“Then you’ll understand when I say this.” The old man turned to face him fully, his weathered features hardening with unexpected steel. “If you hurt her—if you break her heart or betray her trust—I will find a way to make you regret it. I may be old, but I am not without resources.”
He met his gaze evenly. “I would never hurt her.”
“Many men have said similar things.”
“I am not a man.” He let a hint of his beast rise to the surface, feeling his eyes shift slightly, knowing Tomas could see the change. “I am Vultor. When we claim a mate, it is for life. She is mine, and I am hers. There is no force in this universe that could make me betray her.”
Tomas studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, something shifted in his expression—the hardness softening into something that might have been approval.
“I believe you,” he said quietly. “Gods help me, but I do.” He paused, then added: “The current head of security is a man named Vartel. He’s been with the company for three years,appointed by Marina herself after your mate’s father became too ill to oversee personnel matters. He is… wholly her creature.”
“Understood.”
“He will not go quietly.”
“He will go.” His voice brooked no argument. “Quietly or otherwise.”
The elevator opened onto a floor dominated by security operations—banks of monitors displaying feeds from cameras throughout the building, workstations manned by personnel in Duvain uniforms, a glass-walled office at the far end where a broad-shouldered man sat behind a cluttered desk.
Vartel looked up as they approached, his expression shifting from annoyance to wariness as he registered Rykan’s presence. He was larger than the guards Rykan had encountered so far, with the thick neck and heavy shoulders of someone who’d spent years building muscle. His eyes were small and hard, set deep in a face that had seen its share of violence.
“Who the hell are you?” Vartel rose from his chair, one hand drifting towards the weapon at his hip.
He didn’t slow his approach. “I’m the new head of security. You’re dismissed.”
“Like hell I am.” Vartel’s hand closed around his weapon, though he didn’t draw it. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I take orders from Marina Duvain, not some?—”
He moved.
One moment he was three paces from Vartel’s desk; the next, he had the man’s weapon hand locked in an iron grip, the bonesgrinding together under pressure that was carefully calculated to cause the maximum pain without permanent damage. Vartel gasped, his face going white.
“You take orders from Ember Duvain now.” He kept his voice low, almost conversational. “She is the head of this family and this company. I am her designated security chief, with full authority to hire, fire, and execute anyone who threatens her safety.”
He let a bit more of his beast show—his fangs lengthening, his eyes blazing gold, and the rumble of a growl building in his chest.
“I have decided that you are a threat. This is your one opportunity to leave peacefully. Take it, or I will remove you in pieces.”
Vartel’s small eyes were wide now, showing white around the edges. His breath came in short, sharp gasps. The smell of his fear was thick in the air—sour and pungent, deeply satisfying to his predator instincts.
“All right.” The word came out strangled. “All right, I’m going.”
He held him a moment longer, letting the message sink in, then released his grip and stepped back. Vartel stumbled, cradling his injured hand against his chest.
“Your personal effects will be forwarded to whatever address you provide.” His voice was flat, devoid of inflection. “You have five minutes to leave the building. If I see you in any Duvain facility again, I will assume you intend harm to my employer and act accordingly.”
Vartel fled.
He watched him go, then turned to survey the security operations floor. The personnel at their workstations were staring at him with varying expressions of shock, fear, and—in a few cases—something that looked like relief.
Tomas moved to stand beside him, his weathered face thoughtful. “That was… efficiently done.”
“He was corrupt and incompetent. The company is better without him.”
“I don’t disagree.” The old man paused. “What will you do now?”
He looked out over the monitors, at the dozens of camera feeds showing corridors and offices and public spaces throughout the Duvain tower. Somewhere in this building, Marina was plotting her next move. Somewhere, there were other people loyal to her—people who might try to harm Ember if given the opportunity.
He couldn’t afford to miss any of them.
