Menace was the first to break from the inner circle. He buttoned his suit jacket and ducked out onto the sidewalk, phone already pressed to his ear. He wasn’t just calling anyone—he was calling Rafe Mayfield, King of the Southwest Wolves, the only man with enough muscle to call an emergency Council session on a Saturday night.
Menace never wasted a syllable. “Rafe. It’s urgent. Maltraz just snatched a mated female out of Iron Valor territory. Yes, that’s correct. I have video footage. It happened in full view, public venue, no regard for covertness. I need the Council assembled in two hours or less. No, I don’t care if it’s midnight their time. They’d better goddamn well come together or shit is gonna fly. We can do it by video conference. Wrecker can facilitate.”
He hung up, looked at me through the window, and nodded once.
Inside, Aspen already had her phone in her hand. She looked smaller than usual, her hands shaking as she scanned her contacts. Oscar perched on her shoulder, whispering in her ear, his prairie dog voice high and anxious.
She pressed the icon for her father: “Dad? We’ve got a big issue. It’s bad. There will be a fight. Gunner’s mate. Maltraz took her. Yes, in front of everyone. We need help.”
A hush fell over the room as every supernatural in the building felt the shift in the air. Something old and holy had been called, and even the civilians picked up on it even if they had no idea what just happened. They’d started to clear out, one by one, until only the immediate pack and a handful of stragglers remained.
Meanwhile, Juliet worked the crowd with the kind of poise that came from surviving a hundred black-tie events. A woman in pearls corneredher, voice pitched high with concern: “Is everything alright? Where’s Ms. Lawson? She was supposed to speak again, I think—”
Juliet gave her a look, warm and a little regretful. “I’m so sorry. Lysander Hale received a call from his mother. There was an accident back East, and he and Brie are trying to reach her by phone now. It’s family business.” She touched the woman’s arm, an anchor in the confusion. “I promise you can direct any questions about the art or purchases to me or Ms. Pearl.” She smiled, and it worked. The woman softened, letting herself be led out.
Juliet reconciled the other buyers’ purchases, taking Venmo payments and handing out receipts. Several other members of the Iron Valor team were carefully wrapping paintings for people to take home.
Within twenty minutes, the gallery was empty except for us.
Then the dam broke.
I bounded back up the stairs, not caring if I knocked another hole in the drywall. I burst through the mezzanine door, eyes wild and searching. I caught the scent of Brie still hanging in the air.
The office was a wreck. Her papers and paintbrushes scattered across the floor, her chair knocked sideways, the half-finished painting on the easel torn through the middle. I paced the room, nose hunting for anything—sweat, blood, the perfume she wore just for me. It was all faint being overwhelmed by the hot ozone stink of Maltraz’s magic and the weak, desperate trace of her fear.
I flipped the desk, slammed the drawers open, shredded the little rolling box that had been left behind. For a second, I saw it: a single strand of Brie’s hair, blue-dyed and perfect, curled around the handle of her favorite palette knife. I pressed it to my face and howled.
I felt like my heart was being ripped from my chest, like I couldn’t remember how to breathe. My body felt wrong, as though someone had reached inside of me and removed a crucial organ, one that was meant to keep me alive.
And then the air changed.
It went from hot and electric to cold and weightless, like a door opening in the middle of winter. The shadows deepened, and the edges of the room filled with white light that pulsed with every breath. When I looked up, Archon was there, standing in the doorway.
He was taller than I remembered. Seven feet if he was an inch, hair like a river of spun silver falling down his back. He wore a white suit, too, but it didn’t look like any human tailoring—each seam shone, each button glinted like a star. His eyes weren’t gold; they were every color at once, swirling and shifting.
He walked to me, slow and solemn, and knelt until our faces were level.
“Finn Walsh,” he said, his voice the song of every river I’d ever heard rushing by. “Your mate is alive.”
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, the hair still clutched in my fist.
“She is frightened, but she is not alone. The demon king has taken her, but she is not lost to you.”
He reached out, two fingers extended, and pressed them to my forehead.
“You must not lose yourself. She needs you whole.”
I stood up, wiped my face, and looked down at the security camera that still blinked red from the corner.
I stared into the lens, every cell in my body burning with a new promise.
“I’m coming for you, baby,” I said, voice low and steady. “I swear it.”
The world outside was already moving—phones ringing, engines starting, the war machine of Iron Valor gearing up for the biggest fight we’d ever faced.
But right now, it was just me, her, and the echo of a vow.
The next time Maltraz saw me, there would be hell to pay.
