Page 42 of King’s Kismet

I tilted my head, listening to the heartbeats within the home. “There are six people inside. And one dog.”

“The dog is my mother’s…” The young hybrid sighed in exhaustion. “He took Herbert to draw her out.”

“You’re joking?”

He snorted. “I wish I was.”

“Okay. Five people will die,” I stated with absolute certainty. “We leave with your mother and her pet.”

“Is one of them my sibling?” He fumbled over the words as he shifted his feet around. “I haven’t—”

“Taylor Caplin died in May.” I dipped my head, a dark smirk splayed across my lips. “After he shot Sloane in the head.”

Cian’s face paled as his eyes grew wide. “What the fuck?”

“It was a very what the fuck kind of moment,” I informed him. “He was a shitty human who lived longer than his expiration date.”

“So I didn’t miss out.”

“Not at all.”

“Hey,” he called quietly as I crept to the edge of the bushes. “What’s your name? I never caught it.”

I stared at him for a moment, considering not answering. “Franklin.”

“I’m Cian Wallace.”

“Yes. I heard you talking to yourself,” I told him with a small grin. “Are we going in now? Or should we stay out here and talk?”

“I’m ready.”

I sighed once more, knowing he wasn’t ready for so much murder on a Monday afternoon. He simply wanted his mother back.

“Just stay behind me.”

“Yep,” Cian whispered, dragging the word out before popping his lips and tucking his hands in his pockets.

* * *

Ronald Caplin’s head rolled across the marble floor, coming to a stop at the corner of his seldom-used fireplace. The house was quiet for a beat, then Herbert the pamoodle—or pompoodle, or whatever the fuck the mixed breed mutt was called—started yapping and growling like he could do more than nip ankles.

“Please, shut that thing up,” I snapped.

“Herbert,” Mariah Wallace admonished, causing the dog to yelp at her volume. “No.”

After seeing the tiny pooch, I wasn’t sure calling it a dog was the correct term. It looked more like a toy, though it sounded like the highest pitch nuisance I’d ever heard. I had a better appreciation of the hellhounds now, knowing their barks were terrifyingly robust.

“Do you know where you’re going when you leave?” I asked the adult in the room...

Cian answered for her. “Home. On a plane. Because I had to fly here.”

“Teach this boy how to use his magic,” I demanded, narrowing my eyes at his mother. “Human hybrid or not, power oozes from him. He needs a mentor.”

“I’m his mentor,” she informed me.

“No offense,” I stated, fully intending to offend her. “But you followed a one-night stand to get your furry rat back. He needs a disciplined mentor.”

She scoffed. “Like a vampire with no qualms about mass murder?”