Page 1 of Vengeful Embers
1
TARA
Seventeen Months Ago
Early afternoon in Vegas means heat that makes the pavement shimmer and tourists in too little clothing snapping selfies under the Ember Club’s gilded sign. Inside, the air conditioning hums like a sedative, soothing against the velvet heat pressing down outside. The club’s mostly empty, the hush of late afternoon before the city wakes for sin.
I sit at my desk in the back office, notes from my thesis sprawled across the surface—highlighted textbooks, color-coded index cards, and a half-drunk cup of cold espresso perched precariously near the edge. Quantum entanglement equations blur before my eyes as I rub my temple, my focus scattered like broken glass. I don’t have a lot of time left until my dissertation defense, and less than zero time to waste.
My phone buzzes and vibrates in the middle of some papers on the desk. Grabbing it, the caller ID flashes with my sister’s name, and I tap to answer it.
“Hey, Rina.”
“Don’t forget the china,” she blurts the second I pick up. “Mom’s gonna lose her shit if it’s not there when she gets home.”
Fuck, is that tonight?I press the heel of my hand into my forehead, then glance at the time—3:47 PM.
Shit.
“No, I didn’t forget. I was just about to head out. I’m totally on top of it.”
“Bullshit,” Sabrina calls me out on my lie. “I bet you're in your office at the gangster den working on your dissertation defense and didn’t realize the time.”
“I was just about to pack up and head to the storage facility.”
“When you drop the china off, grab us a piece of cake and some of the food,” Sabrina orders. “I’m going to be super late tonight as I have to fill in for two extra dancers who have the flu.”
“Agh.” I suppress a shudder. “Don’t bring that shit home okay? I don’t have time to get the summer flu.”
“When did you ever get the flu?” Sabrina scoffs. “You're the healthiest person I know. It’s like the flu bug just bounces off you.”
“Did Mom give you any indication of where the plates are in the storage space?” I start getting ready to leave, grabbing my purse and keys from the desk drawer.
“She said the boxes are clearly marked,” Sabrina tells me. “I’ve gotta go. Don’t forget the food and cake. Tell them I said happy three-year relationship anniversary.”
“I’m hoping they won’t be and it’s just a drop-off and run.”
“Then get there before they get home,” Sabrina suggests. “Bye, love ya.”
The line goes dead rather abruptly.
I exhale, push back my chair, and shove my notes into a battered leather satchel. I reach for my phone again when a shadow cuts across the door.
Gavriil steps inside, tall and broad-shouldered, his ever-present scent of dark spice trailing him. His suit jacket is slung over one arm, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, tie loose like he’s been working since dawn. He probably has.
“Got a second?” he asks, his accent still thick despite two decades in the States.
I glance at the door. “Only if it’s fast. My mother’s gonna skin me alive if I don’t make it to storage before it closes.”
“Irina and I want to talk to you,” he says. “Nothing bad.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re not firing me?”
“Never.” He chuckles. “Didn’t you hear me say it’s nothing bad?”
“Okay. After I make this emergency china run, I’ll swing by your office.”
“Good. It’s important.”
