Lucien turned to glare at me. "Before. When I first grabbed you. You touched my nose. Like I was adog."
"I—" I replayed the last thirty seconds in my head and realized, with mounting horror, that he was right. Whenhe'd lunged at me, my panicked brain had apparently decided thatbooping a murderer on the nosewas a reasonable defensive strategy. "That was an accident. My hand just... did that. I don't control my hands when I'm terrified."
"You booped a werewolf," the woman said, delight coloring her voice. "Oh, Ilikeher. Darius, we're keeping her."
Werewolf.
The word bounced around my skull like a pinball, refusing to land anywhere that made sense. Werewolf. Like in movies. Like in books. Like in the kind of stories where the plucky human protagonist gets eaten in the first act.
Lucien—the werewolf, holy shit—made a sound of disgust and turned away, stalking back toward the altar. But not before I caught the faint flush creeping up the back of his neck.
The silver-eyed one—Darius—approached me with measured steps. He moved like water, smooth and inevitable, and when he stopped in front of me, I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze. Up close, his eyes weren't just silver; they weremoonlight, pale and luminous and ancient. He looked at me like he was reading every secret I'd ever had and finding them mildly disappointing.
"Your name," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Lizzie Saltz." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "And before you ask: no, I'm not a spy, I'm not a threat, and I really,reallyjust want my tote bag back. It has my phone charger in it. And chocolate."
Something flickered in his expression—not quite amusement, but close. "You're telling the truth."
"I literally don't know how to lie convincingly. It's a character flaw."
The woman laughed again, stepping forward. She moved like a dancer, all liquid grace and casual power, and when she stopped beside Darius, I noticed she was nearly as tall as hewas. Her dress—black, flowing, embroidered with symbols that seemed to shift when I looked at them directly—clung to curves that made me feel distinctly inadequate.
"I'm Selene," she said, and her smile was sharp enough to cut. "You've already met Lucien, our resident grump. The brooding one is Darius. And the pale gentleman pretending he's not fascinated by you is Azrael."
The white-haired man—Azrael—inclined his head. His golden eyes hadn't left my face. "She has an interesting aura," he said softly. "Chaotic. Bright. Very... human."
"I should hope so," I muttered. "I've been human my whole life. I'd hate to find out I've been doing it wrong."
Azrael's lips curved. It was a small smile, barely there, but it transformed his face from "beautiful" to "devastating." "You haven't been doing it wrong."
Lucien made a sound of disgust from somewhere behind me. "Can we focus? She disrupted the ritual. The wards are compromised. We don't have time to make friends with the stray."
"Stray," I repeated, offended. "I'm not a stray. I'm a person with a job and an apartment and a very nice collection of houseplants that are probably dying because I'm lost in the woods talking to a cult."
"We're not a cult," Darius said, and there was a weariness in his voice that suggested he'd had this conversation before. "We're a... family. Of sorts. With certain business interests that require discretion."
"Business interests," I echoed. "Like... crime? You're a crime family? Is this a mafia thing? Did I stumble into a supernatural mafia ritual?"
The silence that followed was deeply telling.
"Oh my God," I breathed. "I stumbled into a supernatural mafia ritual."
Selene clapped her hands together, delighted. "Iloveher. Darius, we're keeping her. She can live in the east wing. I'll teach her magic. It'll be wonderful."
"I don't want to learn magic!" I protested. "I want to go home and forget this ever happened!"
"You can't." Darius's voice was flat, final. "You've seen too much. You know we exist. If we let you leave, you become a liability. Our enemies would use you against us. Or worse."
The weight of his words settled over me like a cold blanket. I looked at Lucien, who was watching me with those amber eyes, his expression unreadable. At Selene, whose smile had softened into something almost sympathetic. At Azrael, whose golden gaze seemed to see straight through me.
"You're going to kill me," I said. It wasn't a question.
"No." Darius shook his head. "If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead already. But you can't leave. Not until we're certain you won't betray us."
"So I'm a prisoner."
"You're aguest," Selene corrected, looping her arm through mine with a familiarity that made me jump. "An aggressively adopted guest. Think of it as an extended vacation in a gorgeous manor with fascinating company. We have excellent food. And the hellhounds are very friendly once they get to know you."
