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I take out the stardust and pour two neat lines on the mirrored table. I roll a banknote and hold it for him. He leans in and inhales.

“Oh, that’s strong. Like lightning,” he says, but what he doesn’t know is that I added benzo to knock him out. He needs one more line.

“It is.” I smile. “Let’s do one more. You’ll love it.”

He hesitates, but only for a second. The second line carries more sedative than stardust. Henry takes it, exhales, and smiles like a man stepping into the warm sea. Then his head grows heavy, his eyelids shut, and his body sinks into the sofa.

Finally.

I wait until his breathing steadies, then take a small knife from my purse and make a tiny cut behind his ear. Just enough so he won’t see or feel it later. I gather a few drops of blood on the knife. There we go. I fucking hate being a blood witch.

The blood lands on my tongue.

Power hits first. A rush, bright and invasive, like the blood shots from the Red Coven, only colder. Henry’s blood tastes refined, controlled, threaded with old Silver magic. Good bloodline. Stronger than he looks. No wonder Alexa keeps him close.

I close my eyes and focus beyond the power, the first dizzying burn, searching for memory, emotion, residue. His blood gives me fragments. Spells cast too recently. Exhaustion. Fear hidden under discipline. And smell.

Salt. Rot. The sea. Old fish, wet wood, seafood, decay. All of it makes me want to throw up. My eyes snap open.

The blood fades fast from my tongue but I don’t want more. Too much and I’ll carry his feelings for days. I scrape another tiny bump of stardust under his nose. He snorts it in his sleep, face melting into bliss. He’ll be fine. I hope. Just a little hungover.

As I walk out of the VIP room, a wall of muscle crashes into me. Nero, and two wolf bodyguards with him. His eyes move from me to the door behind me, then back to my face.

“Get him out of there,” he says to the guards, nodding toward the room.

They move.

“No!” I snap, “He’s passed out. Leave him.”

“Out? Did you two…” Nero’s eyes burn. Real wolf rage crawls under his skin, just like his father.

“No, you idiot. He took too much stardust. He’s high as a kite.” I shove past him. “Leave my clients alone!”

Nero follows. I make it three steps, then stop.

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

I turn and slap him across the face.

His head doesn’t even move. My palm screams with pain, but the surprise in his eyes makes it worth it.

“That’s for Max, you fucking asshole.”

It didn’t hurt him. Not really. But it felt good anyway.

He catches the hand I hit him with and squeezes until pain shoots up my wrist. A grimace crosses my face before I can hide it. A man passing through the corridor slows. Long silver hair, neatly trimmed beard, expensive jacket.

“Do you need help, girl?” he asks. Ice gathers over his fingers, frost blooming across his knuckles as he looks between me and Nero.

Nero doesn’t even look at him. “Fuck off, Gandalf.”

The wizard stays where he is, and the air around us turns ice-cold. Well, around me. Nero’s body radiates so much heat that the frost dissolves into mist.

Nero’s grip tightens around my hand. “If I have to look at you, I’ll bite your head off. I said fuck off.”

The witch’s survival instinct wins. The temperature goes back to normal, and he disappears into the crowd. So much for being rescued.

“Never touch me again and say another man’s name. Do you understand?” he growls.