a rather girlish yelp of fright when the blade landed between her spiked heels, sinking in almost an inch before coming to a quivering halt.

"I am sourde de sang of my own line, and you cannot touch me or mine without incurring consequences. You didn't offer me a challenge before striking me. That's a capital offense on its own. What you did to my servant is grounds for the death penalty. Take the blade, Belle. Stand and face me if you can."

A low buzz of conversation broke out. Belle's eyes darted to either side, furious color forming high in her cheeks when she realized she was the center of unwanted attention. She'd meant to one-shot Jeanette and quell any potential rebellion from her loyalists in one move. Now she had a choice. She could negotiate to get us the fuck out of her territory, kissing ass for a few decades until she could get herself out of the political doghouse. But to even admit Jeanette was an equal power by refusing the tacit challenge meant acknowledging defeat in front of all her people and two of her most bitter rivals. In one fell swoop, Jeanette hadn't just put the fear of herself into every master vampire who mattered, she'd also given herself major clout by bloodying Belle's nose in such a spectacularly public fashion.

Belle was capable of a lot of things. Swallowing her pride wasn't one of them.

The knife came free of the stone with a discordant screech of twisting metal. The blade was horribly warped, but that wasn't the point. By taking it up, she signaled her choice. She stood, toeing out of the heels she wore as though they were comfortable house slippers. She settled into an unsteady stance and I realized, with a jolt of surprise, that she wasn't a warrior. She'd grown into a metaphysical giant in my memory, and anyone meeting her in a mindscape wouldn't stand a chance. But Jeanette's shields allowed her no purchase. There was no crack in the wall that would let her in to harm us. We were protected through her. We were a separate line, which made it a crime to harm us without getting approval from our fountainhead.

She'd always been so powerful psychically that she'd neglected the physical. The ardeur could shut down an attack from a mile off. Had she ever been forced to do more than brawl? No one with skill had ever dared cross her until now.

"You arrogant little bitch," Belle said, her voice thick with things that should never be in a throat. It was a far cry from the honeyed southern drawl I'd gotten used to.

"It is only arrogance if I cannot back it," Jeanette said, assuming a fencer's stance with the thoughtless grace of long practice. The blade was a touch too short for the fighting style, but she'd adapt. I'd seen her use an expensive recreation of a Bat'leth to carve a swath through a small army of rotting vampires.

Jeanette tilted her head at an almost jaunty angle, a small, mocking smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Those tri-colored eyes glimmered with triumph. Belle had already lost. The question was, just how badly.

I think it was that smile that did it. Belle must have lunged, though my inferior human eyes couldn't track the movement, let alone respond to it. The snaps and bestial snarls came from every side, an echo chamber of horrors. there were hideous slurping sounds and a gasp of pain. When they reappeared again the scene was radically different than it had been before.

Jeanette had her arm buried in Belle's chest up to the elbow. At first, the blood looked too bright, like a melted crayon had dripped down her forearm and pooled in the bend. Only the steady patter of the stuff onto the floor made it seem real, instead of an unconvincing spurt of dyed corn syrup. The other arm braced the curve of Belle's waist, stroking gentle fingers across the cinched waist of her gown. It was almost tender, like a lover's caress. Her lips hovered over Belle's, undeniably a threat.

"You will never touch her again," she said, the steely whisper reaching to the corners of the room as surely as if she'd shouted it.

An utterly heartbreaking smile broke across her face, and I felt the insistent urge to fall to my knees and weep as Augustine's power flowed out of her. Love filled the room, a rising, delicious heat that made the tips of my fingers and toes tingle. It was the simple, undeniable joy of having that beloved someone tucked tightly against you.

And it made Belle shriek. She cursed. She flailed. She tried to break free and could only budge Jeanette a fraction of an inch. The grip she had on Belle's heart was firm and unyielding. One twist of the blade, and it was all over.

"You will adore me too much to defy me," she said in that same quiet, deadly tone.

"No," Belle said. I might have called it a whimper if her voice wasn't so choked with pain. "Don't."

"Love me and despair, Belle."

Jeanette stepped closer, cupping Belle's cheek with her free hand. Her mouth was tantalizingly close to Belle's. She could taste the succubus' fear like fine wine and knew she could drink it down. Turn Belle into a withered husk screaming in eternal agony, like my grandfather had been. She could seize the will of every unmarked wereanimal in the room and set them on Belle, tearing her to pieces. Burn her with the light of the sun. She'd flicked through each ability she'd gained through us and settled on the worst. The most horrific thing she could do to Belle. It wasn't to kill her. It was to make her bend the knee by will alone. I knew, in a flash of insight, that she planned to do.

I heard someone shout, "Don't!" and realized with a start that it was...me. I'd stepped out from Asher's sheltering arms, and he'd been too stunned to stop me. Even I wasn't sure what had me striding forward, seizing her by her free hand, using my grip to yank her mouth away from Belle's. The power that had been steadily building stuttered, and Jeanette turned to look at me. Meeting the intensity of those tri-colored eyes wasn't for the faint of heart. A spasm of hurt and betrayal crossed her face before she could stop it.

"Anita," she said, each syllable like a rock she was grinding between her molars. Her rage was a cold fire. Belle hadn't spawned that anger, but she had fed it with an endless parade of petty cruelties. For a second, I thought she'd crush Belle's heart, just to spite me. "Back away. Now."

"No," I said, tugging more insistently on her arm. It was as fruitless as trying to tip a marble statue. "I'm not letting you do this."

The lights above us flickered, and a few of the bulbs actually popped, raining glittering shards down on the crowd. There were cries of fright and pain. The crowd surged toward the walls, away from our melodrama, afraid of what might come sailing at them next. At this rate, Jeanette would bring the whole ballroom down around our ears.

"She. Raped. You."

There was no reason in her eyes. They burned with the unholy fury of a zealot, and she was determined to make Belle her martyr. I shouldn't have been surprised she knew. Jeanette always knew.

"You think I don't know that?" I shot back. "I was there. I know what she did, and I can explain it to you in explicit detail if you want. But that doesn't mean I'll let you turn around and do it right back. Mental rape is still rape. You're forcing yourself on her. What's more, you're planning to bind her and put her through a small eternity of hell. Being in a direct bond with you means you can send a pulse of love her way whenever. You don't think you'll abuse that over time? You can kill her. She deserves that. But don't torture her, and don't you fucking dare do it in my name."

I was close enough to see the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes. Her lip wobbled, just once. She looked perilously close to tears, but it didn't show in her voice when she spoke.

"Ma petite..."

"You said you were going to be different," I continued as if she hadn't spoken. "You have high ideals about fairness and changing the system. You're Council-level now. You can make a change, but only if people trust you. Everyone is watching, and what you do here will forever define you. Are you someone who stands by her principles, or are you like a million other politicians, talking a good game but never following through? There have to be lines we don't cross, or how are we any different from them?"

I jabbed a finger at the dais. Padma and the Traveller were leaning forward, unable to tear their eyes from the spectacle. I saw the realization hit them at roughly the same time. The poor, pathetic victim they'd abused for centuries had come into a frightening amount of power, and they were now potential targets. If she could spit Belle on her arm without much effort, what might she do to someone as relatively weak as the Master of Beasts? The Traveller could probably outrun her for a time, but she had eternity. She'd catch up eventually, and her vengeance would be something terrible.

A tear fell. "Damn it, Anita!"

"You know I'm right."

"It's not that simple," Jeanette said. "She's too dangerous to be allowed to remain alive and unbound. If I kill her, many in her Kiss will either go insane or simply not rise from their coffins. I will not be responsible for that kind of carnage."

"How long?" I asked, raising my voice to be heard over Belle's breathless curses. I wasn't sure what language she was speaking, but the vocabulary sounded colorful.

"How long until what?" she snapped.

"Until they start going insane? Is it instantaneous?"

She shook her head slowly. "It will take hours, perhaps even days for the strongest of her brood."

"Then give them the choice."

Jeanette's head tilted in a curiously birdlike movement. "Pardon?"

"Anyone who wants to can blood oath to you or a master strong enough to take them. You don't force their allegiance. You ask for it."

Jeanette was silent enough that I was afraid she'd decided to tune me out. Her face was stony, her expression burning with now impotent fury. Belle continued to gasp, her struggles growing fainter as blood seeped from the gaping wound in her chest. She actually cried out when Jeanette pulled her heart free of the splayed ribcage. It went up in a welter of blood and thicker things when she closed her fist around the meaty organ.

Belle's back arched and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Then, with a suddenness that startled me, she sagged, the vision of loveliness deflating like a week-old balloon. By the time she reached the hardwood floor, she was barely the size of a stuffed toy you'd win at a carnival. It was chitinous, like a beetle, with gnarled hands and feet. It was stooped with age and had pale, almost leprous spots on its hide. The chest was nearly gone, the damage appearing even worse on the smaller body. The revulsion on every face was clear.

"Not so beautiful in death, huh?" I mused.

Jeanette's laugh broke the spell. It was hard and edged with satisfaction. She was dead. The heartless goddess of temptation and torment was gone, and she would never touch us again. She got a foot under the creature and kicked it onto the dais. It landed in Padma's lap. He scrambled backward, trying to avoid the corpse, and tipped his chair over. He landed on his ass with a cry of disgust.

"Belle lost the duel," Jeanette said, voice dripping with poisoned honey. "What was hers is now mine."

"Yes," the Traveller said slowly. "And?"

"And I'm telling you both to get the fuck out of my house. Now."

Chapter Text

"You sure you don't want to take a flight out?" Haven asked offhandedly, walking a few paces behind me. Jacklyn had taken point, escorting us toward the edge of the rental car parking lot.

Jeanette and I's plans for a quick elopement at a nearby courthouse had been scuppered by vampire politics. Wasn't that always the way? And as much as I'd love to sign the paperwork and skip straight to the honeymoon tomorrow, I just couldn't stand being in this city for a moment longer. I needed a day or two at home to sort myself out before I could jump into anything. Auggie had volunteered two of his lions to guard me on the way home. The rental car was riskier than a flight, but I didn't think my nerves were up for the journey. I'd start screaming at the first sign of turbulence.

"Very. I don't like flying if I can help it."

"But a two-day road trip is just peachy?"

I shrugged. "Road trips can be fun. Lots of touristy shit to do and see. We could make a week of it. Have you ever seen the Badlands in South Dakota? It's gorgeous out there."

Haven looked me up and down, and the thoughtful gleam in his eye had nothing to do with the topic at hand. I knew, without being told, that I'd have to feed on someone if I took the car. Haven knew it too. The longer we took to get back home, the more sex he could have with me. There was something intruiging about Haven that I couldn't pinpoint. It wasn't the bad boy thing. Well, not only the bad boy thing. I'd been with badasses who hadn't impressed me much in the romance department. It was the power. His lion was one of the most dominant I'd met. It was looking for a mate and it wanted me. It took effort not to touch him.

"I could be down for some touristy shit," he agreed. "As long as you agree to take a detour to Chicago with me. I want to take you on a culinary tour. Once you've had a Chicago-style hot dog, you won't want anything else."

"Well, I'm not impressed by just any guy's hot dog. I'll have to sample it before I commit."

A startled laugh escaped him. "That was a horrible pun."

"It made you laugh."

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "You're incorrigible."

"Ooh, incorrigible. Do you have a word of the day app on your phone, Cookie?"

If the nickname bothered Haven, it didn't show. He smirked. "Indubitably."

I opened my mouth to reply to that, but the words died in my throat when I spied something on my skin. Some combination of the neon lights from the lot's sign and moonlight combined to show the faint outline of something on my skin. At first, I thought I was imagining it. It looked like a coffee stain if the liquid could somehow adopt the color of its surroundings. It was just a slight discoloration, unnoticeable unless you stood in the right light.

Haven raised a hand to trace a blotchy stain on my shoulder.

"What's that?" he said, running the tip of his finger over the pattern. "Did you spill something on yourself?"

"No," I said, thinking back. I'd been spattered with blood and chocolate, just like everyone else, but this wasn't the right shade. When I touched it, it left a tacky psychic residue. Which meant... "I think it's a potion."

But who could have put it on me? Why? It had to have been when I was sleeping or under a psychic attack by someone else. I would have noticed someone dousing me in a magical solution. Was this Magda's doing? Her way of keeping tabs on me? But no. I hadn't gotten the impression she had any extra abilities. Giacomo was undead, which meant most living magic was inaccessible to him. Who else had close contact with me?

Haven, Jacklyn, Jeanette, Richard, Julian, and a handful of others. Almost all of them were loyal to our Kiss. The only other time I'd spent with outsiders was in the airport and the bathroom after Belle's attack.

And...I'd seen Ellen both times. Many times, actually. More than probability would suggest. And she'd spilled something I'd assumed was coffee all over me.

There was motion out of the corner of my eye, and I turned in time to see Ellen appear from behind a pale van. I didn't have time to move, let alone call out a warning. The hulking blonde mountain who'd been posing as her cameraman stepped out of the shadows, raised a semi-automatic, and unloaded a clip of silver ammo directly into Haven's chest.

Chapter Text

The blonde man was a werelion. I could feel his power in a trembling line as Haven fell, gasping for air as he failed to suck in enough air. I realized the tingle I'd gotten from Ellen in my office wasn't psychic ability. Or not just ability. She was a lion, and she was great at hiding it. Until now. When it no longer mattered.

I dropped to my knees by Haven's side, trying to stem the flow of blood from the wound. Putting my hands against the wound felt like trying to hold back magma, forcing it to stay inside the crater. He was feverishly warm, and his blood was just shy of scalding. I tried to pour power into him on instinct and froze when the blonde werelion stepped closer. Too close. I wouldn't get a clean shot if I drew down now.

He jammed the muzzle of the semi-automatic into the back of my head. I froze with my hands pressed flat to the ruin of Haven's chest. Blood pulsed enthusiastically between my fingers, coating them in more scalding red. It felt criminal to stop with the magic hovering at the surface, near the wounds but not in them. I knew if I pushed harder, I could force his beast. Bring it spilling upward out of the injured werelion and make him whole again. Most wounds, even mortal ones, would seal if he shifted. Some of the grazes were knitting together, leaving sourceless trickles of blood running down his face and arms. It was the sucking sound from one of his lungs that I worried about. My magic might keep him alive a little longer if I stayed close, but he needed a doctor.

"Stop helping him," the blonde man said. "Now."

Jacklyn took a step forward, putting her body between me and the man with a gun to my head. The strange thing was, he let her do it. It had taken less than a second for him to drop Haven, but he looked wary and submissive in the face of a middle-aged werelioness. Instead of aiming for the impossible-to-miss target of the cameraman's chest or the pale swatch of forehead beneath Ellen's beaded headband, she stalked forward. The man actually ducked his chin when Jackyln gave one of his oversized shoulders a shove.

"Put your fucking gun down, Nicky, or I will personally find a new home for it in your ass," she hissed. "The client said no killing. Are you stupid or careless?"

Nicky's jaw flexed, adding to the impression he'd been hired to be muscle, not the brains of the operation. I was shocked the breadth of his shoulders didn't burst his shirt when he shrugged. "He spotted Ellen's handiwork. If she got back to her people and consulted a witch, we would have lost our edge. It needed to happen now if it was going to happen at all."

Jacklyn shook her head. Between the creases near her eyes and the gray threading through her hair, she looked like someone's indulgent grandmother, not the leader of a group of elite mercenaries. It was why she'd signed on to join Auggie's delegation to New York. No one was going to look at that face, the outdated fashion sense, and that easy smile and think 'dangerous.' She was Haven's opposite in every respect, soft where he was hard, in every respect but this one. Haven had been concerned enough to escort me out. If I'd gotten out of town on my own maybe he would have survived the night.

I wanted to curse at her. To ask her how the fuck she could do this to me, after all she'd witnessed. But it wouldn't be of any use. She was a mercenary and a consummate actress. I didn't scream at her. My voice came out surprisingly calm when I could force myself to talk.

"So," I said, finding my voice at last. "I take it that this is the part you tell me to surrender my weapons and get in the van?"

Jacklyn's lips quirked, though the smile didn't touch her eyes. She had the same cool stare I'd gotten used to seeing on Edward's face. I wondered how I hadn't seen her coming. I was usually better about spotting disturbed individuals than this. And I had no doubt she was disturbed. You didn't become a mercenary when you grew up happy and healthy. Some days I was convinced only a halfway decent home life kept me from being on the other side of that moral line.

"Something like that. Nicky is going to pat you down and store what he finds. If you cooperate, only one person needs to die tonight." Her gaze shifted past my face, down to where Haven lay. "Even him. Come with us, and we'll put in a call to the authorities. It's not a guarantee, but it will give him a fighting shot."

I didn't have to glance down to know how Haven would take that. I did anyway, just to have an excuse to assess him again. His skin was an alarming shade of gray. He needed a doctor. But I turning myself over to these guys on the off chance that they'd live up to their promises would betray every code Haven ascribed to. He was doing what a bodyguard was supposed to do. He'd taken bullets trying to protect me, and there was only one way to honor that sacrifice.

"Fuck you, Jackie," I said quietly.

Displeasure flickered through her eyes for a fraction of a second. A hint of her beast peeked out, a grizzled old lioness who'd survived by being cautious. She wasn't going to punish me for giving her lip, but she didn't like it. If I gave her a good enough excuse, she might kill me to preserve her literal and metaphorical pride.

"I thought you might say something like that."

Jacklyn half-turned, beckoning Ellen forward. The woman moved forward meekly, as though she'd been caught doing something wrong. As if watching Nicky blowing Haven away had cowed her. I didn't buy it. Ellen wouldn't have made it with a crew like this if she didn't have a backbone in there somewhere. It was probably an act, a way to lower the guard of any mark. Let them believe there was a weak link in the group's defenses. She was small and harmless-looking enough to pass as friendly in a pinch. She probably rocked the hell out of the good cop routine.

"Ellen, be a dear and keep her still. It won't do to shoot her before she can raise the dead for the client."

Something in my chest relaxed at the mention of raising the dead. I'd been almost as certain at Edward that the job had been placed by one of my many enemies. There were a lot of reasons to want me alive, and almost none of them were pleasant. If their client wanted to send a criminal to extort an animating job from me, he could have hired Bert. The man certainly liked to hound me when money was on the line.

Unless I'd already turned their client down, and even Bert hadn't been able to talk me into taking a second look. That narrowed the list down to only a handful of names. I had a bad feeling I knew who had sent them and why.

"Tony Bennington," I said, noting the momentary flicker of surprise in their eyes as I spoke the name aloud. "He's the client. He wasn't willing to take no for an answer. He pretty much said as much. But kidnapping and extortion over a zombie? That's a new one for me."

"How did you know...?" Ellen began, falling silent when Jacklyn shushed her.

"Because I'm not an idiot, and Animators Inc. serves memorable clientele. He was only one of three people I had to turn down recently. He's also the only one desperate enough and rich enough to pull something like this off."

I wanted to spit. After everything we'd been through, this was how I left New York. Not with my head held high, the relief of going home as sweet and heady as the champagne Jeanette would no doubt order from the hotel on our impromptu honeymoon. No, I didn't get to end on a romantic note. I got zombie raisings and amoral mercenaries. I had a dying werelion at my feet, who was only breathing because of the brush of my power. I could feel his spirit scrambling, trying to stay tethered to the pulped flesh. Only I was keeping it steady. Keeping it in place long enough for the body to heal around it.

"Spells, Ellen," Jacklyn said impatiently. "We need her unarmed before we call."

Ellen shrugged off her backpack and knelt, chalking a circle onto the pavement until the four of us and the half-dead Haven were the only things inside. It was a simple design and would wash away with the next rain, leaving no trace any magic had been performed here.

But magic was being performed. I could feel it like a noose drawing tight, cutting me off from...something. The air felt too thin, the world a little too big. What the hell was she doing to me? It wasn't a compulsion spell. I'd felt those before. This was something different. Something defensive, but what?

"Call who?" I asked to distract myself, though I had a feeling I knew. The longer I kept them talking, the longer Haven lived.

"Bennington," Nicky said, nudging the back of my head with the muzzle of his gun. "Now get your hands off him, girlie. Can't have him healing and going to the cops."

I doubted Haven was going to the cops. If he limped away from this fight, he would go straight to Augustine, which might honestly be better in this scenario. Police had regulations to uphold. Auggie didn't. Now that he was blood oathed to Jeanette, his resources were at her disposal. I needed Haven to survive. Needed him to get back to Auggie.

I made a show of putting my hands up but moved a little so that my leg was brushing his. It wasn't as thorough without skin-to-skin contact, but the one point of contact was enough to keep one good lung breathing, and his heart beating. I sent my power into him, noting with alarm that it wasn't as potent as it should have been. It felt like there was a barrier between my aura and his. Though strangely enough, there was a connection between us. He was a king. The lioness in me found that intriguing. He would be strong enough to help if I took the connection just one step further. But did I have the right to do it?

Haven's eyes opened blearily, but there was enough anger, enough spite in him to survive this. I took that wrath before Ellen's spell could completely cut me off from whatever she was trying to block. I gave him a sliver of me in return. If he lived, he'd be mine. If he didn't, I wouldn't live long enough to be upset about it.

"Fine, fine. Jesus. Don't put another whammy on me, Ellen. I'll let Nicky search me for weapons."

I'd hate going without the Browning and knives, but it beat the hell out of getting Haven killed. If I could keep them busy enough, he might pull through. Might. Maybe. Probably. I was thinking a lot of weasel words, and it left a sour taste in my mouth.

Nicky finally holstered his weapon. The place where the muzzle had pressed into my skull tingled faintly, as though the specter of his gun was still lurking behind me. I was relieved to have the piece out of his hands. You didn't point the gun at anything you didn't intend to kill. Either he was stupid, or he simply didn't care if I lived or died.

Nicky was distressingly thorough, finding even the concealed pocket knives I'd tucked into my boots. The only saving grace of the whole humiliating exercise was that he didn't seem to be enjoying himself. The pass over my breasts was professional, not predatory, thank God. He checked to see if I had a flashbang holster and moved on.

When he was confident he had everything, he forced me to take a step back. I had to bite back a scream when Haven's eyes slid closed. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest assured me he was still struggling to suck in air. He wasn't dead. Yet.

"Satisfied?" I bit out.

"Soon," Jacklyn replied. "I'm going to make a phone call now, Blake. My associate, Silas, paid a visit to a friend of yours earlier in the evening. We knew you'd need additional persuading to join us, so we took the liberty of selecting a few hostages for you to ransom."

My stomach dropped into my toes, the slim hope I'd had about escaping evaporating in light of that revelation. It didn't matter if she was bluffing. I couldn't take the chance that she was serious.

"Who?" I whispered.

Jacklyn smiled mildly and dialed. She fiddled with the controls until the speaker came to life, spilling a stock dial tone into the night. There was no answer for a few seconds, and then the call picked up.

"Yes?" a man's voice said, clipped and no-nonsense. It sounded military. A dropout or medical discharge after catching therianthropy, most likely.

"Put on one of the hostages. I want Miss Blake to realize the gravity of the situation."

I didn't want this confirmation. It was easier to believe she was lying to get me to climb willingly into a van with a bunch of hired guns. If a voice I knew and loved came through the speakerphone, I was doomed. I'd go with them, and damn the consequences. I couldn't lose another person I loved.

There was a second of rustling and wind against the receiver. Silas must have grabbed a hostage because there was a cry of protest on the other end of the line, female and vaguely familiar. I tried to place it and drew a blank. Who the hell had they grabbed?

"Hello?" I asked. "Is anyone there?"

The hostage on the other end took a shaking breath. She sounded only a few seconds away from tears. Being brutally kidnapped and detained would do that to a girl.

"I'm here, Anita," a familiar voice whispered.

Oh God. I knew who was on the other end of the line. She'd practically been sitting out like bait. It wouldn't take much to get past the doors of her detective agency, especially now that she was short-staffed. So easy to take soft, comparatively weak humans than any of the wereanimals they could have used against me.

"I'm coming for you, Ronnie. I promise."