“Seven o’clock.” Avine led him through a lobby decorated in coastal elegance—white walls, blue accents, the scent of sea air and vanilla underneath. “Here at the inn. The main dining room can accommodate quite a crowd.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
Theo’s smile widened into a look that might have been sympathetic or might have been entertained. “The whole town, give or take.”
Perfect.
His suite wason the third floor. Ocean view, private balcony, king-sized bed with crisp white linens, and the strongest ward work he’d encountered outside of major metropolitan areas. Whoever had layered these protection spells knew exactly what they were doing—the air practically hummed with contained power.
Leo unpacked his luggage. Suits hung in order of formality, dark colors progressing from charcoal to black. Shirts arranged by shade—white, cream, pale gray. Shoes lined up against the closet wall like soldiers awaiting inspection. The routine was soothing in its familiarity. Order from chaos. Discipline in the face of uncertainty.
The predator paced restlessly, agitated in a way Leo couldn’t quite explain. It had been restless since they’d crossed into Haven Shores territory, prowling at the edges of restraint like it was waiting for something. Anticipating something.
Waiting for what?
He dismissed the question and crossed to the window. The sun was starting its descent toward the horizon, painting the ocean in shades of orange and gold. Beautiful, he supposed, ifyou were inclined to notice such things. If you had time for beauty.
Leo wasn’t. He didn’t.
He’d learned early that beauty was just another variable to be assessed, not savored or cherished. His father had loved beautiful things—beautiful women, beautiful investments, beautiful lies. He’d chased them right into ruin, dragging his pride down with him. Left his family scattered. Left his son with nothing but a ruined name and a burning determination to rebuild.
Leo would not make the same mistakes.
He showered, scrubbing away the residue of six hours on the road. Dressed in a charcoal suit—custom-tailored, Italian wool—and checked his watch. Forty minutes until dinner. Time enough to review his notes on the local power structure.
He didn’t bother with the mirror. He knew what he looked like: composed, untouchable. The same face he’d worn to every negotiation, every confrontation, every moment that required armor instead of honesty.
At 6:55, he descended the stairs to face Haven Shores and whatever political minefield they’d prepared.
TWO
LEO
Theo hadn’t exaggerated. The whole damn town had shown up.
The Siren’s Rest dining room had been transformed into a space caught between a political summit and a community potluck. Round tables filled every available inch, occupied by people who ranged from grizzled fishermen with weathered hands to elderly women dripping with magical auras so strong, they made Leo’s teeth grind. Wolf shifters clustered near the bar, trading jokes and maintaining a casual perimeter that wasn’t casual at all. A group of witches held court by the windows, their laughter punctuated by occasional sparks of magic. Two lion shifters—the Marinis, if he remembered correctly—were already approaching him with expressions of alarming enthusiasm.
“You’re too skinny!” The woman, Bella, poked his arm without preamble. Short, round, with streaks of gray in her dark hair and absolutely no respect for personal space. Her accent was thick—old country, probably Italian. “They don’t feed you in San Francisco?”
“I eat.” Leo stepped back fractionally. The beast grumbled—not threat, just discomfort. Too close. Too familiar. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Concern.” Vito Marini clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to rattle teeth. Large man, jovial face, the build of someone who’d once been a fighter and had since discovered the pleasures of his wife’s cooking. “We’re lions. We’re family. Family worries.” He steered Leo toward the food table with the determination of a man who would not accept refusal. “Eat something. Then we talk business.”
Leo ate. It was easier than arguing, and the food was actually excellent—fresh seafood, homemade bread, butter-laden dishes that would horrify his nutritionist.
For the next hour, he worked the room like the political operative he’d trained himself to become. Elder Sue Tidewell cornered him first—an elderly witch with silver hair piled high and sharp eyes that missed nothing. She asked pointed questions about his investigation timeline while somehow making it sound like a casual conversation about the weather. Elder Eamon Amell, the wolf representative, was equally probing but less subtle about it. Georgia Gentry, another Elder, watched from across the room with the unblinking patience of a predator waiting for weakness.
The local lions were a study in contrasts. Mayor Hux Holt was all political charm—handshakes that lingered exactly the right length, smiles that showed exactly the right amount of teeth, carefully meaningless promises about cooperation and transparency. His father, Elder Isandro Holt, radiated old-guard disapproval from his corner table, clearly unhappy about a visiting alpha on his territory regardless of Coalition sanction. The Marinis, meanwhile, kept trying to feed Leo additional courses and interrogate him about his romantic prospects in equal measure.
“You have a mate?” Bella demanded during what Leo was certain was his third ambush by the dessert table.
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
