She reached under the display and pulled out a silver circlet—simple, elegant, just a band of metal that would rest across the wearer’s forehead. It caught the late afternoon light and threw it back in soft, warm reflections. “Real silver. It’s a pre-Adjustment piece.”
Cass would look perfect wearing just that circlet and nothing else.
“How much?”
She named a price that was probably triple what it was worth and Riot paid it without haggling.
“Your boy’s lucky,” she said, pocketing the iscs. “Not many Alphas would bother with the trouble of an Elysian missionary.”
“He’s not trouble.”
“No,” she agreed, something knowing in her expression. “Poor thing just needs someone to see him clearly.”
Riot kept turning the circlet over in his hands as he walked back to the hotel, imagining Cass’s reaction. Would those eyes light up? Would he let Riot place it on his head?
By the time he reached the hotel, his hands were shaking and his vision had sharpened. Every scent in the hallway amplified—stale cigarettes, cleaning chemicals, and underneath it all...
Wrong.
Something smelled wrong.
He swung the door open to reveal Cass on the narrow bed, wearing just a thin undershirt and loose cotton pants, golden hair tangled across the pillow. Riot locked the door behind him and moved to the side of the bed, his nose tingling.
That scent—
Riot went rigid.
He knew that scent. Expensive cologne with woodsmoke undertones, and beneath that, the artificial musk of a Chimera projecting dominance. He’d been intimate with that scent. He had woken up next to it more times than he wanted to remember, back when he and the other Berserkers had been desperate enough and lonely enough to take whatever comfort Ken offered.
Ken. Fucking. Nakamura.
Rage flooded his system so fast his vision hazed gold. His hands dropped to concealed weapons, tactical assessments already running. Ken’s usual haunts. The building’s security detail. How many bodies between Riot and getting his hands around that smug throat.
Find him. Hunt him. Remind him what happens when you touch what’s mine.
“Riot?” Cass’s voice cut through the killing fury. The kid was caught between sleep and waking, reaching out until his fingers closed around Riot’s wrist.
“You’re back.” Relief flooded those fever-bright eyes. “I felt awful and you weren’t here.”
The grip on his wrist was weak and too trusting.Hunt the threat or comfort him. You can’t do both.
He sank onto the edge of the bed, and Cass immediately curled toward him, pressing his face against Riot’s shoulder.
“Someone touched you.” Riot kept his voice steady through sheer will. “While I was gone. I can smell him.”
“Mmm?” Cass nuzzled closer. “I met someone... Ken, I think? He was nice. He helped me when I got dizzy.”
“Cass.” Riot caught his chin, tilting his face up. “What exactly did you tell him?”
Those fever-bright eyes blinked. “He asked questions. About where I was staying, if I was alone...” A pause. “He seemed really interested in if I had someone helping me.”
Gathering intelligence. Confirming what he already suspected. Making sure he knew exactly where to find you when—
“He smelled like firewood,” Cass added, still nuzzling into Riot’s palm. “Not as good as you.”
The casual comparison shouldn’t have made possessive satisfaction bloom in Riot’s chest, but it absolutely did.
“You should get some rest,” Riot managed.
