Neverhuman.
Ancient vampires in tailored evening wear, their pale skin luminous under the industrial lighting. Alpha shifters radiating barely-contained predatory energy, their eyes tracking every movement with territorial focus. High-tier corporate mages whose fingertips spark with residual arcane current.
The supernatural elite.
The ones who control the city's infrastructure, its financial systems, its political machinery.
They are all here.
And they are all staring at her.
I step out of the transport first, my wings folded tight against my back, my frame blocking the doorway.
And then I turn.
Extend my hand.
And watch as Tamsin steps into the light.
The obsidian silk catches the industrial floods, shifting and shimmering with every movement. The high slit reveals the compact muscle of her thigh. The structured bodice emphasizes her shoulders, her strength, the athletic power of her frame.
But it is the choker that makes them all go silent.
My mother's choker.
Heavy obsidian and raw diamonds, resting against Tamsin's throat like a crown.
Like a declaration.
Like an absolute, undeniable statement of ownership.
She ismine.
Claimed.
Protected.
Untouchable.
I feel the shift in the crowd.
The sudden tension.
The way every predator in that space recalibrates their threat assessment, their territorial boundaries, their understanding of exactly who they are dealing with.
They are not looking at Tamsin Beck, broke massage therapist.
They are looking at the mate of the gargoyle king.
And they areterrified.
My amber veins flare.
Not bright.
Not incandescent.
Just a steady, satisfied gold hum beneath my slate-gray skin.
