Page 72 of Viktor

“And you, vampire,” The witch pinned Viktor with a stare. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out about the human?”

“She is none of your concern,” Viktor asserted.

“You left Rafe alone in San Diego. He’s too young,” she chastised.

“He’s learned control. He’s a grown wolf for fuck’s sake.” Viktor shook his head. “And by the way, witch. You don’t get a say in how he’s raised. Your participation was limited to your blood. It’s over. You’re the one who should mind your business.”

Waverly stared at Ilsbeth as they traded barbs. The paranormals had lived lifetimes, and it clearly was not the first time they’d argued. Ilsbeth dripped with jealousy. She treated Viktor as if he were her ex, leaving Waverly with the impression that perhaps there was far more between them. Did he sleep with her? Waverly’s stomach clenched in anger, but she bit her tongue, remaining silent.

Waverly glanced at Greyson, whose expression revealed nothing. Yet the slight softening in his eyes as Ilsbeth briefly reached for him and brushed her fingers over his arm spoke volumes. Did he love her?

“Enough.” Viktor slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair.

Thorn held his goblet up into the air and huffed. “You’re killing the vibe, people.”

“You can stay, but this is confidential. If I find out either one of you,” Viktor pointed, “Thorn. Witch. Like if I ever hear a fucking peep about this meeting, I’m going to hunt you down and drag your asses back to Hell. The only reason either of you are out again is because Hunter came for me.” He focused on Ilsbeth. “I’ve saved your sorry ass so many times over the century, too many times to count.” He blew out a breath. “So, this is how it’s going to go. I’m going to share with you something that’s happening, you’re both going to keep it confidential.”

Viktor glanced downstairs, his eyes widening. “Motherfucker. You invited Kellen to this party? He’s glowing red like he’s fresh out of Hell.”

“Well yeah, I mean, I’m half demon so…” Thorn cringed. “Birds of a feather.”

“Not a word to him. Not a word to anyone,” Viktor lowered his voice. “We have a situation. It may be a small situation or a large situation. Waverly has a friend missing in Miami. She was hanging with some dudes who said they were in some kind of a human blood-drinking brotherhood.”

“My friend’s name is Teagan,” Waverly said.

“On her trip to find Teagan she was contacted by an anonymous donor who sent her a painting,” Viktor continued.

“I love art,” Ilsbeth said, her expression flat.

“Ooh, so do I.” Thorn smiled.

“Viktor donated a painting to our new exhibit,” Waverly told her. “A Monet.”

“Did he now?” Ilsbeth gave a cool smile, staring at Viktor.

Waverly ignored her and continued. “During the donor preview party, there was a shooting.”

“A human shooter. Looking for Waverly,” Viktor told them.

“Humans with their silly guns. If they only knew what true power was,” Ilsbeth said.

“Long story short. He shot her. I healed her. When we went back to the museum to collect the painting, the detective wanted to see it and then went full-on demon, although I suspect she was possessed. Seemed nice enough before we went to the office.” Viktor retrieved his phone and tapped at the screen, holding up an image for them to see. “We took the painting and found something in it. A fleam. But just the tip.”

“That’s what she said.” Thorn’s chuckle was met with hard stares. “What? Just offering a bit of levity.”

“Bloodletting.” Ilsbeth smiled. “Those were the days.”

Waverly clenched her jaw, irritated. What the hell is wrong with these people? As soon as the thought popped in her head, the answer hit her. Immortals. Paranormals.

“This fleam is unique.” Viktor’s lips tightened in a straight line and briefly glanced at Greyson who nodded. “It has initials on the blade. B.A.O.”

Waverly’s pulse raced as Ilsbeth’s eyes widened. Fear? Anger? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

“Baxter.” Ilsbeth spoke softly.

“I saw him die,” Viktor replied.

“But—” she began.