The door closed with a soft, final click.
I sat there, staring at the empty chair, trying to keep my heart rate below triple digits.
There was only one problem: Harper wasn’t here. Harper wasn’t anywhere.
She was gone, and now the most dangerous thing on earth was hungry for her blood.
I had ten minutes to invent a miracle, or I was dead.
No—worse than dead.
I was a liability.
I grabbed the phone, punched in Rage’s number, and tried not to scream.
“Find her,” I said when he picked up. “And if you can’t—fake it. Use one of the lookalikes. Just don’t let the demon know we’ve lost the real one. Not until we have a plan.”
Rage grunted, then hung up.
I wiped my hands on my pants, leaving two wet streaks.
I had nine minutes left.
The devil was waiting.
I’d barely gotten my pulse under control when Maltraz called me to the lounge. The VIP suite was a converted library, all mahogany and velvet, the air humid with spilled liquor and centuries-old books. The demon sat at a poker table, shuffling a deck one-handed, claws flashing in the lamplight. The smoke from his cigarette twisted in the air, coiling into animal shapes that vanished just as quick.
A girl in a blue silk robe knelt by his side, hands folded in her lap. She was pretty enough, but her eyes were empty—dosed to the gills, probably, or just resigned to whatever was coming. Rage stood in the corner, arms crossed, looking everywhere butat the demon or the girl. He caught my eye and gave the smallest shake of his head.
We were in deep shit.
Maltraz beckoned me closer. “Have a seat, Mr. Steiner.”
I obeyed, trying to look casual. The girl trembled when Maltraz ran his hand through her hair, but she didn’t flinch or cry.
“Where is my toy?” the demon asked, voice a purr.
I went for the lie, praying it would stick. “She’s on her way up. The handlers are prepping her.”
Maltraz’s smile was gentle. “Is that so?”
He snapped his fingers. The girl at his feet jerked upright, then toppled forward, face down on the carpet. Out cold. He leaned forward, folding his hands over the cards. “Let’s not do the dance tonight, Waylon. You know I hate it when people waste my time. You dared to lie to me? You know that my boss is the father of lies.”
I dropped the pretense. “She’s gone.”
He stilled, every muscle locking in place.
“Explain,” he said, and the word shook the table.
“She was taken,” I said. “Last week. Out of the alley. No trace. We’ve combed the city, the cameras, everything.”
Maltraz stood, slow, letting the chair grind against the floor. He was on me in a heartbeat, faster than I could react. One clawed hand wrapped my throat; the other slammed into the table, splintering the polished wood. He lifted me until my feet left the floor.
“Who took her?” His breath was pure brimstone.
“We don’t know,” I choked out. “Someone good. They wiped our security, spoofed our trackers. It was clean.”
He squeezed just a fraction. “You have ten seconds to give me something useful.”
