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He turns to leave, but only makes it a few feet before he whips back around like he forgot something. He creeps back, shoulders inching up to his ears as his lips twist in a grimace.

When he speaks, his voice is a whisper—like he’s imparting some kind of insider information and doesn’t want to get in trouble.

“So, listen…I’ve decided you were kidding about the whole throat-tearing thing⁠—”

“We weren’t.”

I fold my arms across my chest as irritation starts to creep in. Did the Last Shield send the most aggressively manic vampire he could find to greet us? Is this a joke? A test?

Silas laughs like I’m joking, but when his eyes dart over my right shoulder and land on Kane, who’s begun casually twirling a dagger between dexterous fingers, his laughter awkwardly dies off.

“Ah… sure. Sure, sure. Teeth. Throat. Blood. Death. Got it.” He raises a hand, rubbing the back of his neck as he continues. “Anyyywho… uhm… just wanted to pass on a little advice. You know… Alpha-to-Alpha.”

“Spit it out, lad. Dagger’s start tae get heavy, aye?”

Silas’s eyes widen.

“Right. Okay. So… if Gav’s smiling, that’s like… bad. Okay? Smiling equals bad. And Dax… well…” He leans in even closer, and lowers his voice even further. “If Dax starts to look at you with the beady eyes, like you’re a math problem he’s trying to solve? Just do yourselves a favor and beat pavement. Cause chances are he’s already decided to kill you.”

Kane snorts and barks out a laugh.

“Seriously,” Silas whisper-hisses. “If he gets the beady eyes, it’s over. His mind’s made up, and he’s just debating the best place to hide your body.”

“I think we’ll be alright,” I tell him truthfully, trying hard not to roll my eyes. Silas straightens with a jerky nod and a shrug that’s not at all convincing.

“Cool, cool. I mean, ‘course you will.” He shuffles backward, nodding the whole time like a fucking bobblehead until he reaches the hall. He stops and swings his arms back and forth, and his head never stops moving. I follow until he’s back in the hall where he raises a hand in a super awkward goodbye when I grab the side of the door, intending to shut it in his face.

Right before the door swings shut in his face, Silas calls out, “Just remember when you’re deciding which throats to tear out—I was totally helpful. My name’s Silas. Don’t forget. Silas! That’s me!”

I give him a thumbs up and a thin-lipped smile as the crack between the door and the wall slowly—So. Fucking. Slowly— gets smaller and smaller.

When the latch finally catches and snicks shut, I count silently to ten before I hear the sound of Silas’s footsteps as he retreats, leaving the same way we came.

With a deep exhale, I turn, fall back against the door, and slam my head against the oak with a groan.

“Well… that twas… unsettling.”

I squint open one eye, glowering at the shit-eating grin on Kane’s bearded face.

“Not a fucking word,” I warn.

“B—”

“Not. One.”

Kane raises his hands in supplication and chuckles. With eyes twinkling with amusement, he mimes zipping his lips, going so far as to pocket the damn “key.”

The ridiculousness is enough to make me finally crack. I grin, rolling my eyes at my lifelong best friend.

“Fancy place,” he murmurs, eyeing the rather old-fashioned decor. I hum in agreement, but I couldn’t give a single shit about how fancy this old-as-Fates room is. Not when I know my Omega is somewhere nearby.

I take to pacing a hole in the massive rug, checking my watch every few seconds. My scowl deepens as time crawls by. Only ten minutes have passed when a knock at the door has my head whipping to the side fast enough to sprain my neck.

Without waiting for either of us to answer, the door swings open and I grind my teeth when a Beta male appears, pushing a full-service whiskey cart into the room in front of him.

Another Beta follows, carrying a tray of—are those fucking scones? Fates.

The Betas drop off their cargo and retreat nervously, both refusing to make eye contact.