Then the temperature in the room dropped by twenty degrees. The fluorescent lights flickered, then went dead. For a second, all was dark—until a new scent cut through the fear.
Vampire.
The doors slammed open, and in swept the Kozlovs.
King Kazimir was an iceberg in a suit, pale as moonlight, his black hair slicked back and his eyes cold, flat disks. He brought with him a wall of air so frigid it hurt to breathe. Beside him, Lucia floated—long black curls, lips painted red, skin like alabaster. Her heels made no sound. The four guards who’d come to subdue us froze in their tracks, like mice in the path of a snake.
Kazimir spoke first, in English, hint of a Russian accent, but so precise it sounded like it had been filed to a razor. “What is the meaning of this? Why ismy presence required, and yet my friends are locked away like criminals?”
No one answered.
He let the silence stretch. “Princess Savannah Calloway is under my protection, as is the Luna of Iron Valor. Any who threatensthemthreatensme.”
The Council official stammered. “Sir, there are procedures—”
He cut her off with a glance. “I know your procedures. I have written half of them.”
He looked at me, then at Juliet. “You wish to see the girl?”
Juliet’s voice trembled, but she did not look away. “Yes. Now.”
Lucia stepped forward, her smile all teeth. “If you do not, I will start killing from the bottom up. Council will not like the headlines. You understand?”
The woman in the gray suit swallowed, hard. “Give me five minutes.”
She fled. The guards melted away with her.
Rafe put away his phone and smiled. “Never gets old watching you work, Kazimir.”
The vampire shrugged. “Council is made of old men. They fear only what is older.”
He looked at me, and something passed between us—a moment of respect, or warning. “Your mate is strong,” he said. “But she will not survive this if you do not hold yourself together. Do you understand?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Lucia hovered near Juliet, hands gentle as she checked for wounds. “You are safe,” she said, voice syrup-thick. “But you must be calm for Savannah. She needs you.”
I tried. For her, I’d try anything.
The councilwoman returned, eyes wide. “They’ll see you now. All of you.”
The room moved at once, a single organism. We followed her down another corridor, this one lined with gold-framed portraits of monsters in human dress. At the end, another steel door.
Beyond it: the royal chamber.
And Savannah, closer than ever. I could feel her, her heartbeat tangled with mine.
We were almost there.
The royal chamber was all theater and threat: marble floors, gilded chairs, twelve thrones fanned out in a half-moon like the jaws of some ancient beast. The ceiling soared up into blackness, lost in shadow, as if the Council wanted every guest to feel the weight of oblivion above them. Seated or standing behind each throne were the representatives of every territory and supernatural house—wolves, witches, vamps, even a demon or two, and majestic angels, their eyes like diamonds in the dimness.
Savannah’s father, Declan Calloway, sat at the center, king’s medallion at his throat, his eyes cold and glittering with malice. Next to him lounged King Dominic, the intended, arrogant as ever, one foot propped on a low table, his fingers drumming on the armrest as if the entire world was just waiting for him to order a round of drinks.
They both smiled when we entered, two apex predators who thought themselves unchallenged.
We walked down the aisle together, Rafe up front, Kozlovs at his flank, Bronc and Juliet on either side of me. My wolf howled, desperate to break free, but I held the leash until my nails dug deep into my palms, drawing blood.
The Council Chairwoman, a witch with paper-white skin and a smile like a paper cut, called the meeting to order. “Let the record show the parties are present. King Rafe Mayfield, King Kazimir Kozlov, Alpha Baucaum and Luna. And…” Her gaze flicked to me, then to the thrones. “Bridger Hardin, mate to the disputed subject. Where is she?”
