Page 39 of King’s Kismet

Find her.

I would warn him against it, but who was I to spoil the hellhounds’ fun?

We knew Caplin would be an issue eventually, though we failed to find his connection to the supernatural race.

Until a few days ago.

Ronald Caplin had been close with Radolphus Bowers and Alric Moore, but that wasn’t his claim to fame.

No.

Good old Ronald had a secret.

One I was excited to expose.

Taylor wasn’t his only child. And Mrs. Caplin hadn’t been the only woman warming his sheets.

He had another son with a night witch named Mariah Wallace, and the young warlock they’d produced was now doing his father’s bidding.

I couldn’t decide if I should scare him or kill him yet... But I did know Ronald Caplin was a dead man walking.

The chummy bastard was hiding in his home, waiting for his son to do his dirty work, though I hadn’t the slightest idea what the boy would do when he found Sloane.

Did Ronald know more about her than he should?

Probably.

If he’d been in bed with a mage woman, then she could have told him enough for him to gather a blurry picture of my great granddaughter.

But was it accurate?

Doubtful.

Ronald wouldn’t know her mates were nearly as fierce as she was, or that she courted death and his steed, holding the reaper’s hand as she pointed out the souls she wanted to keep.

The reaper would have made a great addition to her mate group, but Amelia hadn’t seen my reasons for picking him. The fact that he ended up being one of Sloane’s closest friends was a topic I was happy to point out when Amelia came back home to us.

But I liked Sloane’s mates. I knew them well enough to guess what would happen if this young mage hybrid made it past the hounds.

As Cian Wallace wandered away from the lake, I stood to follow, casually stalking him from a distance. I stayed close enough to tip off a smart man, hoping he wasn’t blind to the dangers.

A blind man was no fun to kill. I wanted him to see me coming, feel the chill that blew in with my bloodlust, hear the absence of my heartbeat as panic clawed at his chest.

When he turned and began walking toward me, a familiar voice floated through my mind.

“Plant the seed, and they will come.”

My mate used to say that all the time, though it usually wasn’t when I was seeking a victim. Or in English.

“Why are you following me?” Cian Wallace demanded.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, vamp,” he snarled. “Why are you following me?”

“Are you so sure I’m following you, young man?” I calmly inquired. “How do you know I don’t walk this path every day?”

He leaned back, studying my bland expression. “I saw you yesterday.”