THIRTY
CADEN
I went to Emma’s room to pick her up before portaling into Slava. She wasn’t ready to leave just yet and promptly shoved me back out with the ever so charming words, “Don’t let the door hit your ego on the way out!”
Suppressing a grin at her obvious displeasure, I waited what felt like a lifetime for her to get ready. When she finally emerged, I had to admit, she looked the part. Not exactly battle-ready, but her posture shone with a self-confidence that was undeniably hot. She looked like someone prepared to win—a lawyer about to crush a case.
Getting Emma clearance to Slava had been a diplomatic nightmare, but the fact that it finally came through gave me a glimmer of hope for our upcoming mission.
Two days after my spectacular failure to recruit Petru Stoyan, Emma and I portaled into the fortress once again.
As soon as she saw the imposing structure of Slava, her jaw dropped. It was hard to tell if she was shocked or in awe, but the effect was unmistakable.
“This is Slava?” she whispered, her eyes wide as we approached the entrance.
I nodded, acknowledging her astonishment.
“So what, all ten thousand magi of this Collective live in the same building?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
This time, instead of Petru meeting us in the courtyard, we were escorted directly into the throne room by his guards. There, seated on an actual fuckingthrone—yes, an ornate, elevated chair—was the Leader of Slava, his demeanor razor-edged.
“Didn’t I tell you to get the hell off my property? The staying off it, was implied.” Petru’s threat cut through the room, each word heavy with irritation as he faced us from his imposing throne.
Emma strode ahead; her steps firm despite the obvious nerves she must’ve felt. I let her pass before stopping in front of Petru, crossing my arms as I met his glare head-on. My voice was low, edged with a quiet menace that left no room for misunderstanding.
“I need you to listen to her. Show some respect while you’re at it, or there will be consequences.”
Petru tilted his head just a fraction, challenge etched into every line of his body. “Consequences? Should I be shaking in my boots right about now?”
I shrugged, my face the picture of practiced apathy. “Peeing your pants would be preferable. Or did you forget what happens when someone disrespects one of mine?”
His jaw ticked, the muscle twitching as doubt flickered to life in his mind. I saw it—the hesitation, the memories clawing their way back to the surface. The blood, the screams, the unrelenting consequences of crossing me back at Area 4. He might have built himself up over the years, but some things weren’t so easily forgotten.
His attention shifted to Emma, skepticism lacing his expression. “Why her? She’s got some miraculous argument that’ll sway me into going to battle?”
“No,” Emma replied, her voice calm but firm, “I don’t. But Caden Colt told me you’re one of the bravest men he’s ever met. When someone like you chooses to sit out of a war which affects us all, I want to understand why.”
Something subtle passed over Petru’s face—a fleeting shadow of hesitation or memory. Then he snorted derisively. “You think you’re able to understand what’s at stake here?”
I let out a low growl in warning. That would be the last time Petru would talk down to someone from my Collective. Then again, who was I kidding? If he disrespected Emma, she’d probably annihilate him before I even had the chance to lift a finger.
But Emma didn’t flinch. “Maybe not, but I do understand how sometimes the stakes are more personal than political.”
A flicker of emotion crossed Petru’s face, and for a moment, he seemed almost vulnerable. Then, as if snapping back to his usual composure, he retreated behind that violent mask of his. “And what would you know of personal stakes? You’re all but what, twenty-five?” he guessed, glancing over her with cool dismissal.
Emma’s posture shifted; her curiosity piqued. “Twenty-four, actually. And age is important why?”
“It is not,” Petru replied curtly.
“Clearly it is,” Emma countered, “if it’s making you reluctant to discuss whatever’s weighing so heavily on you, you’d change a lifetime of ways for it.”
Petru’s stare drifted toward the far wall, as if he were weighing how much to reveal. “Perhaps. But I’m still not eager to discuss it with the likes ofyou.”
“Maybe I don’t need you to,” Emma said softly, folding her arms in a deliberate motion.
She tilted her head a notch, her brilliant eyes searching his features with an intensity that made the room seem smaller. “Who is she?”
