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Tonight, West needed her on this operation. Initial intel suggested he’d need every team member to destroy a warehouse where the fae gangster, Griffith Jenkins, set up shop in the lucrative blood trade. He’d supplied West with the product in the past, swearing none had been obtained through force or by causing the death of any human or HP. West cursed himself for his miscalculation.
Through him, the paranormal underworld king discovered the amount of money involved in the black-market blood trade.
Now that the fae had escaped the North American Council jail, Jenkins could capitalize on his knowledge. Controlling the flow from human arm to Sanguis fang allowed him to keep all the of the profits for himself, exactly like West, only with less scruples on the source.
The damn fae had gone beyond business rivalry when he started knocking off his competitors. How else to interpret the string of attacks across the blood smuggling world? The paranormal gangster had a reputation for ruthlessness, and right after he moved into the territory, two smugglers had their farms destroyed. No coincidence there.
Initially, West lauded the destruction, until seven days ago, when Jenkins knocked out West’s security and generator where he stored his blood supply. If not for West decentralizing his new stock, he might’ve lost all the units, which victims had come forward to donate, in last night’s attack. Fortunately, black-market blood prices soared due to lack of supply, which was now the only way he could keep paying his people.
Worse was the damn fae didn’t care how he obtained his product. He’d had set up his own facility, using captured humans and human paranormals. West curled his fingers around the steering wheel. Jenkins crossed the line both by using the unwilling and trying to horn in on Clan Sanguis business.
West cursed again and looked at the clock on the dash. Ten-oh-one. He hadn’t figured Caro as someone who couldn’t manage time.
When he thought to drive away, she sprinted out of the five-story, dilapidated brick building, crossed the sidewalk in one bound, yanked open the door, and jumped into the passenger seat. While she placed a backpack on the floorboard between her feet, she said, “I didn’t expect such short notice.”
He didn’t respond to her veiled complaint regarding his text fifteen minutes prior. Instead, he released the brake and sped down the street.
He hadn’t expected to request her assistance either, but when his team detected more security than expected, he needed more bodies. He’d debated on whether to call her in. Finally, practicality won out. Caro’s expertise would count for four of his own people, if what he’d witnessed over the last three days was any indication.
He suppressed a tight, satisfied smile. Tonight, Jenkins would get the message he’d trespassed in Clan Sanguis affairs.
A waft of citrus and floral washed over him, and the steel bands gripping his shoulders melted away. Strange how scents like the one she favored could provide a sense of calm. She might use them to release residual internal turmoil from her years with the CIA. Maybe he could use them in his own house since stress had been his companion of late. The pressure of so many souls depending on his efforts sat on his shoulders, a yoke he never imagined he’d bear. He could remove the obligation…
He banished the cowardly idea of abandoning his promise to his sister. Tonight, he needed to ensure Jenkins became the example of what happened to outsiders when they tried to muscle in on Sanguis territory. That West would free numerous slaves and make reparations to them would have to be enough repentance for him introducing an outclan invader into Sanguis business.
A ‘ding’ emanated from her side of the vehicle. She pulled her phone from her pocket, touched the screen, and sucked in a sharp breath.
“Problem?”
“Oh, nothing. Just an email with some intel I was working on.” Her gaze strayed back to the screen, an expectant light in her face. When she caught him examining her, she locked the device and put it back in her pocket. “So, what’s the plan for tonight? More biters? Did someone call in dead?”
He choked back his laugh and took her in from the corner of his eye. The text he sent told her to prepare for a tactical operation, and she didn’t disappoint. She’d braided her shoulder-length golden hair along the crown and down the back of her head, leaving no tail. Her t-shirt and light jacket were both black, as were her tactical pants and boots.
Step One. Determine if the recruit understood the work. Attire? Check. “You bring anything with you?”
She lifted a dark gold brow without reiterating her original question. With a pat of her oversized backpack, she said, “Two forties with two hundred spelled rounds, a sniper rifle with fifty spelled rounds, two fae-silver knives, plus some other equipment and provisions since I didn’t know how long I’d be out or the actual op objectives. I wanted to pack a cave troll, but I didn’t know how to fit him in.”
Her tone carried the slightest shade of deadpan with the last sentence, and he matched the vibe. “Right call. Cave trolls don’t take commands well anyway, though not as bad as zombies.”
A short huff of breath through her lips, whose edges curled the minutest amount, indicated she appreciated his sarcasm. Good. People in her line of work generally fell into two camps—ones who couldn’t find humor if issued to them, or ones who used dark humor to deal with tense situations. He would bet she fell into the latter.
“Ugh. Zombies. I’ve heard some rumor about a group that rose last year, though no one seems to know anything beyond scuttlebutt.”
He shouldn’t be surprised she had her sources, considering her prior line of work, but Kriann had done a very good job of keeping the episode quiet. “Dark magic shouldn’t be messed with. My intel said Razelle stood behind the risings, intending to use the zombies as an army to return to power.”
The older the demon, the more powerful, which included agissinas, those who could use blood-scrawled runes to cast spells. While he had almost eight hundred years under his belt and considered himself a powerful demon, he held no illusions. Razelle had wielded evil magic in a manner that scared the balls off him.
Caro grimaced and shook her head. “Razelle, eh? I was risen for about a year before Kriann and Lyndala killed her. She would’ve destroyed the clan.”
He brought the SUV to a halt at a red light. Even if Kriann hadn’t renounced the royal approval requirement for all clan marriages, taking out Razelle earned West’s support. “Destroyed?”
“Absolutely.” Caro’s chin dipped several times with the word. “She craved power like a zombie craves human flesh. We have too tenuous a pact with HPs on the North American Council. If we don’t enforce laws against stealing blood from their members, we’d lose big. She lost her partner in Clan Fae and the new queen would join with Shifter, HP, and Magic to keep the paranormal world undercover. The four other clans together would’ve unified to topple her, zombie army not withstanding.” She shook her head with a sad twist on her mouth. “We wouldn’t have stood a chance considering the effort to keep the clan’s ranks limited while the others have no such concern.”
He hadn’t detected any deception, but he’d still push. “Do you think limiting numbers is wise?”
“Of course,” she said without hesitation. “We don’t die of natural causes. With uncontrolled reproduction of demons and indiscriminate vampire creation, we’d outstrip our food supply and then where would we be? I refuse to live off stolen blood. Even conversion contracts are foul when they take advantage of the less fortunate. All should be paid fairly and not be forced to perform illegal acts for their family.”
After her hard statement, her gaze grew distant, perhaps envisioning the farms, maybe even true factories, which would be necessary in a dystopian world where demons and vampires lorded over all. Regardless of her musings, her phrasing and tone indicated she truly believed what she’d said.
