Asher and I glance at each other. An unspoken truce settles between us.
"Someone should stay," he says. His tone shifts like he's handing me a gift wrapped in obligation. "Make sure everyone is safe here."
I almost roll my eyes. The strategic pacifier. A job framed like a choice. But I don't say anything, just nod and follow Sage as she turns to the kitchen. My hand settles on the small of her back, feeling her warmth through the fabric.
"Be careful out there," she tells Asher and the coyotes as they prep to leave.
Grunts of agreement follow, already shifting back into strategy talk.
I lead Sage deeper into the kitchen, letting the low hum of voices fade. She looks troubled, her eyes distant. The kind of quiet that says there's a whole ocean under the surface, churning with things I probably don't want to hear.
I want to ask. Oh, I really do.Why didn't you move when he touched you? Why did you freeze? Was it fear? Was it something else?
But the words snag in my throat. So I do what I'm best at—I deflect.
"This is a dream honeymoon, isn't it?" I say, forcing a half-grin. "Shootouts and library duty. Real luxury package. We should sell it."
She snorts. A tiny laugh, barely there, but it's enough. Something eases in my chest. Not healed, but less raw.
I was always good at dodging the hard questions.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Darius
Briar Hollow.
From the top floor of the office building we just leased, the river view is unobstructed. It's dawning and the first rays turn it red. Like an opened vein. Or a wine offering.
Mortals think rivers don't change. Even most immortals never watch long enough to notice how they do.
The rhythm is easier to see in trees. Buds swell. Bark breathes. Spring rehearses the same miracle every year.
Nature moves, indifferent. Life and death. One may have centuries, decades or hours. In the end, she makes no distinction.
"Injuries," Darlene reports from the far side of the table. "Some grave. Johnny's hit bad. No deaths."
Her voice holds venom and pain. She's guarding her side. That axe wasn't ordinary metal. Valkyrie-forged, runes set deep. She'll feel it for a while.
"It was the wildbane," she adds. "And the damn barrier. We didn't expect them to be this prepared that quickly."
I don't look back. The river keeps its counsel.
"What do you want to do, Darius? We can regroup and hit them again by tomorrow morning. Tonight, if we—"
"No." One word. It's enough. She goes quiet.
I turn to Ruaidhrí. He's in a chair, laptop balanced on his knees, chassis bent at one corner and a blood stain he hasn't bothered to wipe. Salvaged from the skirmish, then. Interesting priorities.
"I want the town's mayor," I say.
Fingers flick. Keys answer. "Harlan Bright. Third term. Wife, Lydia. Daughter, Donna Bright. Runs with the crew. Vampire. If she's still in the family picture, the elder Bright knows about the weird and the uncanny and signs off on what's happening here." He doesn't just give me data. He gives me a vector. "That could be an obstacle."
I nod. A vampire daughter who still comes home for dinner. This enclave is strange.
"Third term," I repeat, weighing it. Ambition wants legacy, not a headline. "Pull the town's financials. Grant streams, state and federal. Corporate contracts, capital projects, PAC money, any future 'vision' he's sold to donors." The river's red fades to gold. "I want choke points. If I squeeze, do votes or vision squeal first?"
Darlene leans forward, palms flat against the table. "You mean to stay here?" Her voice carries agitation and disbelief, as if my choice is betrayal in itself.
