ChapterOne
July 2045 - San Francisco, The Elvish Protectorate
“You’re not supposedto be here.”
Unsurprisingly, Delilah replied without an ounce of worry. “Certainly, but I am always exactly where Ineedto be.”
Kazimier Rione shot his half-sister a baleful look as she settled onto the squeaky vinyl stool beside him. As usual, The Broken Tooth was smokey and loud. The bar top was just shy of outright sticky, and the music piped in through the old speakers was something bluesy.
San Francisco’s premier bar it was not — and that was exactly why he liked it.
Hehad no trouble fitting in with the other shifty patrons, who only wanted to score a drink, a companion for the night, or a lucrative deal in a dark corner. Perhaps all three.
His sister, on the other hand, looked about as natural on the duct-taped stool as an ice sculpture would in a bus station bathroom.
Even with the smoky glamour obscuring her features from all but the most discerning eyes, her bearing made her stand out. But then again, Delilah Solbourne stood outeverywhere.It would take more than the shifting tendrils of magically-conjured smoke to hide her stature, her aura of casual dominance.
And that was before one considered her outfit.
A headache built behind his right eye. He’d been nothing but tense for two weeks. He did not need the added stress of his sister’s unannounced andunsanctionedvisit.
“What are you doing here?” he grunted, claws tightening around the cool glass of his beer bottle.
Delilah lifted her hand, motioning for the bartender’s attention. “Lemon drop, please.”
“This isn’t the kind of place that serveslemon drops,Lilah.”
“Oh please, she knows how to make a lemon drop. You think this is my first visit?” She wiggled her fingers at the were woman who owned the bar.
The owner glanced over from the other end of the bar, where she’d been talking in a low voice to another were, a man most criminals in San Francisco would know on sight. He was tall, thickly built, covered nearly head to toe in colorful tattoos, and had the signature were feature: two different colored eyes. He sipped from a glass of whiskey as the bartender waved to let Delilah know she’d heard her.
Kaz let his gaze linger on the weres for a moment longer than necessary. He knew the man well, though neither would consider the other a friend.
Rasmus Adams was the enforcer of the unofficial San Francisco were pack. He was in charge of maintaining discipline amongst the weres, a people prone to explosive tempers and even greater strength, and the head of all their illegal Underground smuggling operations.
He was also a mean son of a bitch. If Kaz was being honest — something he did his best to avoid — he would have to admit that it was half the reason he liked the man.
They locked eyes for the span of a heartbeat, neither willing to be the one to look away first, before Rasmus wisely lifted his glass up in a lazy salute. It was the smallest concession to the truth they both understood: that Kaz was a far more dangerous predator than he could ever be.
Satisfied that his position was still clear in the were’s mind, Kaz turned his attention back to his beer — and his sister.
“You shouldn’t be in the territory, let alone in the city,” he warned her. “You’re banished, remember? If Teddy found out you were here, he’d have you escorted out at the end of a bolt gun.”
“I am well aware.” She slid him a sly look. “Are you going to snitch on me, sweet boy?”
Kaz shook his head.Fucking family.“Why are youhere?”
Delilah dropped her forearms onto the tacky bar top and craned her neck to peer at the feed screen to the right of the bar. An orcish woman and a gargoyle were duking it out in a ring bordered on all sides by a frenzied crowd.
Without looking away from the screen, she asked, “How was the wedding?”
Kaz forced another gulp of beer down his suddenly tight throat. “Fine.”
“Did Teddy and our girl have a good time?”
He shot her a hard look. “Lilah, I might not be as pissed as Teddy right now, but don’t mistake that for apathy. You have no fucking right to call her that after what you did.”
“I did what was necessary.” She turned her head to look at him, but he couldn’t see her eyes through the glamour. Not that it would have helped. Delilah’s black eyes — theSolbourneeyes — were always impossible to read. He’d wondered if it was a side effect of her ability to see so many possible futures or the damage their father had inflicted on her long before any of their siblings came along.
