Parliament Square.
My appointment with Liam Brannigan. He wasn’t aware of it yet, but that hardly mattered. His schedule was conveniently empty for the next thirty-five minutes.
By the end of it, he would make me the richest man in England.
I straightened my tie as the car door opened.
Her voice echoed in my head as I walked.
Soft. Feminine.
It didn’t rise to dominate, didn’t strain to be heard—and that was the problem. It carried without effort.
I hated that.
I hated the power beneath the guise.
She should have sounded smaller.
Fifteen minutes later, I left—wiping the vile man’s blood from my fist.
I watched her video again.
???
There wasn’t a single blemish on her record. I checked everything—from nursery to the present day. No intimate videos. No photos. No scandals. Nothing.
“What can kill us?” I asked.
Nothing that I’m aware of, Fenrir replied calmly.Your life expectancy will not be human. You do not fall ill. Ageing slowed nine years ago. If anyone attacks us, I will kill them.
“And if she’s a monster?” I asked, just as a notification from her phone lit up my screen.
Darius Fletcher.
He was messaging her.
Congratulations on winning your award. Do you want to catch up sometime?
I shoved my chair back, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out my burner phone.
If you don’t leave Lielit alone, fragments of your skull and brain matter will be smeared all over your shitty little Porsche. Because I will cave your fucking head into it.
Kill him, Fenrir hissed.
The bastard messaged her again. And again.
I sent more.
The fury licked through my gut, my fingers flying across the keypad.
What did I tell you?
Do it again. I fucking dare you.
He messaged her again.
“Tonight,” Fenrir urged.“We have his address.”
