“Only one Francis checked into Silvermist accommodations this week,” Malak had said, sounding amused. “Room 212 at the Silver River Inn. Registered as Francis Abbott.”
“You swear you won’t tell Kaz?”
“If you swear not to do anything stupid,” he’d answered. “Kaz is on the warpath.”
Too late for that particular advice.
I flexed my fingers, feeling the heat spark between them. The night’s earlier escapades still bothered me. My control never slipped. But twice in one day, my fire had ignited without permission. Twice around that damned orc.
That kiss…
I shoved the memory away. Fuck. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—go down that road. He wasn’t my anything. Not friend, not acquaintance. Just a cocky asshole I’d had the bad luck of encountering at an inconvenient moment.
The Silver River Inn stood at the edge of downtown, a Victorian building with fresh white paint and blue trim. Quaint. Respectable. The kind of place a man trafficking in stolen relics might stay to blend in with the tourist crowd.
The relic was close. I could feel it like an itch under my skin. Not the familiar sensation of being watched, though I wouldn’t put it past Kaz to have eyes in Silvermist Falls already. No, this was different. A phantom tickle, a magnetic pull toward—and drive to avoid—something that belonged to my kind.
I leaned against a lamppost across the street, pretending to check my phone while watching the entrance. This was why the clan always worked in groups. In a proper operation, I’d have access to detailed floor plans and camera blind spots to jump to my destination. Going blind risked materializing inside the surroundings.
Merger deaths, we called them. Kaz made sure the gruesome archive photos featured prominently in my training.
Malak would have stationed himself as surveillance and backup. Zane would create a diversion, clearing Kaz’s path to the target. My brother would slip in, grab the relic, and smoke out to safety.
Instead, I stood alone in the dark, with nothing but instinct and desperation.
Twenty minutes passed before the door swung open and Francis emerged. He adjusted his jacket, checking his watch with an impatient flick of his wrist. The itch at the base of my neck intensified.
Shit. He had the relic on him.
Francis turned at the corner, heading toward the livelier end of town. I kept my distance, weaving between late-night tourists and locals heading home from dinner. My tail stayed tucked tight, my horns concealed beneath my hood. Just another human enjoying the damp night.
He paused outside One Hop Stop, checking his watch again before pushing through the door. I cursed under my breath. Public places meant witnesses. Witnesses meant complications.
I hung back, peering through the large front windows. The place was packed with Saturday night crowds, laughter spilling out each time the heavy oak door opened. I scanned the tables, searching for Francis’s thin frame.
My breath caught as I spotted a familiar broad-shouldered figure at the bar. Zral threw his head back, laughing with a petite blonde woman. Her bob cut swung as she gestured animatedly, and Zral leaned in, all easy charm and attentive interest.
I shouldn’t care. I didn’t care. The way his lips twitched as he settled back to calm, the way his large hand dwarfed his beer glass… It didn’t matter. The heat spreading through my chest was purely biological. A reaction to a bond I’d never asked for and refused to accept.
I’d spent my whole life fighting one cage. I wouldn’t willingly walk into another.
If anything, this just confirmed what I suspected. He was exactly the type to chase any woman who crossed his path. All the more reason to avoid him. Javed would eat him alive.
I shifted position, trying to spot Francis without being seen. He’d taken a seat at a corner table, his back to the wall. Smart. Paranoid. Exactly what I’d expect from someone dealing in black market relics.
My phone buzzed again. Another text from Kaz.
I swear to all the fires, I’ll gut Malak if you don’t buy a ticket home on the next available flight.
I rolled my eyes. Empty threats. Kaz needed Malak’s skills too much to?—
The next message made my blood run cold.
Only it’ll be a piss-poor botch job because Prince Javed threatened to do me the same if I don’t drag your ass home. NOW.
My fingers tightened around the phone. Javed was there? At our compound?
I slipped the phone back into my pocket, a new urgency thrumming through my veins. If Javed was threatening my clan, I had even less time than I’d thought. The Prince’s temper was legendary, and his cruelty even more so. The stories his previous companions whispered when they thought no one was listening...
