Zia’s face softened into something of a sheepish smile, her fair cheeks flushing slightly. “Please, there’s really no need for all that.”
She stepped forward, hand outstretched for mine. She hauled me to my feet, and Ben followed suit beside me. Taking great care to dodge Rowan’s narrowed gaze, I circled to analyze Zia’s back.
Dark metal restraints held her turquoise wings together, fastened like a clamp to make flight impossible. To my horror, there appeared to be a small incision where the clamp cut directly through the wing membranes. I grimaced, pulling my hand back. There was iron somewhere in the mechanism. Another safeguard designed to snuff out any fae magic before they could even speak a spell.
“We can remove the metal,” I called to Cliff over my shoulder. “But it’s going to take time without ripping the membrane. It’s embedded into the wings themselves. It’s carefully crafted.”
Cliff made a noise of disgust, but gave a terse nod. “Iron?”
“Not entirely,” Zia said, lifting her gaze to him. She was tentative yet firm, all in the same breath. The combination left me strangely transfixed, hanging on her every word. “But there’s enough there to dampen my magic. I should be able to heal it once it’s removed, but as your friend so aptly put, we’ll need resources we don’t have here.”
Cliff’s gaze caught mine meaningfully. “His goon back there seemed pretty thrilled about Sylvia healing him. Any idea why?”
“Besides the obvious?” Rowan cut in. “It’s a desirable trait. We only know that they’re selling every siren, fairy, and werewolf kin to some other cretin. Someone worse. For what exactly, I’m not sure. Something about regeneration qualities, if I had to wager a guess. For a supposed savior, you’re terribly clueless.”
“I’m gonna need the attitude to get checked,” Cliff muttered.
“Did you catch the buyer’s name?” Delilah asked, standing close behind Cliff.
Rowan glanced briefly at Zia. “I don’t know. Bryce or Price? Something like that. We’ve been a little preoccupied withsurviving, not preparing for an interrogation.”
The door clicked open, followed shortly by the much more sinisterclickof a gun. At once, we drew apart. An unfamiliar man entered the room, pushing a woman in front of him. The gun was lazily aimed in her direction, his bright eyes scanning the unconscious guards sprawled on the floor, the case-protective cloth in a heap.
“How utterly dramatic,” he drawled, a slight accent to his voice I couldn’t place. “Step away from the case, now.”
A prickling feeling crawled up my arms. I exchanged a look with Ben. He felt it too: the sickening coldness ofsomething about that manscreaming in his veins.
Cliff obeyed at once, putting space between himself and the captives. Though his hand tightened on the gun he’d salvaged, he discreetly tucked it just out of sight behind his back.
“Tammy,” Cliff breathed, taking in her formalwear. “What are you—I thought…”
My heart staggered.Tammy. Their mentor.
Normally, I was delighted to see Cliff struggling for words. Now though, my heart ached for him. I darted into the air with Ben, launching myself into a hover behind Delilah.
Tammy started toward Cliff, only to have the man seize her arm. She scowled, wrenching free with some effort. “Let me talk to him, Graham,” she hissed. “Istalkingpermitted?”
The man’s jaw feathered as he looked to Cliff. “Try anything, Mr. Everett, and she’ll have a bullet in the back of her head.”
Cliff’s face went pale. His gaze flickered to me ever so briefly, and I wondered if it was any comfort that I shared his horror.
They know us by name. They know we’re here.
Our plan had failed before we’d begun. Oh, stars—Jon. Was he safe?
The man released Tammy. He kept one weapon trained on her as she hurried across the room. She threw her arms around Cliff, giving him a hug.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she said into his jacket. “Oh, sweet boy, you shouldn’t be here.”
My lips parted as I watched the exchange, somewhat hypnotized. After all this time hearing the veritable myths about their hunting mentor—the woman who had slain a nest of harpies single-handedly, who supposedly wore a belt of vampire fangs and knew their every weakness… I was stunned at how ordinary she appeared.
She was dark-skinned and slightly below average height. Her elegant black gown revealed a figure that was athletic, but not overly slender. Her lips were full and her dark eyes a startling blend of compassion and cold, calculating intelligence. There was something about her that reminded me, just for a moment, of my mother.
“You’re not even trying to hide it now, Tamara,” Graham sighed from the doorway, rolling his eyes. “If you’re disloyal to Eros, at least put some effort in, hm?”
Tammy glared over her shoulder, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Are you okay?” Cliff asked, pulling away from Tammy. He grasped her shoulders, squeezing. “What the hell is going on? We thought you were all but left for dead, killing ourselves to get here in time.”
