Page 138 of Flames and Blood

“You’re not wrong to take the time,” I say to Craven. “But we need to remember that as soon as he finds out we’re onto him, he’s going to act. We already know he’s planning to get rid of her permanently. He might try to do that now. Or he might come up with some plausible way to defend himself from these accusations.”

“Or he might make a run for it.” It’s the first time Torbjorn has spoken. He has a voice like a bass drum.

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take. And if he’s out there, we’ll put people on him,” Caleb responds. “It’s not just one she-dragon in this thing anymore. He’s up against all of us.”

I see Kalli’s throat work. “Thank you,” she says.

“It’s what we do,” he tells her. “Your clan has been isolated for too long now. We welcome you back. But it also means that our council rules apply. And we don’t take kindly to dragons killing their own kind. There are too few of us left.”

Faine speaks now. “Which raises a second matter, and it’s mine to raise, because one of mine did it.” She looks at me. “Ilmar Vex is dead at your hand. Caleb and I have discussed the implications of this because regardless of his crimes, he was one of the last of a dying line.”

I set my jaw. “I don’t regret what I did. I’ve ended a lot of bad men in my time. He was one of the worst for what he did.”

“Bâtard,” Odile spits. “You’ll get no argument from me on that.”

“From none of us,” says Caleb. “We don’t condone that from any of our members. But it means that Roland Vex, sitting in a cell under this building, is the last living male of his line.”

The tension around the table ramps up a notch.

“He’s been down there a long time,” Bastien says. “Longer than most guests.”

“He’s not a guest. He’s Syndicate leadership,” says Odile.

“But he’s being held without charge.” Viktor’s voice is icy. “The Ivory League has noticed. There’s a case being built for his release, quietly, through channels that don’t usually move this fast. Either Aurora charges him with something that holds, or we let him go. Those are the only two left. And that leads to our next order of business.” He glances at his watch, heads to the door, and cracks it. “You can send him in, Zoe,” he says to someone outside.

The door opens fully a moment later, and a man walks in. Tall, lean, dark suit with nothing on it to say who or what he is. The dry heat of him reaches the table before he does, and under it something colder, held down.

“Alastair Creed,” Viktor says, “for those who don’t know him.”

Serenity sucks in a breath, and Bastien steps closer to her.

“Viktor.” He nods at the Aurora leader. “I’m glad you’re prepared to consider our position.”

He’s what I expected from what I’d heard. His voice never rises, and his face gives nothing away. A man who has come to do a job, do it well, and go home.

“I’ll keep this short,” he says, before Viktor can offer him a chair. “Whatever Roland Vex is, and I have no illusions about what he is, a bloodline ending in an Aurora cell is a thing the dragon world can’t tolerate. You’ve held him a long time without charging him with anything a court would recognize. Charge him or release him. I’m here to get an answer.”

“That isn’t what negotiation usually sounds like,” Odile says.

“I’m not here to negotiate.” He doesn’t smile when he says it.

Bastien leans forward. “While you’re getting answers, you have a lot to answer for yourself. Your people have a long and bloody record to account for.”

“What the Syndicate does in the name of its cause is something I won’t apologize for,” he replies. He’s still not sitting.

“Really?” Odile has stiffened. “So you condone the capture and torture of shifters and magic creatures as part of your ‘cause’?”

Creed’s jaw tightens a fraction. “That is not the matter I’m here to discuss.”

Odile gives a disgusted snort. Torbjorn pats her shoulder, which is probably the most human gesture I’ve ever seen him make.

“I’m afraid this is not something we can brush aside, Mr. Creed,” says Viktor. “The Vex name has been tied to activities that demand investigation.”

Creed turns his head to him. “If this is an attempt to dig up some sort of charge, you’d better have real grounds.”

“We have more than enough grounds,” says Caleb. “There’s an operation running under a man named Renwick. Genetic matching. Reproductive drugs. Females being kept to continue the old lines. Your Ivory League is involved in that trade.”

“How—”