Page 107 of Fallen Court

“Any leads?”

“Nothing. The scene was clean.” He grimaced as if realizing how wrong that sounded. “We made sure the police found her in less unusual circumstances.”

Anger coiled in my gut. Tourists had gotten caught up in our business before, but this felt personal. “Someone’s playing games with us.” My words came out as a barely controlled growl.

“They’re trying to get under your skin.” His warning was well-meaning but unnecessary.

“It’s working.” Whoever was behind this wanted me out of New Orleans, and I doubted there was any line they wouldn’t cross to see that happen.

“We’ve doubled patrols.” But I could tell by the grim set of his jaw that he had little confidence in the measure.

We wandered toward the street as if we might just prowl the night ourselves in search of the bastard. A couple spilled from La Porte, the man, stumbling drunk, held up by a petite woman. Her black eyes darted to mine, her lips smashing together to hide her fangs, obviously afraid I might intercede on behalf of her midnight snack. But I had bigger problems to worry about, and vampires knew better than to kill their prey in my city. She tugged him into the night, glancing over her shoulder, but another group had caught my attention.

Shaw was leading Dante and Channing toward La Porte, the trio chattering boisterously like this was just any bar in town. Each had a cheap Mardi Gras mask in hand, likely picked up from some souvenir shop. A flash of rage as sudden and violent as lightning struck me at my brother’s audacity in bringing Channing here tonight.

“Shaw!” I barked, stepping into their path.

He cursed under his breath when he saw me.

“Where are you heading?” I cracked my knuckles as Roark moved next to me.

“Just out to have a good time.” He spread his hands, motioning to my penumbra. “Like you two.”

Roark didn’t budge. He only crossed his arms and fixed them with a warning glare. “Maybe you should stick to Bourbon Street.”

“It will only be humans there. The party is here tonight.” Shaw shook his head, sharing a look with Dante. “You two need to relax.”

“Relax?” My brother knew what we were up against, what was lurking in the shadows, but that had always been Shaw’s problem—he didn’t think before he acted. Roark clamped a steadying hand on my shoulder before I completely lost my temper. “Just…stay out of trouble.”

Channing folded his arms, tapping the mask against his biceps. “Is that a threat?”

There was still no love lost between us, and not even an ounce of gratitude for saving his life. But brothers are supposed to care more about protecting their family from outside threats, and that was how he would always see me—as a threat.

“No,” I snapped, my patience wearing thin despite Roark’s attempts. “It’s a warning, because if you step out of line, it won’t be me you’ll answer to; it’ll be Cate. And she will kick your ass.”

He had the decency to look a little scared at the thought.

Dante slung an arm over Channing’s shoulder, guiding him around us. He tipped his head to me as they passed. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“How comforting,” I said flatly.

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but they continued, followed by Shaw. He paused, opening his mouth to say something before shutting it again without speaking.

“Come on. Let it out,” I encouraged him. Part of me was tired of this dance. It was always the same. Shaw would press my buttons, but he always backed down. When was he going to stand up and fight?

“Not worth it,” he spit back, but he jostled my shoulder as he pushed open the door.

We followed them to the threshold, the murders momentarily forgotten, but we didn’t go inside. Shaw pulled his mask over his face, the others following suit as they entered the fray. The misfit trio worked their way into the crowd, the gyrating bodies and flickering lights swallowing them up. Roark edged closer to me, shaking his head at the bouncer waiting for us to enter. “You’re too hard on him.”

This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. Something told me it wouldn’t be the last.

“Shaw needs to grow up,” I murmured back, my gaze pinned to the now-closed door. “He’s still acting like a fucking kid.”

“He is a kid.”

“Exactly. But he keeps trying to get involved in shit. He’s not prepared.”

“He can’t prepare if you don’t let him near the business.” His steadiness felt like a dressing down.