The casino was a squat, ugly building, all battered brick and flashing neon, wedged between a pawn shop and a nightclub that always smelled like spilled gin and regret. A place that Wolfgang chose because he figured it was a place his enemies wouldn’t think to look. He was right. Most thought his office would be in one of the fancy casinos or a luxurious house. The sign out front buzzed and spat light, casting a sickly glow over the sidewalk. Nico slipped through a side door, brushing past a pair of shifters in ill-fitting uniforms, their eyes glazed with boredom. They would have been members of Kingdom of Claws based on the fur that covered their skin: one black and orange like a tiger, the other black and sleek like a panther. Aside from that, they looked human, or as human as one could look with fur all over them.
Using his magic to conceal himself, Nico moved like water, blending with the ebb and flow of the crowd, the sharp tang of sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke curling in his nostrils.
He continued to navigate the lowest corridor of the ramshackle casino, keeping himself shielded from anyone. At the back of the building, the lights were dimmer, the air cooler, and the noise from the casino floor faded to a dull, throbbing background hum. Nico ducked down a hallway lined with portraits of wolves and kings—Wolfgang’s ego plastered on every wall.
He finally reached the door, a solid steel object that was completely incongruent with the rest of the cheapness surrounding it from the wallpaper, light fixtures, and carpet–all of which looked like it hadn’t been updated or cleaned since the 1970s. He paused and used his magic to seek out anyone beyond the door. When he heard nothing, Nico placed his hand on theknob and sent a bolt of power into the lock, clicking it open. He turned it and pushed the heavy door open.
Inside, the office looked like the lair of a predator who’d traded fur for pinstripes: dark wood paneling, shelves lined with leather-bound books no one had ever read, and a desk that had been carved from a single, probably ancient, tree. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and oiled leather, undercut by something colder—a metallic tang that made the hair on the back of Nico’s neck stand up. Some sort of ward. He worked through it, allowing his powerful shaman magic to unravel it.
He moved with careful efficiency, every sense straining. The desk drawers were locked, but like the door, the tumblers surrendered to a whispered word and a flick of shaman power. He rifled through papers—contracts, invoices, the mundane detritus of the king’s many enterprises. The real secrets would be digital. He powered up the computer, wincing as the fan whirred to life sounding too loud when he was trying to be stealthy, and pressed his palm flat against the side. More wards. His magic twitched beneath his skin, a low hum of energy that curled and twisted until the wards on the machine shivered and broke apart. Wolfgang had spent a pretty penny on those wards. Still, Nico was an ancient shaman, like the others of his kind, and it would take more than wards to keep him out. He must have well and truly fooled the Chaos king if Wolfgang hadn’t attempted something that would actually be a challenge to him.
The screen spat out emails, files, encrypted folders. Nico’s breath caught as he scrolled through message after message—Talulla to Azure, codes and dates, money moving in the shadows. He snapped pictures with his phone, the camera’s lens cold against his fingers. Sweat beaded on his brow and nausea rolled in his gut as he read the correspondence between the two rulers. The way they spoke of the females as if they were nothing more than goods to be bartered or chattel to be sold made hisblood boil. And if he’d been angry before tonight, before Akira, reading the disgusting things Azure and Wolfgang had discussed raised that rage to another level.
He lost track of time as he sat there reading one message after the other, his disgust building along with his temper. After one particularly disgusting exchange, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reigning in the fury. When he finally opened his eyes, his gaze darted to the painting on the wall—an oil of Wolfgang in full regalia, sneering down at the world. Nico rolled his eyes. “Pompous ass,” he muttered. But the picture called to him, whispering that there were more secrets to find.
He shut down the computer, having gotten enough from it, and walked over to the picture. Behind it, just as he expected, was a safe. He reached for it, already whispering the spell to crack it open, when his phone buzzed. Ridiculous as it was, he could practically feel the urgency in the vibration of the device, or maybe that was just the energy running through his veins.
He glanced down, seeing Sable’s name. His jaw clenched as he read the text.
Room discovered. Wolfgang loyal. Getting girls out now. Will update.
For a moment, the office vanished. In his mind, he saw Akira’s face, saw the fear she tried to hide, the stubborn tilt of her chin. Rage and panic flared, a wild, hungry thing clawing at his insides. He wanted to tear the world apart, to find her, shield her, burn down anyone who threatened her safety. He might have been a shaman, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own kind of beast living inside of him. The type of beasteveryman has when it comes to his female.
Nico locked the beast down and he forced himself to breathe, to move. Sable was one of the best warriors he knew. She’d get them out. He trusted her—he had to. He sent a text back, fingers flying:Protect them with your life. Go to the safehouse.
He swept the room once more, making sure nothing looked out of place, then slipped back into the hall, every muscle tensed for a fight. He moved like a ghost through the casino belly, the lights harsh and unforgiving, the air humming with danger.
Akira. He whispered her name in his mind like a prayer, asking Visata to keep her safe, so he could make things right. Nico told her she’d be safe with him and he’d keep his promises. He’d fight for her, even if it meant burning down the whole damn kingdom to shut down anyone who’d been working with Azure.
Raphael stepped into the club and was hit by a wall of sound and sensation. The bass thrummed under his skin, making his bones vibrate. The lights were a riot of color—reds and blues and greens pulsing in time with the music, casting wild shadows over the crowd.
Everywhere he looked, bodies pressed close—shifters swaying, laughing, the air thick with the tang of alcohol, magic, and lust. It rippled down his skin causing him to shutter, but not in a good way. Not in a way that most incubi would have felt. Raphael moved through it all, a shadow among shadows, his demon nature both a warning and an invitation. He caught snatches of conversation as he passed: laughter edged with fear, names whispered, secrets traded for another round.
He stopped at the bar, leaning in close enough to smell the bartender’s perfume—sharp and floral, with an undercurrent of something darker. “Whiskey,” he said, voice pitched low as he allowed his incubus nature, which he usually kept tamped down, to seep out.
The bartender poured, her hands steady despite the chaos, and the power she no doubt felt emanating from him. He picked up the glass and turned, resting his back against the bar.
He scanned the room, searching for familiar faces, for anyone who might have the information he needed. At the end of the bar, his gaze snagged on a water shifter with lavender hair and pale green scales on her face that shimmered in the light. Her smile was sharp as glass with pointy teeth, daring anyone to get close. He walked towards her and then slid onto the stool beside her, letting his power roll over her skin like warm silk.
She shivered, turning to face him, her eyes wide and wary. He knew what she’d see. Lust incarnate. Her body would be reacting to his pheromones. His own magic would know exactly what she was attracted to, and he’d manifest it for her.
“Looking for something, demon?” she purred.
“Information,” he murmured, letting a hint of hunger leak into his voice. He wasn’t going to play with her. He’d give enough of his power to get what he wanted and then move on. Just using his incubus abilities to this extent was making him nauseous. Especially when Miryam's face popped into his mind. He had to put that aside for now and do what was necessary. “Wolfgang. Azure. Trafficking.” He let his words roll out rich like velvet and caress her skin. Raphael poured every ounce of his seduction magic into his voice and watched as her eyes glazed over and she leaned closer to him.
She chuckled, low and flirtatious. “You and everyone else, apparently. Why should I tell you anything?” Her eyes met his, a challenge, or rather she was attempting at playing hard to get because she thought he actually wanted her. Gag.
He reached out, brushing her wrist with his fingers. Magic sparked, hot and electric. “Because if you don’t, you’ll wish you had.” It was a threat that sounded like a delicious promise.
Her eyes widened, flaring with heat, and her own body reacted to him. Her pheromones hit him, and Raphael had to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat. She leaned in, her voice barely audible over the music, her breath warm against his ear. “Wolfgang and Talulla have been making deals with Venom for months. Girls in, girls out, money changing hands. If it means finding a mate, everyone has been turning a blind eye. If you want proof, find Darius. He’s in the VIP lounge—likes to talk when he’s drunk. He’s a bear shifter, so you won’t be able to miss him.”
Raphael pressed a coin into her hand, the metal humming with a spell. It was the least he could do for using his magic on her, getting her hot and bothered, and then not fulfilling the desire he’d sparked in her. “Forget me.”
He left her blinking, already moving through the crush of bodies, up the stairs to the lounge. Up here, the air was cooler, the lights softer, but the tension was thicker—predators circling, always ready for blood.
Raphael spotted Darius immediately. The bear shifter took up half a curved booth, his bulk crowding a nervous-looking snake shifter with glossy black hair and venom-bright eyes. Turning his attention back to the man in question, he noticed that Darius looked like he’d been carved out of the same stone the casino’s foundation was poured on—broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and impossible to ignore even in a room full of supernatural predators. As the female had said, he was a bear shifter, but the magic that hummed beneath his skin, like other Chaos members, was . . . off. Maybe dormant, like a sleeping volcano, or twisted by some weird phenomenon in their species. There was a heaviness to him, a kind of sluggish power, as if his animal side was locked behind a door that never had a key. His skin was the color of burnt caramel, his face dusted with a perpetual five o’clock shadow that threatened to turn into a fullbeard at any moment. Shaggy dark hair fell over sharp, watchful eyes—eyes that belonged in the wild but had learned to settle for neon lights and bottom-shelf whiskey.
Darius looked like he’d been poured into his suit—powerful arms barely contained by fabric, a gold chain glinting at his throat. A jagged scar ran from his ear down to the edge of his jaw—a souvenir from a fight he probably started and definitely finished. His gaze was sharp and wary, and when he laughed—a booming, unguarded sound—it was the kind of laugh that dared anyone to laugh back. And as he shifted, Darius moved with a certain lumbering grace, the kind that belonged to something powerful but forced to play nice in a world that didn’t want him at full strength.
