CHAPTER ONE
RAVA
Isquinted at the thin gold band between my fingers, turning it under the morning light. My tail twitched in irritation. Cheap brass with a tarnished finish, guaranteed to turn fingers green. Worth maybe fifteen bucks, tops. Lydia had it tagged at two hundred and labeled ‘Authentic Victorian Mourning Ring.’
“Authentic my ass,” I muttered, resisting the urge to melt it between my fingers.
“What was that, darling?” Lydia’s voice carried from behind the clothing rack.
“Nothing. Just admiring the craftsmanship.” I set the ring back in the velvet-lined tray with the other fakes.
Three weeks working undercover at Vintage Baby, and I’d already confirmed Kadhan clan suspicions: half the merchandise was fake, the provenance stories were complete bullshit, and Lydia George was definitely running something shady on the side.
But an honest-to-hell lead on literally anything? A glimpse of an unaccounted for opal or glint of stolen gold? Kaz would’ve had this wrapped up in days. Malak would’ve charmed theinformation out of Lydia over drinks. But here I was, sorting costume jewelry at a farmer’s market, still playing shopgirl.
Mist & Market hummed with weekend activity. Humans and monsters mingled under canopy tents that lined the riverbank, haggling over produce and handcrafts. The perpetual mist from the falls that gave Silvermist its name hung in the air, giving everything a dreamy quality that the tourists ate up.
Not home, but not terrible either.
Behind me, Lydia’s phone rang. She fished the device from her purse, made an irritated sound, and disappeared behind the canvas partition without a word. Just like that—customers, merchandise, and me, all abandoned without a second thought. Typical.
“Tell Francis I intend to be there tonight.” Lydia’s voice drifted from behind the curtain. “The Harrington pieces, however, won’t. They need to be authenticated first.”
I straightened another row of rings, my tail flicking with agitation. Francis? Harrington? Neither of those were on the schedule I maintained for Lydia.
“Fourteen for the entire set is insulting,” Lydia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “One alone is worth twenty.”
I froze, fingers still on the fake rings. Twenty what? Hundred? Thousand? The most expensive item in our inventory was a vintage Chanel jacket priced at three hundred dollars. I tilted my head, straining to hear more without being obvious.
“It’s the real deal. Pre-Revelation ceremonial. You’ll see the fire marks yourself.”
Fire marks. My heart rate spiked. Fire marks meant ifrit craftsmanship, ancient and powerful beyond measure. The kind of relics that could reshape destinies… or erase unbreakable vows.
If I could recover even one piece, Kaz would have to see me as more than just his baby sister who needed protection. He’dbe furious I’d gone off-grid, of course, but bringing back what ifrit had been hunting since demons were locked on this side of the infernal plane? Prince Javed would be forced to grant me any boon within his considerable power, and that was worth a lifetime of lectures on recklessness.
“Those would look better on your finger than in that box.”
I spun toward the deep voice, and my tail accidentally caught the edge of the brooch display. The antique pins rattled against their thin velvet backing, while the plastic case teetered dangerously over the table’s edge.
A large green hand shot out, steadying the display before the brooches could scatter across the ground. Another hand caught my shoulder, preventing me from stumbling backward.
“Easy there, Red.”
I looked up into the most irritatingly handsome face I’d seen since arriving in Silvermist Falls. An orc stood before me, all broad shoulders and smoldering dark eyes. He’d clipped his hair short on the sides of his head, but the top looked professionally messy. His tusks framed a crooked smile that somehow managed to look both predatory and playful.
Lydia’s head appeared through the partition, eyes narrowing at the disturbance. She took in the orc, the slightly askew display, and my flustered expression with a single disapproving glance before disappearing back behind the curtain.
Great. More evidence of my supposed incompetence for Lydia to document.
My skin flushed hot where his fingers still gripped my shoulder. I yanked out of his grasp and put as many inches as the crowded booth would allow between us.
“We’re not open yet.” I turned back to the rings, straining to hear Lydia’s conversation.
Instead of leaving, he leaned against the booth’s support pole, crossing his arms. The movement highlighted thedefined muscles of his forearms and the intricate tattoos that disappeared under his rolled sleeves. Clan markings, from the little I could read clearly. Feats of honor and accomplishment, and oh-so-notwhat I needed to distract me.
“Market opened twenty minutes ago. Shieldthorn. Zral Shieldthorn.” He introduced himself like a spy from a movie, those dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “And you are…?”
“Busy.” I moved to step around him, but he shifted with me, his broad shoulders taking up too much space in my small booth.
