Bronc gave a little sly look at Rafe. “Well, the Eastern Vamps Princess Lucia is my mate’s best friend and was a childhood friend of Savannah’s. We can at least hope for some sway from her.”
Rafe looked incredulous. “Fuck me, Bronc. Iron Valor Wolves never cease to amaze.”
I shrugged. “Never count us all the way out.” Then I asked, “Witches?” remembering the shrewd, glassy-eyed witch who’d tested me after my sister’s death.
“Harder to say,” Rafe admitted. “Four covens, each with its own agenda. But two of the four have been on the losing side of mate mark politics for a decade. I think we can get them. The demon and angel factions are a toss-up. The angels are likely a lock for fate, so hopefully they’ll be on your side, but they only hold one seat.”
I chewed on that for a moment. “So it comes down to three or four swing votes, and who can buy them first?”
He nodded. “Politics isn’t much different from organized crime. You want someone on your side, you either pay them or make it impossible for them to cross you.”
Bronc’s hands balled on the armrests. “Council wasn’t worth a damn when it came to finding Emma. Can’t help but feel like this is the same song, second verse.”
I looked at him with the same sinking feeling. “We’re not losing this time,” I said, staring him down. “I’ll do whatever it takes to bring her home.”
“Good,” Rafe said. “Because the other side is playing for keeps. Dominic wants to humiliate you. Declan wants to break her. And the rest of the Council just wants the whole thing to go away. Some of ‘em might want to make an example of Iron Valor after what happened with Greenbriar. It could go any number of ways.”
I let the silence settle. The hum of the engines was a low, persistent threat, a reminder of the speed with which things could unravel. My mate bite still burned, but I welcomed it. It was the only thing that proved Savannah was out there, fighting.
Rafe pulled a notepad from his pocket, scribbled a few lines, and slid it across to me. “These are the names you’ll need to watch. I’ve already sent runners to meet us at O’Hare. You’ll have support, but you’ll also be tailed from the second we land.”
I scanned the list. Four names jumped out: two witches, one vampire, and the demon rep—an ex-marine named Jones, of all things.
Bronc grunted. “We’ll handle the pressure.”
Rafe’s eyes glinted. “You always do. But this time, make sure you leave something standing for the next generation. I’m tired of patching up the messes left behind.”
He stood, stretched, and stalked back to the galley. Bronc watched him go, then let his head drop back against the seat.
“Think we’ve got a shot?” I asked quietly.
Bronc didn’t hesitate. “We always have a shot. That’s why they don’t like the odds.”
I grinned, wiped a hand over my mouth, and let my body finally relax.
Outside, the sun was starting to set, the world invisible. Inside, we were wolves among sheep, ready to tear out the heart of anyone who got between us and the people we loved.
I closed my eyes and sent a single, silent message to Savannah: Hold on.
We were coming.
Chapter 16
Savannah
The meal sat on the lacquered table for hours before I forced myself to eat it. Cold roast and a slab of cheese, barely unwrapped by the servant who delivered it—he did not look at me, and I did not ask his name. Every movement of my jaw was a small betrayal; I ached to starve, to wither, to resist every shred of this charade, but hunger won out. I needed to heal. The burns on my wrists and ankles demanded protein, demanded salt and fluid. The body is a mercenary, and it always collects its debts.
I ate with my fingers, tearing the meat into stringy bites, chewing until my gums stung. I drank the mineral water straight from the bottle, tilting my head to swallow, ignoring the way the cut on my cheek opened a little with each movement. Blood tasted like metal and memory.
I had counted twelve hours since they stripped the silver from me. Ten of those had been spent here, in the room they called the Rose Suite, and if it weren’t for the welts scoring my skin, I would have believed the name a joke. Even the air was sweet, perfumed by a hothouse arrangement at the foot of the bed, its pink blossoms lolling like tongues from cut-glass vases. The carpet was plum velvet, soft enough to bruise underfoot, and I left faint tracks each time I crossed the room. The walls were heavy with gilt moldings and painted angels, their downcast eyes fixedon my every movement. Even the drapes conspired against me, lined with blackout cloth so thick it turned the daytime sun to a pallid, false dusk.
I finished the meal in slow increments, counting each swallow as a victory. When the food was gone, I licked my fingers clean. I would leave nothing behind for them to measure. Every act, however small, would be on my terms.
Time limped by. At regular intervals, footsteps would pass my door—a soft tread, then a deliberate pause, a key rattling in the lock. I wasn’t sure if the guards were meant to intimidate or to comfort, but they succeeded at neither. They were like insects, single-minded and relentless, and every time the sound faded I felt more alone. My only company was the memory of Menace’s voice, sharp and certain, urging me to hold on.
I would have given anything to hear it for real, even if only in anger. My only solace was the brief moments I felt his love through our bond. It was so new we couldn’t really send communication back and forth, only feelings. But anything was better than nothing. Traces of his presence touched me off and on as the traces of the silver they had bound me with left my body.
I had scoured every inch of the room. The windows were fixed, with no visible latches. The only means of egress was the door, a slab of polished walnut with a modern deadbolt and, I suspected, a reinforced steel core beneath the wood. There were no vents, no crawlspaces, no romantic fireplace for me to crawl through. Even the art on the walls had been nailed flush and tight. I traced the outlines of the hidden cameras: one in the corner, disguised as a smoke detector, another in the sconce above the writing desk.
