Alistair
Where are you?
He reacts to my message with a question mark, not bothering to reply.
Pacing, I type so quickly my fingers blur. This is no time to let pride get in the way.
Alistair
Lysander is coming. To Vegas. I can’t get in touch with Sheena.
My phone rings a second later, Ciprian’s name dominating the screen. I swipe to answer. At least he’s able to overlook his grudge for long enough to have a conversation.
“Are you sure?” he demands, all business.
“I am.” I explain the invitation, nearly stumbling over my words in my hurry to get them out. An auction here in Vegas, with the worst of the worst in attendance. The product for sale? Supernatural women abducted by Lysander’s gang.
He’s going to use this event to fund his war on the enclave and gain allies while he’s at it. But if Sheena shows up and takes him down while he’s exposed, no one in this territory will have to worry about his predatory schemes ever again. And my deal with the enclave will be done.
“I’m on my way to your place,” Ciprian says. A door slams in the background, and I frown. I can’t have him here in my personal space, not after everything that’s happened.
“I’ll meet you,” I say. “Where are you?”
There’s a pause. A heavy breath. “I’m at the Fang.” Then Ciprian hangs up.
I run the two miles to the club.
Ciprian is sitting at the bar, the stage lights painting purple highlights in his blond hair. His head snaps up as soon as I come in. “She’s in an enclave meeting, that’s why she’s not answering the phone. My brother won’t pick up either.”
I grunt, watching as he calls Sheena repeatedly—like a complete lunatic—until she answers. His face twists, and he grabs me by the wrist and tows me into the storage room to get away from the club noise.
After that, it’s deceptively simple. Ciprian explains theurgent timing—tonight, while I respond to the invitation and secure a table for Sheena. Trepidation ripples through me as I see some of the names on the attendance list. Dangerous supernaturals—the most powerful players in the world—all coming to Vegas.
I don’t want Celine or Luca anywhere near this.
Absently, I hear Ciprian end the call.
He looks at me, black eyes sharp. “I’m your plus one.”
I frown. “That wasn’t part of the plan?—”
“Fuck that,” Ciprian snaps. “I’m your plus one, and if you try to fight me on this, Ali, I swear to the gods...” His use of my nickname takes me off guard.
I find myself nodding like an idiot. “As backup only,” I insist. “This isn’t our fight.”
A muscle in his cheek twitches. He disagrees. I brace to throw down. I can provide dozens of facts to support my argument. If he would listen to me for five minutes and stifle his urge to be a reckless?—
The door opens.
Luca tosses us a friendly smile, whistling as he rifles through the crates of liquor. He pulls a bottle out, reads the label, then puts it back. Strolling to another box, he repeats the process. The silence stretches, made worse by his tuneless whistling, as Ciprian and I wait for him to leave.
“Fuck, dude,” Ciprian finally blurts. “Can I help you find it?”
The whistling cuts off, and Luca raises his eyebrows. “Am I in your way? I’m sorry about that, it’s just—oh yeah, this is my workplace. How could I be in your way?”
“You aren’t,” I say dryly. “You have, however, already checked that crate.”
Luca slaps his thighs, mischief all over his face. “Now that you mention it, I think I have what I need behind the bar. Silly me.”
