“How do you know him, anyway? You mentioned a debt.”
“We have history.Complicatedhistory.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No. It isn’t.” He sighs. “I happened to be visiting the Twilight Market at the same moment Vyse happened to be getting his head bashed in. Something about screwing the wrong demon.”
“Literally or financially?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
Villeneuve smirks and takes another sip of wine. “Didn’t want to know then, never asked since.”
“So you rescued him?” I ask. “That’s why he owes you?”
“That and I put in a word for him to the Council when he decided to go legitimate.”
“So you saved his life and got him his job.” I fold my arms. “That’s a lot of favors for a stranger you met at the black market.”
He chuckles, the sound as smooth as the wine. “I thought it might come in handy one day to have a siren in my back pocket. And more allies on the Council is never a bad thing.”
“So you collect people,” I reason. “People you think might be useful to you one day.”
“Life is a game, Regina,” he says, a weariness in his voice that belies the arrogance of his words. “You either play it, or you become someone else’s pawn.”
“How charmingly Machiavellian.”
His lips twitch. “You haven’t told your wolves about what I did during the ritual.”
He’s good at turning the tables, I’ll give him that. “No. I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
I take another sip of wine. It’s good and probably older than me. “You know they’ll kill you if I do, right?”
“I’m sure they’d try.” He sounds almost amused. “That would be... inconvenient. For now.”
I don’t like keeping secrets from my mates. It feels wrong, like a splinter under my skin that I can’t quite get out. But the alternative, telling them that the dragon professor who saved their alpha’s life also secretly bonded himself to their mate, would end badly for everyone.
Especially Villeneuve.
And right now, we need him.
“There was something you said before in the garden,” I start. “You said only a pack of wolves has ever managed to kill a dragon. What did you mean by?—”
The doorbell rings.
The sound is jarring against the silence of the study. I reach for my glamour instinctively, pulling it over my scars before I can think about it. The familiar drain of energy settles over my skin.
Villeneuve sets down his wine glass. “Speak of the devil.”
“Vyse?”
“He’s one of the only things capable of slithering past my wards to reach the bell.” He stands, smoothing down his jacket. “It seems he does have an update, after all.”
We reach the foyer just as Rowan opens the front door. Micah and Sean are already there, drawn by the sound. Sean’s wearing his new eyepatch and looking extremely pleased with himself.
Rowan has no sooner opened the door than Vyse sweeps into the house like he owns it.
He’s exactly as Micah and Sean described, the photo come to life. A tall, elegant man with red hair spilling over his shoulders like he’s straight out of a pre-Raphaelite painting. His silk shirt is open enough to show off his tanned chest, and his leather pants are tight enough that I hope he’s not planning on reproducing anytime soon.
