Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?

Or to put it in the terms most of us heard in Sunday Service growing up: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? They were among the last words Jesus uttered before he expired. According to the Bible, even the Son of God endured unbearable agony at some point, making him just as human as the rest of us. To be mortal is to feel pain. To suffer. To die. But I doubted Jesus ever clung to his cross, felt every wound, and suspected, deep in his heart, that he deserved the pain.

My three-story French Colonial home had been uncharacteristically empty when I pulled up the long gravel drive at a quarter to midnight. Over the last year or so it had become a hub of therian activity with wereleopards coming and going at all hours. The pard I'd inherited from Gabriel was a collection of misfits with very few places to go, specifically groomed by their leader and his skinwalker sweetie, Raina, to accept whatever abuse was thrown at them. My house had become a sort of flophouse for displaced therians in the meantime. Add to that the attached ballroom my girlfriend had grafted on, which Claudia had turned into a gym, and my house was seldom quiet. But tonight, the windows were dark, their shades pulled, and no one was home.

It suited me just fine. I wanted to be alone anyway.

Slanting silver lines filtered through the kitchen blinds, reflecting off the pots and pans hung from my ceiling rack, casting moonlight onto spotless hardwood floors. Nathaniel hard at work, as usual. At this time of night, he was probably running around micromanaging costume and set designs for the upcoming burlesque show Transgressions. It was due to kick off in six months, debuting on Broadway during New York Fashion Week.

I wanted to picture the joy on Nathaniel's face when he flounced onto a Broadway stage wearing a sequined costume and a smile. But in my head, the image was a dull, fuzzy gray like an antique TV set gone on the fritz. I couldn't bring anything into focus, let alone paint it a nice, rosy color. The inside of my head was muted monochrome, black words on a blazing white screen, heartless in their clarity. I kept opening my email, checking and rechecking the message as if the words would somehow have changed since I read them the first time.

To: https://AnitaBlakeFBSA.gov

From: https://AdamDoucetteFBSA.gov

Subject: Your License

As per request from Agent Clay and the Topeka FBSA Field Office, your credentials have been suspended pending a professional mental health evaluation. Please report to me in Branson to turn in your badge and sidearm at your earliest possible convenience. Please consult with the Branson Field Office for further steps if you have any questions about the rehabilitation process.

Agent Adam Doucette, FBSA Field Director.

The words were simple and utilitarian, not a consonant out of place. No warmth behind a single vowel. Nothing to indicate his feelings on the matter. And worse, no follow-up email or phone call to ask what the hell had gone wrong. He didn't seem to care enough to ask. No one had called, despite the messages I'd left or the emails I'd sent, trying to explain myself. As if there were any excuses for it.

And why should he care, after what you did? an insidious little voice whispered at the back of my mind. You really thought you were so much better than the rest of them. You're not better, just more arrogant. Never thought you'd be one of those people did you?

The tightness in my chest was unbearable. I wanted to rip at my chest with my nails until they came away with streamers of flesh. I wanted to snap my ribs like brittle twigs and rip out my own heart, stomping it into paste on the polished floor. But most of all, I wanted to scoop out my insides until I was as hollow as a vase, able to be filled with something more worthwhile.

The bags under my eyes were heavy, but the weight of the Browning in my hand was heavier. I'd turned the Glock in at the Branson Field Office hours ago. It only left me with a handful of authorized weapons and a whole hell of a lot more illegal ones stashed in a safe in the basement. It was a dozen more guns than I needed. Deceptively small, compared to some of the things I'd wielded in the past. Thirteen-round magazine, .9mm bullets, semi-automatic. It weighed a little over a little over two pounds while loaded. The finish was still worn, despite how well-taken care of it was.

The Colt Detective Special I kept on my nightstand was lighter, 21 oz, with .38 special ammunition. The same bullet diameter, when you got down to it, but a .9mm carried double the pressure. That made the .9mm faster, yes, but heavier bullets like the .38 penetrated deeper. Either way, dead is dead. I'd chosen the Browning as my duty pistol because of the superior magazine, but now...

Which was better, faster or heavier? Did I want to take chances a bullet would be moving too fast to hit anything vital?

"Anita?" a voice asked tentatively.

I jerked in surprise, the Browning assuming an automatic firing position without my conscious permission before I'd even located the sound. The figure ducked out of the kitchen faster than my eyes could track, wisely clearing my line of fire before the word could catch up with my sluggish brain. When the familiar timbre finally registered, I felt worse than I had just a moment before. I clicked the safety back onto the Browning and set it down gingerly, lest I shoot him by accident.

"Nathaniel?" I called back.

A braid swung into my line of sight first. The dim light made it look almost black, but under stage light, it shone a rich mahogany. The eye that peeked around the corner next was pale in the moonlight but was actually the color of lavender close up. Jeanette had taken to calling him her flower-eyed boy and encouraged him not to hide them behind glasses or contacts. A few seconds later the rest of him appeared. He'd grown several inches since I'd seen him last and filled out a dress shirt and slacks combination well. It was the first time I'd seen him in something so distinctly male that it caught me off guard. So he hadn't been at Transgressions tonight. Was there a funeral earlier in the day and people had forgotten to give me a heads-up?

"Are you okay, Anita?" Nathaniel asked, taking a tentative step around the archway that led into the kitchen proper. He stopped at the kitchen island, rather than sink into the chair across from mine. I wondered just how bad I must look if even Nathaniel was keeping his distance. He was normally content to curl up next to me on the couch or rub his cheek across my calves like a cat while kneeling on the ground.

"M'Fine," I mumbled.

Pay no attention to the drawn blinds or the .9mm on the table. Nothing to see here, move along folks.

"You're sitting in the dark," he pointed out.

"I'm tired and my eyes hurt," I lied. "I was going to have a drink and go to bed."

Nathaniel's head cocked to one side like a dog who'd heard a strange sound. His expression wasn't closed-off, exactly, but it was wary. He took a step closer, hands fluttering like pale butterflies at his sides as he considered whether or not to touch me. I wasn't a hugger and got especially volatile when I was upset. It was a bad combination when we were alone during times of high emotion. His first instinct was to fawn until the problem resolved itself.

"Coffee is probably a bad idea," he said after a moment. "Do you want me to make you some tea? I picked up some chamomile earlier this week. Cherry has been having nightmares, and it helps her sleep."

I winced at the mention of Cherry. She was a nurse at a therian clinic by night and a daytime secretary for Jeanette on her off hours. She'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time last August and had been assaulted by the son of a Council member. Knowing Fernando was as crispy as the last potato at the bottom of the deep frier didn't change what he'd done. A dead rapist didn't negate the rape. I knew that firsthand. She was yet another in a long line of people I'd failed.

"Sure," I said. Anything to get him out of the house faster.

Nathaniel offered me a tentative smile before turning away from me, bustling around the kitchen to collect tea bags, honey, and whatever else went into the teacup. I was a die-hard coffee girl and hadn't met a tea yet that I cared for. Still, it would let Nathaniel feel helpful and get him out of my hair. The clinking of bottles and spoons as he made his concoction was almost soothing.

A few minutes later he returned with a genuine teacup and saucer, setting the fine china delicately on the table in front of me. There was something off about the set of his smile. I'd never seen that look on his face before. Odd, for someone so expressive. He hovered near my elbow, hands fidgeting nervously with the buttons on his shirt.

"What are you all dressed up for?" I asked offhandedly. "I don't think I've ever seen you in something like this."

Nathaniel chewed his lip for a second, weighing his words. He twisted the buttons on his shirt with enough force that one actually broke off in his hand, trailing the cotton fibers of his shirt behind it.

"Gretchen was hosting a black tie event. It's March 14th, Anita."

I frowned. Gretchen was Nathaniel's new boss, so of course he'd attend the party. I just couldn't understand the relevance of the date.

"Yeah, and?"

Nathaniel ran his thumb over the mother-of-pearl button in his hand like it was a worry stone. "And the 17th is coming up. Jeanette's birthday. Gretchen threw an early party to celebrate."

The words fell into the staticky silence of my head, making a dull plink when they landed. Birthday. Jeanette's birthday. In the wake of the Topeka debacle, I'd completely forgotten. I snatched the teacup from the saucer with shaking hands, downing it before the lump in my throat could choke me. The tea tasted vile. Dirt, bitter herbs, and medicine.

Medicine?

I stood abruptly as my vision went fuzzy around the edges. My tongue went numb and the inside of my cheeks felt like wool. I tried to reach for the Browning, but my arms seemed to be a mile long and made of gelatin. I windmilled forward in slow motion and Nathaniel caught me. His breath was coming fast, and caught on a half-sob when he lowered us both into a sitting position, his back to the island.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice choked with emotion. "I'm so, so sorry!"

"What did you do?" I asked. Tried to ask. The words oozed like oil from between my lips, slippery and unintelligible.

"It's Xylazine," he said, interpreting the sound of protest correctly. "We keep some on hand for new members, just in case. I'm sorry Anita, so sorry."

Horse tranquilizers. Jesus, no wonder the world was spinning. A dose strong enough to calm a new shapeshifter would knock my ass out in minutes. And somehow it was Nathaniel who'd had the stones it took to tranq the Executioner. Though he seemed to be regretting it dissolving into hysterics now that I was on the ground.

"I didn't know what else to do," he said. It sounded like a plea. I thought he was talking to himself until I heard the tinny sound of another voice coming from far off. A phone receiver. I couldn't make out the voice, just the words.

"What's happened, Nathaniel?"

"It's Anita," he said in a hushed voice. "I need help getting her to a safe place. I think she was trying to kill herself."

Chapter Text

I woke up face down in a pile of cushions, the tassels of a throw pillow tickling the end of my nose. The covers smelled like Gain detergent, but beneath the scent of Island Fresh was something muskier. Sex, sweat, and the coppery tang of blood that even the most dedicated scrubbing couldn't completely erase.

The air was heavy, thick with more of the same, and I froze, dreading what I'd see when I rolled over onto my side. I'd come to in sweat-soaked sheets with no memory of how I got there before, and it never ended well. It meant I'd lost control of my ardeur and rolled them, raping and possibly addicting them in the process.

Shit, shit, shit! I thought that I'd taken from London before traveling to Topeka on assignment. Who would I see when I dared a peek over my shoulder? Who had I metaphysically roofied and dragged to my bed? It took me longer than it should have to unlock my frozen muscles and extend a trembling hand, searching for a body next to mine. I didn't find one. The bedspread was smooth and cold beside me, untouched by another person. Even if I'd slept with a vampire, there would have been some disturbance in the covers. That fact alone let me relax against the cushions and release a shaky breath. My body hadn't been performing the horizontal tango without inviting my brain along for the ride. It still didn't explain where I was or what I was doing here, but that was one mystery solved. The ardeur hadn't dragged me genitals first into trouble. Hallelujah.

I tilted my head cautiously to one side so I could peer at the room from beneath my lashes. The blue walls glowed under recessed black lights. Cuffs of varying sizes and materials had been hung on the far wall with care. Something out of my sight cast a long, spider-web-like shadow over the room. With the way my life had been going, I half-expected to see a human shape at its center wriggling in terror as a giant werespider bore down on them. Silly, maybe. There were no infectious human-to-insect strains and only myths about transformations that went the other way.

I took stock of myself. The initial spike of adrenaline was wearing off, leaving me more tired than I'd been before waking. My lips and fingertips were tingling, and my arms and legs felt like limp rubber tubing. Feeling was coming back in increments, but I barely had enough strength to lift my head, let alone go exploring my surroundings. Impotent fury swelled in my chest as that sunk in. I was as helpless as a fucking newborn and I couldn't remember how I'd gotten this way. If an enemy wanted me dead, now was the time to slit my throat. I wouldn't have been able to lift a hand to stop them.

I was so pissed that I couldn't hear the voices over the sound of the pulse in my ears. It took me a few minutes to register there were people close by, and that their voices were familiar. Nathaniel's voice was the loudest and most strident of the bunch. It tickled a memory, but the damn thing was elusive, and I couldn't reel it into my conscious mind.

"I didn't know what else to do!" he said, voice hitching on a half-sob.

"How about not fucking drugging her?" another male voice snapped. This one was lower with just an edge of growl. I had a mental picture of who it should belong to. Tall, lean, dark-skinned, intense hazel eyes. The first time we'd met, he'd been sporting box braids, but an involuntary haircut from a Council lackey had forced him to grow it out all over again. It had been a short fuzz over his scalp the last time we'd met, but the curls were still touchable.

Jamil. What was Jamil doing in the same room as Nathaniel? Their social circles didn't overlap. Wrong jobs, wrong animal groups, wrong temperaments. Jamil was Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan, which was about as alpha as one could get. Nathaniel still asked permission for things on reflex, though he was better than when we first met. I was surprised Nathaniel hadn't dissolved into a pile of submissive goo the second the dominant werewolf had stepped into the room. It was a miracle he was still standing, let alone shouting at Jamil.

"You weren't there," Nathaniel continued as if Jamil hadn't spoken. "You didn't see her. You didn't smell it. She'd been crying at some point. I could smell the salt from the tears that soaked into her shirt sleeves when she dabbed them away. And then there was this..." he paused, and I could picture the shudder that ran from the crown of his head down to his toes. "You wouldn't know the smell of someone who's given up. You've never been institutionalized. I have. It's common in rehab and psych wards. It's like a whiff of death. Like the brain knows something the body doesn't."

"So you say," Jamil said, and his voice was stretched tight over a fresh snarl. "But we only have your word for it that you drugged her for her own good. For all I know, you had other plans."

"Oh be reasonable, Ulfric," another voice said. Female, with a measured, reasonable tone I'd only heard a handful of times before. Gwen, the psychiatrist and the wife of Jamil's second, Sylvie. "Nathaniel would never do that. Besides, you'd have smelled sex on her if that's what he'd been after. It's got a distinctive scent. I only smelled him on her shoulders and knees. He lifted her into the car and brought her here, that's all."

"He brought her to a sex club!"

Ah, so that was why the sheets smelled of blood and sex. I was in Sublime, laid out in one of the many playrooms while I recovered from whatever drug Nathaniel had slipped me. I still couldn't remember the precise moment that I'd passed out.

"To neutral territory," another voice now, androgynous and familiar. Narcissa. "Or have you forgotten all the times you brought werewolves to my door to protect them from Raina or Gabriel? My business has been and always will be nonpartisan. If you start a fight, rest assured I will tear you a new asshole, Mr. Johnson. Think carefully before you touch that boy."

Narcissa said it scary. Flat and matter-of-fact, with the assurance that it would be done if she commanded it. She might have looked like a slender woman, but inside was the soul of a hyena. Even at full strength, scrapping with the Oba of the local clan was something no reasonable leader wanted to attempt. No one said anything for beat and she sighed.

"Xylazine was a poor choice," Narcissa said at last. "If she didn't have advanced healing abilities through her Master and animals to call, she could have easily overdosed. And I'm assuming your pard hasn't acquired the sedatives through the proper channels, which means it's a street drug. It's possible there's fentanyl in there as well, which doubles the risk. You're not a doctor and you can't dose it properly. Something you or I can burn off could kill her."

A distinct sniffle, then, "I'm sorry. I just...she can't die. I couldn't let that happen."

"And I appreciate that," Narcissa said, tone infinitely gentle. I could picture her running his braid through her fingers in the soothing gesture he liked. "No one doubts your intentions were good." Jamil snorted, which Narcissa pointedly ignored. "But there were better ways. You should have called someone and stalled her long enough for us to arrive."

"Well, she's here now," Gwen said. "If he's right, we have to do something about it. I know we've lost our licenses thanks to the virus, but I'd say we're still mandatory reporters. We have to get her on an involuntary psychiatric hold. Who do we contact about that? Her father? Does anyone know if she has a healthcare proxy who could step in?"

"I think we'll let Anita weigh in," Narcissa said. Her voice was moving closer, and I could make out the click-clack of heels on Sublime's hardwood floors. "Her heart is really going and her breathing has picked up. I'd say Sleeping Beauty is awake."

Chapter Text

"Go back to the lobby and wait for me."

Narcissa's tone brokered no argument. Anyone with sense (or a submissive streak even a few inches wide) would have had the good sense to follow orders. I usually wasn't the picture of compliance, but Narcissa was one of the few people in my life who could demand obedience and make me like it.

Apparently, Jamil had no such urges, because he didn't back down. I could feel him lurking in the doorway without turning to see him. He was my wolf to call, bound to me in a metaphysical accident months ago. His presence was a line of delicious heat like the sun on an upturned face. Under other circumstances, I would have curled into the long line of his body and soaked up whatever comfort his touch offered. But if I let myself get close to Jamil, I'd have to deal with the inevitable questions and accusations. I couldn't look into his eyes and explain why I'd put his life on the line without it falling flat. Best not to try at all.

Guilt settled on my shoulders like a leaden weight, threatening to bend me double. I'd completely forgotten my ties to the others during my myopic meltdown. If Nathaniel had arrived ten minutes later he wouldn't have just found a body. He would have found himself a submissive wereleopard in the midst of a massive power vacuum, a victim ripe for the taking. My death would take out the Master of the City, the Ulfric of one of the largest animal groups, and my vampire servant. And when Jeanette died, she'd take Richard and Jade with her. I wouldn't end one life with a gunshot. I'd end six.

"I'm not leaving her," Jamil said. "She's my lupa, and I have a duty to protect her, even from herself."

"And I'm sure your infantilizing attitude will go over swimmingly. After all, she's known for being a meek and accepting little woman who just loves being coddled by overbearing men."

A bass growl ripped through the air, a crack of thunder in the hushed silence of the room. I recoiled, burying my face further into the pile of pillows. Raw as I was, the heat of his anger needled my skin, a thousand little pricks of pain. I didn't want to cringe in the face of anyone. That sort of thing undercut your reputation. The bad guys tended to be leery when they thought you were a hard case. Show even one vulnerable spot and they'd come after with claws and teeth.

"Watch your fucking mouth. You may be Oba but don't forget that I'm Ulfric. I won't be talked down to."

"I haven't forgotten that you're Uflric, I assure you," Narcissa said. "It's the only reason you're currently breathing in my proximity. Anyone else would be on their ass outside my door or walking home with a limp. This is my territory and that means that during her stay she is my problem to resolve. Unlike you, I have the credentials to treat someone in crisis. Unless you have a doctorate that I'm unaware of?"

The silence that followed boiled with animosity. I'd only ever seen them together in the same room once, and we'd all been united against the invading Council. It hadn't occurred to me that Narcissa and Jamil would rub each other the wrong way. Or maybe this was new, some drama I hadn't been privy to while I'd been away busting cartels and slaying Aztec gods. What could have changed so drastically in the six months I'd been gone? What was I missing?

"I'm not leaving the club."

"Fine," Narcissa snapped. "But have the good grace to wait in one of the upstairs rooms. I doubt she'll be forthcoming with all of you hovering within hearing distance. Leave this room now, Ulfric, or we're going to have a problem."

I felt it when Jamil left, like a superheated wave drawing back from the shore. The scalding temperature dropped to merely unbearable and the bands around my chest loosened enough to let me breathe. His irritation and worry seeped through the bond we shared, despite my best attempts to shield. He cared, in his own way. When had that happened? When had the friendly sexual relationship we'd started in Stillwater turned into something more? And why the hell hadn't I noticed it?

The door clicked shut, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Only the glow of the black lights on the blue walls let me see more than a few inches in front of my face. The low lighting was intimate, giving the room a womblike feel that offset the implements of pain hung on every wall. The bed dipped a moment later. Narcissa sat in expectant silence.

I'd never been the sort of girl who needed to fill silences with conversation. Silence was useful and sometimes necessary. You learned a lot about a person when they tried to fill the void and sometimes those details could save your life. Narcissa's silence was like the gravity well of a black hole. It demanded a response without a word being uttered. I got the sense she could have stayed just as she was until closing time, unyielding and waiting for me to speak. That would usually have raised my hackles. It was stupid, but I'd never gotten over the notion that a leader needed to be strong, always. I didn't want to talk about this. I didn't want to confess the shameful secret. I wanted to go home, crawl under the covers, and open my eyes when the world didn't hurt quite so much.

But that's the sort of thinking that got you into this mess, isn't it? I thought bitterly.

I rolled onto my back with a sigh, upending the pile of throw pillows. They tumbled off the down comforter and hit the floor in tiny whispers of sound. Narcissa turned her head, watching me, but still said nothing.

She was definitely a she tonight. Sometimes Narcissa would be a they or even a he, shifting to the more masculine aspect Narcissus. I couldn't have told you what tipped me off. It was just something in her aspect or bearing that screamed female to me. Nathaniel must have brought me in near closing time because she'd traded in her latex and leather for a much softer look. The cream-colored blouse paired well with a brown cardigan. A cardigan for God's sake. It should have looked ridiculous, but it didn't. Her makeup was understated, and her hair had recently been wetted and combed out of whatever elaborate style she'd been wearing for the evening. Only the crisp lines of the pants and belt lent it any hard edges, like a blade hidden in silk sheets.

"What time is it?" I asked. My voice sounded thick, even to my own ears. At least I was intelligible. More feeling was coming back. Soon I'd be able to bolt if that's what I wanted.

"There's a half hour to dawn. I sent my patrons home early after receiving Nathaniel's call."

Ah, so that was who he'd called. Memory was coming back in bits and pieces now. I wondered why he'd called Narcissa instead of Jeanette. Because Narcissa had a degree in counseling? Her emphasis was sex therapy but the training was still there. Had he panicked and called the first dominant he could think of? She had been supervising his sessions recently, so she was almost his top as well. Had Nathaniel just been unable to get a hold of Jeanette? I remembered him mentioning something about a party.

"Sorry."

She arched a brow. "I don't want sorry, Anita, I want an explanation. I want to know what led up to this point. I made several recommendations for telehealth therapists before you left Saint Louis. Did you speak to even one of them?"

I hadn't. My duties as War, one of Van Cleef's horsemen had kept me busy almost the entire time I'd been gone. I hadn't had time to think let alone spill the contents of my head to a therapist who I couldn't be completely transparent with.

I didn't say any of it out loud, but she must have read the truth on my face because her eyes narrowed. "I see."

"Go ahead and yell. I know you want to."

Narcissa's laugh was bleak. "I don't want to yell at you, moppet. I want to cane your backside until it glows red. You scared the piss out of Nathaniel."

I ducked my chin, chagrin washing through me. I hadn't thought how it would affect Nathaniel, I hadn't been thinking at all. I just wanted to stop seeing the scene over and over in my mind's eye, ruminating over how I could have done things differently.

"I probably deserve a beating."

Narcissa's gaze cut sharply to me, sizing up my expression. She idly swept a curl off my forehead and leaned closer, considering me. She wet the tip of her thumb and scraped a bit of dried blood from the line of my throat. I wanted to scrub the spot raw. I thought I'd gotten all of it off in the shower.

"You really mean that, don't you?" she asked, though she was talking to herself more than me. "Asher was right."

I propped myself up on my elbows, pleased when I could bring all my extremities under control. I was pretty sure I could support my own weight but wasn't going to try. Narcissa would pin me if I made a break for the door. If their conversation was any indication, they'd drag me to the hospital by my hair if they had to.

"About what?"

"You're not just a submissive, though that's there. You're a masochist too, and not just in the bedroom."

I bristled. "I don't recall giving Asher permission to share the details of our sex life."

Narcissa's lips twitched once. "I was under the impression you'd need to have sex in order to have a sex life. He assured me you didn't go that far. He mentioned your reaction to pain in a purely academic setting."

Blood still ran hot under my skin at the thought they'd talked about me in even an offhand fashion. I might not have had intercourse with Asher, but I knew how he felt in my mouth and had his hands on the most sensitive parts of me. We'd been naked together on a bed. If it wasn't sex it was certainly sex-adjacent. Enough to make me uncomfortable that Narcissa knew even scant details.

"Still."

Narcissa's fingers were still running lightly over the skin of my throat. Goosebumps rose in the wake of her nails and my pulse sped when she pressed a thumb against the thrumming beat in my neck. I didn't like Narcissa this way, but the touch in this context still made things stir inside me.

She nodded, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion. Our eyes met, and the look she gave me was intense enough to make me squirm.

"How badly would you like to avoid an inpatient stay?"

"Pretty badly."

I wasn't sure I could stand it. The news would get back to Doucette eventually, and only confirm what Agent Clay said about me. Doucette and I weren't friends but I respected him and he respected me. I didn't want that tarnished. Not to mention the damage a move like that would do to Jeanette's base. Logical or not, the other vampires and local wereanimals would see it as a weakness and attack.

Narcissa stood, crossed the rooms to one of the racks, and selected a slender cane. She brandished it in my direction.

"You respond well to pain when overwrought, so here's what we'll do. You are going to answer my questions. Hesitate, and I will cane you. When we're through and your mood is more level, you are going to call one of the therapists I suggested and schedule an appointment as soon as possible. I won't let you turn BDSM into a maladaptive coping mechanism. When this is through you'll have a dominant that knows your moods and gives you only what you need. You will get on an antidepressant regimen tomorrow morning. I know someone licensed and discreet. Do I make myself clear?"

I almost said no. I hated being talked down to like an errant child. Only the thought of Jeanette's reaction helped me to swallow the word. I'd almost killed myself three days before the 17th. Happy birthday, sweetie, I brought you my corpse. Ending up in the hospital would be almost as bad, forcing her to visit the psych ward instead of having a happy reunion.

I swallowed down the pulse in my throat. It hurt. Narcissa's eyes shone when I squared my shoulders.

"We're clear...Mistress."

Chapter Text

My pulse thudded hard against my ribs as Narcissa secured the leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles. It'd been bound more than a dozen times in my life and with very rare exceptions, what followed wasn't pleasant. The closest I'd ever come to something like this was a mild bout of kink with Curtis, who'd opted for the fuzzy pink cuffs that were easy to remove. These weren't. There was no way I could get out of these restraints without help. I was putting my safety in Narcissa's hands, trusting that she'd step in if it was necessary.

I'd been bound to the metal spider web strung up across one half of the room with my back to Narcissa. It was large enough to hold more than one person at a time and fashioned out of silver alloy for a little extra burn when a therian was strapped down. Several members of the pard had silver piercings, so I knew that it must hold some appeal, but I personally couldn't see it. There was enjoying pain and then there was torture. I couldn't imagine holding my hand purposefully in something corrosive and enjoying it. The cane would hurt but it wasn't going to literally eat into my flesh every hour of every day.

Narcissa brushed my hair away from my throat in a tender motion utterly at odds with what we were about to do. If it had been Jeanette, she probably would have laid a kiss on that thundering pulse point, pressing just the edge of teeth into my skin. It was the threat that was tantalizing, not the actual bite. But it wasn't Jeanette molded in a warm line against my back. Narcissa did brush her fingers over the beat, taking my measure. From what I understood about the scene, she'd be monitoring me closely, using her best judgment to decide if she needed to step in and end the scene. With Nathaniel, it was an absolute necessity. Until recently he wouldn't safe word at all even when he desperately needed to.

"Your safe word is red," she said in an undertone. Her breath fanned over the nape of my neck, raising goosebumps on my skin. "Repeat it back to me."

"Red," I said, the word coming out on a shaky exhale.

"Good. Use it. If I think you're refusing to safe word out when you need to, the deal is null and void. I will pursue a seventy-two-hour involuntary hold. Are we clear?"

Again, I wanted to protest. I'd never responded well to being threatened, and she was ready and willing to put the perception of Jeanette's entire power base on the line if I refused. And below that, there was the feminist my father and grandmother had shaped me to be who rebelled against the idea of submission. I'd never quite shrugged off the idea that giving something up made me lesser, made me weak, a victim. In my head, I knew that wasn't logical, knew that BDSM was a completely healthy personal outlet if you did it right. But the idea was still there in the back of my mind, swearing sulfurous curses as Narcissa leaned her weight into my back, waiting for my response.

"We're clear," I whispered.

Narcissa's weight disappeared from my back and I felt colder without her next to me. The air in the club felt a lot nippier when you weren't wearing much. I hadn't been forced to strip down completely, like most of the submissives I'd seen. Nathaniel had only been wearing rope the last time I'd been here, and even that was at my insistence that he put something on. Echo had ended that night wearing only nipple clamps and a smile. I felt more naked while spreadeagled in my bra and panties than I would have been without them. It was a reminder that she was catering to my feelings and why she felt the need to do it.

"Any racing thoughts?" she asked, tapping the cane against her palm. It made a nice swooshing sound before lightly impacting flesh. I was hyperaware of the sound, convinced that I'd be feeling the tip of that cane in a few minutes.

"Not until last night," I said quietly.

"And what happened last night?" she asked.

My stomach clenched and my heart performed a slow-motion lurch as the memory popped to the surface of my mind like a cork. No matter how hard I tried to keep it stuffed in the blackest vaults inside me, it kept reemerging, kicking me in the gut every time.

The wallpaper was that godawful pink floral pattern so popular in the 1950s. Someone really should have peeled the stuff off the drywall decades ago, but no one really cared about this place. The state of the walls didn't matter to the squatters who used the bedrooms to shoot up. The ones who survived, at least. Some of them overdosed. Most of them were killed by the vampires lurking just beneath the hardwood. The stupid pattern shouldn't have mattered, but it did. It helped me ignore the rust-brown stains that smeared the carpet and doorjamb. It was a hell of a lot easier to swallow than the new, bright red stuff next to the old.

The hiss of displaced air was the only warning I got before the cane impacted my left thigh with a meaty 'thwack!' I arched away from it on instinct, rattling the links of the web I rested on. My hands clenched into fists around the chains as my back bowed. The stinging pain morphed into a burn within seconds, a starburst of agony that lit my mind like a firework. I felt more alert than I'd been a second before. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and I sucked air through my teeth when she stepped into me, rubbing the aching spot with a gentle hand. It was a dizzying juxtaposition. Pain. Tenderness.

"This doesn't work if you won't talk to me, Anita. Let's try this again. What happened last night?"

"I was in Topeka. I was called in by the local FBSA liaison to consult on a case. There was a rash of vampire crime in the area."

"And?"

Agent Gerald "Jerry" Clay was in good shape, despite his age. The fifty-something hard case had earned the right to move in with SWAT. Kansas was slow to adopt the new preternatural units, so the officers around me were vanilla mortal. That made me nervous, considering what we were up against. Maybe I should have been more blase about this mission. I'd just killed four Aztec gods and freed their entire pantheon from centuries-long bondage. A midwestern Kiss of vampires should have been small potatoes, but it wasn't. I couldn't stop the hammering beat in my chest, couldn't stop myself from scanning my surroundings every few seconds, trying to spot them.

Clay had taken point and motioned us forward into the next room. The three-story building creaked with every gust of wind, and I kept expecting the shutters to blow in or the floors above or below us to collapse. This place had been condemned for years, and the city had never gotten around to demolishing it. The heavy slap of the rain outside sounded like fingers drumming hard against the wood. I wasn't the only one coiled with tension, but I was one of the officers standing near the front, facing the danger head-on.

The wallpaper in the next room was a striped mint green and had been torn away in places to gut the copper pipes from the attached bathroom. The door was hanging askew on its hinges. Paint chipped off the hollowed-out remains of a dresser. Someone had lovingly detailed daisies on the powder blue background. The molding carpet had more stains. Blood, alongside the more mundane piss and shit. The dank smell thankfully covered anything foul. But it was the bassinet with its stained ruffles that had fallen on its side that kept drawing my eye. A lump rose in my throat.

Please God, don't let there be a baby in there. I thought desperately.

Thwack!

The cane hit the opposite thigh this time, sending a jolt up my spine. Narcissa had put an even finer point on the blow this time, using the tip instead of the broad side of the cane to strike my legs. The ache coiled tight before really settling in. The chains rattled as I tried to strain away from her. It was instinctual, the body's response to pain. I didn't actually want her to stop. There was something cleansing about the pain as if Narcissa was scooping the cobwebs out one smack at a time.

"There were twelve bodies on the ground before I arrived. Most of them were construction workers or realtors who worked in the neighborhood, but the case didn't attract much media attention until a property developer was murdered. He had connections to the mayor. Once he got involved, it became everyone's top priority, of course."

"Nepotism at work," Narcissa drawled. "I assume you found the culprits?"

"It was a small pocket of anti-establishment vampires who had an understanding with the Master of the City. They hated humans and didn't integrate with society at large, even when vampires became legal. They were supposed to stay under the radar and in exchange, the Master wouldn't force them to blood oath to him and would cover any minor infractions."

"And they went back on their word?"

"Blake, you take Dallas and Jenson and check the basement. Ballard, you, Jones, and Newman will take the attic. I'll sweep the rest of the floor with Fredricks and Petty. Rescuing the hostages is our top priority."

He spoke in an undertone. It was a wasted gesture. If the vampires were nearby, they'd hear us. Their hearing was nothing compared to a therianthrope's but they'd still pick up on anything said in the house. Still, we had to coordinate, or we could end up shooting one of our own in the back. It was one thing to go down fighting something with claws and fangs, and quite another to go down under friendly fire. I split off with a nod, Dallas and Jenson trailing behind me in that gliding heel-to-toe walk that kept our guns steady, even as we descended the stairs into the dark.

The blackness swallowed us whole. Dallas flicked on a flashlight coated in cellophane to preserve our night vision. It cast a sanguine glow over the basement. The chatter of gunfire from above and the overlapping voices of the others on the com made me jump. I almost put a slug through the slumped form near the stairs before the details come into focus. The body was wasted, brown skin stretched over yellow bones. It was tall and broad in life, probably male. The eyes were pools of shadow that looked ominous in the red of our flashlights.

I stepped delicately over the skeleton and moved further in. There were more bodies in various states of decay alongside the more mundane objects you'd find in a basement. Rickety wire shelving, cleaning products, a broken washer and dryer set. A rusted bicycle without a chain. There was a high, piteous whimper coming from one corner. I moved forward cautiously, lowering the AR on its strap.

"Katie?" I asked tentatively.

There was a huddled blonde shape in the corner. Katie Lee was still alive. Thank God.

"Katie, my name is Anita Blake. We're here to help you. Where are your parents?"

"Anita Blake, the Executioner," the voice repeated. It was high and youthful but wrong. Male. When the shape turned, I realized it was a little boy, not the girl I'd been expecting. He was probably seven or eight years old with overgrown golden curls.

And he was dead. There was so much death in this house that he could slip under my radar. He smiled, flashing a pair of sharp, glittering fangs. I raised the AR, but not fast enough. The vampire child lunged, wrapping his tiny hands around my throat.

The cane came down on my ass once, twice, three times. She held it longways so I got the flat of it, a stripe of white-hot sensation that made me gasp. My breath was coming hard now, caught between a scream and a sob. The jolt hurt almost as much as the memory. I didn't want to talk about this. I didn't want to relive it. A cry actually escaped my lips when Narcissa's fingers wound into my hair and tugged. The prickles of pain sent a lazy spiral of want through me, even though this was one of the least erotic scenarios I could imagine. I'd just had too many people pull my hair during sex not to react to it. Narcissa's breath was hot on my cheek.

"Talk, Anita. Tell me about these vampires. What happened? Why did they break their pact?"

"Gentrification," I panted. "They were happy in the neighborhood they'd claimed. It was low-income and they preyed on the people there. No one in the establishment cared enough to try to run them out. The mayor decided to revitalize the area despite the subtle campaign from the Master of the City which tried to convince him otherwise. The poorest people were already being edged out of their homes and wealthy homeowners were coming in. It increased police presence, and they hated it. They took the police chief and his family hostage as revenge. They knew they were going to be killed eventually, they just wanted to make sure they hurt the interlopers before it happened."

I felt her frown against my throat. "And that led to your breakdown? What happened?"

Black spots were spreading like ink across my vision. The vampire's nails dug into either side of my throat. If he'd been bigger or more powerful, he could have scooped my skin and muscle out of the way and flung them to the ground like pumpkin guts. He sat on my chest like a mora, crushing me into the concrete. Desperate wheezing sounds squeezed from my throat. Dallas was shouting, demanding the vampire get off me, threatening to shoot if he didn't. The kid knew exactly what I did. If they shot him, it could go through his tender flesh into mine. Depending on the angle, it could kill me.

His grip tightened, threatening to crush my windpipe. My arms felt like rubber tubing, too heavy and awkward to move. My head was pounding painfully, a bass drum in my head that was winding down to nothing. I could see it in his eyes. He didn't care if he died just as long as he took me with him. I nudged the AR on its strap. It was caught between us, pressed flat to my body, but a push put the muzzle at an upward angle. I groped for the trigger and threw all my strength into my Hail Mary shot. I found the trigger and squeezed.

The vampire boy screamed and his weight disappeared. I sucked in a lungful of air. Motion in my periphery told me the shot hadn't killed him. Dallas and Jenson began shooting. I rose up onto my knees, distantly noting that I was trembling. When had that started?

Motion in my periphery. I was on my feet in seconds, AR snugged to my shoulder. There was another pale shape in a side door. I sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger.

My breath hitched and my voice shook when I said, "Please. I don't want to."

"Tell me. You have to let it out."

I didn't say anything, and it earned me a hard slap. Narcissa had set the cane aside at some point, but her open palm was just as effective. Hot splashes of pain made me keen and writhe against the metal web. She didn't let up, driving me to that point of horrible and compelling clarity. My thoughts fuzzed out, and the first tears began to fall.

"They tortured the parents and left them for dead. They were alive when we got there, but died en route to the hospital. They were going to turn the little girl. Katie. They stashed her in the basement and left a guard down there. A kid. A fucking vampire kid. He ambushed me and almost choked me to death. I got him off of me, but when I saw more motion in the periphery I turned and..."

My breath caught on a sob. The tears I hadn't shed at the scene were coming now. The blonde, doll-like girl in her stained My Little Pony jammies. She'd been barefoot and clutching a doll for dear life. Her wide blue eyes. Her frightened wail.

"Did you shoot her?" Narcissa asked, voice barely above the whisper. There was no condemnation in her voice, just a note of sadness.

"In her direction. I pulled the shot at the last second. It went wide and hit the doorjamb. Shrapnel went flying and hit her. She had a gash on her forehead and on her chest. She needed stitches. If I hadn't moved when I did, she would have needed a casket instead." The chains rattled. I was shaking now, cold, and I didn't know how to stop. "She's an orphan. Just an innocent little kid who was scared to death. I almost killed a nine-year-old because I got spooked. I thought I was better than idiots like Ruben Shepard who shot first and asked questions never. I was just more arrogant. Nine. She was just nine..."

I sagged in my restraints and only Narcissa's support kept the position from being painful. More tears came. More words. Narcissa kept prompting and it all came out. A foul torrent of emotion spilled out of me. Losing people in Stillwater. The truth about my mother, the rape, my ill-conceived tenure as a gun for hire. Olaf and the attempted assault. Killing a pair of people I'd half-fallen for. And then last night, the final sin that topped them all.

She listened. I wasn't sure when she'd taken me down, but by the time I was spent, I found my head cradled in her lap, her fingers combing through my hair the way my mother used to do. The thought of her sent a twinge through my chest, a mild pain in the face of everything else. I couldn't even think of something as innocent as my mother without it all coming to the fore. Everything I'd known was a lie. Every turn I'd taken was wrong. I wasn't sure how I'd gotten here. It felt like there was only one way out.

"You have to stop," Narcissa said at last.

I swiped at my cheeks. My hands came away damp. "Crying? Yeah, I'm trying."

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "No, moppet. I mean you have to stop doing this. Give up your badge for a year. I'd say forever, but I know you. I don't think you could stay away for good."

I sat up, and she let my hair slide between her fingers rather than tug me back down to her lap by the roots. "I can't."

Her stare was flinty. "You have to if you want to survive and keep anyone connected to you alive. You have complex PTSD and adding more nightmares to your repertoire is only going to make it worse. You wouldn't force yourself to walk on a broken bone, you'd allow yourself time to heal. It's no different just because it's your psyche that's fractured. Most people couldn't withstand even one of the traumas you've experienced, let alone all of them in a short period of time. Give yourself grace. Let others help you."

I couldn't look at her. I was good at giving advice about mental health, but terrible at taking it. Even now, I wanted to justify myself, tell her how this was different. But...was it really?

"I'm not letting you leave here until I'm sure you're going to have support, Anita. Tell me who to call."

I sighed. There was nothing for it.

"Call Jamil down. We need to talk."

Chapter Text

The tension in the car was thick enough to choke on. I kept reaching for the knob, physically stopping myself before I could crank the AC higher. The sensation biting along my skin like a thousand needle pricks had nothing to do with the ambient temperature of the car and everything to do with its driver. Jamil wasn't clutching the steering wheel with even a fraction of his true strength, or it would have been a twisted steel pretzel in his hands. He was handling it with the precision of someone holding fine china, which told me more about his state of mind and the prickling heat of his beast ever could. The beast rose for any number of reasons. This carefully cultivated facade of calm was something you learned so that you didn't explode into a wolf during times of stress.

"Where are we going?" I asked finally. "You passed the exit I needed five minutes ago."

"We're not going back to your house."

"Why?"

"I don't know where you keep all your guns."

His voice was flat and unfriendly, but beneath the deadpan facade was a riptide of irritation and concern. He was staying quiet so he wouldn't scream or give in to the urge to shake me. Strong as he was, it would give me whiplash or worse.

"I wouldn't use them."

"Nathaniel didn't think so. He was so sure of it that he drugged you."

Jamil reached for me at a red light, wincing when I leaned away from his touch. I didn't fight him when he took my wrist gingerly between his fingers and lifted it to his cheek. My fingers curled automatically around the strong line of his jaw. His skin felt feverishly warm beneath my fingertips. Wereanimals were always warmer than human average, and the gulf only grew wider the closer you got to the full moon. The closer to the surface someone's beast was, the hotter they became. I felt his beast lurking just beneath the skin, a phantom shape that brushed fur and supple muscle against me. My own wolf responded in kind, intertwining with his.

For social animals like wolves, touch wasn't just comforting, it was necessary. Lone wolves were touted as the symbol of independence, which just went to show you that people didn't know their biology very well. A lone wolf was an unhealthy wolf. Canids, like primates, needed platonic touch to thrive. I couldn't remember the last time someone had held my hand just for the sake of it. Anytime I'd been touched recently, it tied back to sex in some way. I loved sex with Jamil when I could get it, but I valued this simple, uncomplicated gesture. It didn't even creep me when he ran his nose alongside the inside of my wrist in a very non-human gesture, scenting my skin.

"You smell better."

"Did I stink before?"

I'd showered before leaving Topeka, scrubbing myself harder than necessary to try to scrape the creeping sense of shame off my skin. Blood could still be lodged under my fingernails. There were almost always traces of the stuff on my hands courtesy of my work.

"Nathaniel said there was a scent to despair. I didn't really understand it until it lessened. I still don't trust you alone with a house full of guns, though. We're going to the Circus. People can take shifts watching you there."

My stomach lurched. If we went to the Circus, I'd come face-to-face with Jeanette eventually. I wasn't ready for that. How could I possibly explain myself? The gut-wrenching experience had seemed huge to me but in light of everything that could have happened if I'd succeeded...well, I wasn't sure she could forgive me for endangering her or her people.

"You're putting me on suicide watch?"

"Until you're more stable, I don't want you armed with something than kill all of us instantly," he said. He let my hand drop and faced the wheel as the light turned. "You can keep the knives, but only the guards will have guns."

I raised a brow. "Personal guards? I feel special."

"Don't. Everyone with high enough status has them now, not just the Master of the City. The guard has tripled around Jeanette. Most of her Master vamps have at least one guard appointed to shadow them. Things have changed since you left."

I wrapped an arm around my middle. If my stomach kept sloshing like this, I was going to have to lean out the window. There was no way I was going to humiliate myself by throwing up in Jamil's car. I was coming down from the sharp-edged awareness that Narcissa had beaten into me but still had enough of the stinging clarity to understand what he was getting at.

"She was attacked."

"Twice in public, but most of them are using the bureaucracy. She has three duels scheduled between now and September. If she loses even one she's dead, and Saint Louis is under new management."

And if Jeanette fell, several animal groups toppled with her. The wolves were currently the largest animal group in the city. Her death would lead to mine, which would drag down Jamil as well. A pack in disarray was easy pickings for a vampire whose animal to call was wolf. And without me, the much-abused wereleopards would be the prey of vampires and other animal groups alike. Narcissa might be able to remain neutral if she worked at it, but I doubted it would be easy. The rats were our allies. A new master would try to take Rafael out of the running if he got too ornery.

"And how many duels has she won since I left?" I asked, noting how hollow my voice sounded. I didn't feel like an abscess filled with pus anymore, but there was still a vast, echoing pit where my surety of purpose used to lie.

Jamil hesitated before saying, "Eight. There have been eight formal challenges since last August. She's trounced most of them, so the requests are coming less often, but the last one was bad. She came away worse off, so she's expecting an uptick soon."

Eight. Jesus. That was more than one challenge per month. I'd known Jeanette was powerful, but not that powerful. Worse, she'd gone into every battle without either side of her triumvirate. Richard and I were supposed to be batteries to draw on in case of an emergency. She'd slapped down would-be usurpers without help. No wonder she was wearing down. This was a battle of attrition. It didn't matter how many low-to-medium Master vampires she killed, she'd fail eventually. There were always new opponents, but her strength was finite. It was the way that the Vampire Council had dealt with Tepes. A slow but relentless campaign of challengers until his empire crumbled and a new Master took his head. They had to have a hand in this as well.

"Why didn't she tell me?" I asked, animation finally creeping back into my tone. I felt sick. No, horrified. What had she been thinking? "If I'd known we were under attack, I would have come back."

"I think that's exactly why she didn't tell you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jamil sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was a lot shorter than it had been the first time I met him. When he'd been Marcus' enforcer I hadn't paid attention to details like that. He was a threat, nothing more. Later, when he'd allied with us I started to notice. He'd asked me to be his lupa shortly before my life went to hell. No matter how casual the relationship was, you still noticed a man's looks when he asked for sex. I'd finally noticed the masculine beauty of him. I missed the box braids that a Council lackey had hacked off. The curls were cute and made him look younger, but I had a thing for long hair. I loved having something to play with.

His eyes closed briefly when I traced the line of hair that curved around his ear. His breath came out in a contented sigh. I wasn't the only one who'd missed this kind of touch.

"I mean that she was there at Stillwater. So was I. We both saw how close you were to fraying to pieces. We wanted to give you time to stitch yourself back together. If she brought you back before you were ready, it would hurt you. I think she'd rather stake herself than do that to you on purpose."

The corners of my eyes itched and I turned my face away. I wouldn't cry, damn it. There was no way I could hide that from his keen sense of smell. There was more truth to what he was saying than I wanted to admit. Without space, I would have torn into Jeanette. Part of me blamed her for the ardeur, even though neither one of us had known it could spread to me at the time. Her consideration for my feelings over her own safety...well, that was such a Jeanette move. The woman loved me to a degree that was frankly scary. There really wasn't much she wouldn't do, say, be, or risk for me.

"She hasn't been entirely alone," Jamil continued when I didn't say anything. "Richard is back in town. He fought off assassins who were trying to find a covert way to kill Jeanette. You were too well-guarded with Wicked and Truth at your side, but he was wide open when he was living in Stillwater."

I whipped around. "Oh God! Is everyone okay? Why didn't anyone tell me?!"

"Everyone's fine, and we didn't tell you because it happened a few weeks ago, and figuring out the living arrangements and politics has been a real bitch. Richard, Andria, and the kid are staying at the Circus. Your Dad, Judith, and Josh are staying at the Hotel Serpentine. Your grandma refused to leave town, but we figure the Oak Tree Clan can handle guarding her. At least half a dozen work on her farm anyway. It wasn't much trouble to build a bunkhouse to put them up as a permanent guard."

I stared at the side of his face. He didn't take his eyes off the road, but he had to sense it. Weeks. They'd kept this from me for weeks. I was going to kick someone's ass for excluding me. This was my family we were talking about. I may not have liked Andria much at the moment but I didn't want her exposed to the kind of dangers that proximity to Jeanette would bring.

"It sounds like you figured it all out without me," I said tightly. Anger leaked into my voice, and I couldn't stop it. Anger felt good. It had been my go-to for years, and anything reliable sounded great right about now. "What do you mean, it's been a bitch politically?"

"Because Richard isn't a part of the pack."

"He's not?"

Jamil shook his head. "He can't be. He was Fenrir to Marcus' Ulfric. He won the title last year, but a technicality kept it from being binding. Bringing him back into the pack would be complicated. We'd have to resolve the discrepancy somehow. A dominance fight for the title would be lethal. I think Richard is an idiot, but I don't want to kill him. He doesn't want to kill me. Richard has a place in another pack, and it's unprecedented to have a member of a competing pack in town. It would be one thing if he were visiting, but he's here to stay. Do you see my problem?"

I did. My throat felt tight. The picture looked grim.

"It undermines your authority to let him stay here, but it could be lethal in the long run if you send him away. If he dies, Jeanette and I die. After I die, you and Verity die, and the pack is left leaderless. It's a no-win scenario."

"Exactly. And the pack is hard enough to manage as it is. I feel like a babysitter, not a leader. There are scraps almost every day. No one gets along. It's hurting our strength as a whole. The only reason we didn't fracture under Marcus was the fear of Raina. I don't want to become that bitch but..."

He let the sentence hang. The scenery passed by in a blur of lights and grey smudges as I thought about what he'd said. An idea began to form in my head.

"What are the fights about?"

"Anything and everything. It's worst around the full moon, of course. It makes all of us edgy. The men are worse than the women, but it's happening across the board."

"That makes sense."

He raised a brow. "It does?"

"Yeah. Have you ever heard of the biologist L. David Mech?"

"If it wasn't taught in high school biology, I don't know it. I graduated with a decent GPA but college wasn't for me. Richard would probably know the guy, but I don't."

"Well, he was the researcher who popularized the terms 'alpha' and 'beta' to describe hierarchies in wolf packs. His research was based on the study of wolves and it was accurate to a point. That's how captivewolves act. But captive wolves are completely different from wild ones. Real wolf packs are usually just families with one breeding pair that leads the group. Captivity forces unrelated wolves together. It makes them more aggressive, prone to self-mutilation, depression, escape attempts, and worse."

His lips pursed. "Are you saying my pack is acting like captive wolves?"

"Yeah. I think that biology has a lot to do with how your pack interacts. Cherry told me that solitary predators like wereleopards need to avoid others near the full moon and don't like touch. That tracks with how leopards act in the wild. I think it might be the same for the wolves. There are too many competing personalities."

"So what do I do about it?"

"Break them off into smaller groups. The average pack has six or seven wolves, but they can run up to twenty or thirty on the high end. Any relatives go together, and then you move on to good friends. Each group has an informal leader. Those leaders come to you with concerns. Think of it as...Congress, and you're the president."

"I knew I picked the right Lupa," he said quietly. "Richard was a fool to let you go. Don't die on me, okay? She needs you. I need you."

I kept my head down so he wouldn't see the flush creeping into my cheeks.

"I'll do my best."

Chapter Text

Jamil didn't trust me to return to my house, even to pack a bag. When I flatly refused to go out wearing the same clothes I'd been wearing the night before, we came to a compromise. He made a brief pit stop at Gwen and Sylvie's home and had a muttered conversation on their front stoop. They came back to the door bleary-eyed, but sporting a plastic bag stuffed full with clothes.

I had a chance to paw through them, I realized I had a pair of pajamas, a St. Louis Cardinals jersey and a pair of baggy shorts, underwear, a bra, and a skirt suit. The salmon shade of the latter wasn't going to look flattering with my skin tone, but it would fit the dress code for work. Bert forbade his employees from wearing black except on Halloween. Too grim, he said. I personally thought it was the zombie raising that put people off, not the color of our clothes.

I was startled to realize that I had to wake up in only a few hours and go in for a series of consults at Animators Inc. Bert had practically been salivating when I phoned to tell him I was coming back to St. Louis. I was starting out slow, just giving preternatural advice until I settled back in, which was probably best in my current state, but I didn't think I'd be able to cancel on short notice. Bert's patience was greater than it used to be, given what I'd done for his revenue stream, but it wasn't endless. I needed to show up, whether I liked it or not.

"Are these clothes Sylvie's?" I asked for lack of anything better to say. "She and I aren't exactly the same...um..." I gestured at my chest. "Size."

Jamil shook his head and took the next turn slowly. This was a heavily policed area, and he knew it. The District was also known as Blood Square, and home to most of the vampire businesses on this side of the river. Fair or not, it was under more scrutiny from law enforcement than most other neighborhoods in the city.

"Lexie donated them. She's a new wolf and you have almost the same size as you. I got your measurements from Jeanette and put them on the pack's list."

"List?"

"Yeah, it was Richard's idea, actually. One of the very few that I liked and have kept going. Since he was closeted at the time, he had to keep an extra set of clothing on hand just in case there was an unexpected shift."

"I remember. He was pretty religious about it. He had several sets in every location he frequented. I even had a backup set in case we ran into trouble on one of our dates."

"When he became Fenrir, he realized he could be dragging a lot of other wolves into his mess. If they had to shape change to defend themselves, he didn't want them to end up naked in public. If they got brought in by police it could be disastrous, so he jotted down their measurements and kept them in a binder. Then he went out and bought a backup set for every single one of his wolves and gave them to Lorraine. Anyone who needed clothes went to her. It sort of sprawled from there. A lot of St. Louis animal groups are doing it now. Nathaniel practically has a consignment shop in your house. He's filled several closets with stuff for members of various animal groups. He drags several other wereleopards with him on shopping sprees. 'Nora' has become a frequent flyer at every thrift store in the city."

He gave me a significant look at the mention of the name. Nora was the name of Nathaniel's alter ego. It had originally started as a way of dominating him that would be comfortable for us both, but he'd run with it. He didn't view it as sissification anymore. It was something of an art form. He was prettier than some of the girls I knew, no matter which gender he presented as.

"That's...really cool, actually. You said that Richard came up with it?"

"Yep. I don't like complimenting the asshole, but I'll give credit where it's due."

A few minutes later we pulled into the Circus parking lot. It was still half-full, despite the late hour. No one said it out loud, but we all knew the truth. The Circus' main draw was the monsters. You had an even split between the people who thought they were in for a tasteful freak show and the ones who actually appreciated it for its historical significance.

The Circus of the Damned had been featured in three of the most popular Hammer Horror films--Cirque Du Sang, Bloody Big Top, and Sideshow. Some of the actors from those productions were still kicking, and you could get an autograph if you were willing to pay for it. The Circus had a little something for everyone. Want to take your kids on carnival rides and get them hopped up on sugar? There were vendors all along the midway. Want to see a real-life lamia, the mythic, undying gorgons, or watch zombie animals rise from the grave? Consult the webpage for dates and times. Want to watch a seriously hot vampire ringmaster weave illusions around various circus acts? The Circus had that too.

I frowned out the front window. Meng Die's act would be going on right about now. And yes, I did think she was hot, even though she seemed to dislike me. I wasn't sure why. We hadn't interacted much. I'd always assumed it was jealousy. She had a love-hate relationship with Jeanette. I wasn't in the mood to deal with her at the moment. Not after the thought Narcissa had shoved into my head before I left.

She suggested I ask Meng Die of all people to top me. I was pretty sure safe, sane, and consensual wouldn't be in the same room if I let myself be strapped down by that woman, but when I'd said as much, Narcissa insisted she was a decent dominant, at least in the dungeon. She was local, she was a sadist to my masochist, and she didn't want sex with me. Apparently, it ticked all my boxes. Except the one marked, 'reasonable.' I'd seen firsthand what she could do with a whip. I was still set on Asher, but she was right about needing a local backup. I couldn't go down to Branson every week.

"You're thinking hard," Jamil noted. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I don't want to go in," I said. He'd smell it if I tried to lie, and that was at least half the truth.

"Jeanette isn't going to be back until dawn, if that's what you're worried about. Gretchen planned an all-night birthday bash. You don't have to hash this out twice in one night."

That wasn't what I meant, but it was still a relief to hear. If I had to look into her gorgeous midnight blue eyes and tell her what I'd done I'd start crying again. I already had a mild headache from the sob-fest in Sublime. I'd need to down a bottle of aspirin if I had to face that tonight.

"Fine," I sighed, reaching for my belt buckle. "But I want your shirt. You didn't pack pajamas. You're big enough that it should hit me mid-thigh."

Jamil smiled, a flash of white teeth in the darkness. It made my breath catch a little. He'd been shut out of so many of the territories I'd visited, so I hadn't been in the same room as him in months. His smiles were rare, and they made his hazel eyes shine. I had the sudden urge to pull him down for a kiss.

"Sexy."

"If I sleep naked, I know where that will end. I like you, but doing it three doors down from my ex makes things a little awkward."

"Fuck Richard," Jamil snorted. "Or rather, don't. He has no say in your love life anymore. Besides, it's not like you're going to stop fucking Jeanette when you reunite. You also have to feed the ardeur. He might as well get used to hearing those screaming orgasms now."

I could have said a lot of things to that. Last year I would have stammered out a reply that was half-strangled with embarrassment and beat a hasty retreat until I could get my blush under control. The ardeur had beaten most of sex-related compunctions out of me. So I just raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to make me scream, huh? How do you plan to do that?"

"When we get to your room, I'll show you."

And he did. Twenty minutes later we were situated in my room, twined around each other like inosculated vines.

The big bad wolf ate me up. And I did not mind one bit.

Chapter Text

There were a handful of protestors outside Animator's Inc. Two girls and a man old enough to be their father. I certainly hoped he was their father because neither of the girls looked legal. They were waving their signs and chanting half-heartedly. It was the usual mix of fundamentalists and animal rights activists that picketed Bert's various firms. Both sides of the aisle thought we were evil but for radically different reasons.

The far right thought that animating was a blasphemous act, a perversion of the resurrection. We'd gotten swept up in the Satanic Panic and had never quite escaped the association. The far left objected to the slaughter of animals, no matter how humane our sacrifice protocols were. They were united in this one cause, though they refused to rub elbows with each other on the sidewalk. The Dad and his daughters began shouting at me as I approached the door. I ignored them. It actually made me feel better to be harassed on the way in. It was predictable, a commonplace part of the daily grind of my job. In uncertain times like these, that normalcy was more precious than any cash that Bert could toss my way.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Or, to put it in plain English, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Thank God.

A rush of cold air blew my hair back when I stepped inside. Bert kept the office at near-freezing temperatures most days because he ran warm. The rest of us had considered revolt more than once, but couldn't actually do anything about our impotent frustration. The thermostat was located in his office and very few of my fellow animators wanted to cross him. Some of the animators and mediums Bert employed were mid-level talents and could theoretically go months without animating and suffer no consequences, but for many of us, animating wasn't a choice. I had to raise the dead on a regular basis or my power would attract any corpse within a mile radius. Animators Inc. was the most convenient outlet I'd found to date.

A Ficus biennium and a slender willow with small, dark leaves bookended the doorway to reception. There was another, a Dracaena marginta as it said on the tag around the trunk, pushed into another corner, near a row of seats. The reception area was painted pea green. Bert thought it was warm and soothing. I thought it looked sickly.

The office had expanded months ago after Bert took his business national. The addition to the building meant we no longer had to share our offices. In the old days, our investigators would be hard at work scouring family trees, financial details, and particulars of a case before it ever landed on an animator's desk. They were Bert's insurance policy to avoid a lawsuit. So far we'd had one zombie that hadn't acted the way it was supposed to, and it had been dealt with swiftly. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

I passed Maisey and her brother Parker on my way to Mary's desk. The siblings were internet famous after being filmed by a client during a job. Both were powerful mediums and had a talent for banishing poltergeists. Bert had sold the rights to a reality TV show about them, but it was stuck in development hell, thank God. We got enough flack from the fundamentalists. I didn't want to draw national attention to the office.

The day secretary, Mary, beamed at me when I strode into view. She was about my height, with short hair, and a plump frame. She had a few more lines around her eyes and mouth than I remembered.

"Anita!" she said brightly. "You're up bright and early!"

I thought about telling her I'd never actually slept. Technically I'd been unconscious last night, but I didn't count that as restful. I'd laid in bed next to Jamil, staring up at the ceiling after the ardeur was fed, ruminating on the catastrophe I'd almost caused. It had been a relief when Narcissa's text came through after dawn, letting me know where to meet someone for a prescription. It felt a little shady, like a backroom drug deal. But I contented myself with the knowledge that it could have been worse. I could have been smuggling something a lot more illicit than Prozac in my pocket. I felt naked without my shoulder holster under the pastel blazer. The wrist sheaths weren't much comfort. If any of my current enemies got close enough to be stabbed, I was in deep shit.

I forced a smile. "Just happy to be back, I guess. Bert said I had a consult at nine."

"Yes, ma'am," she said cheerfully. She practically oozed congeniality. There were days when I was convinced she'd been tailor-made by a higher power for this line of work. It was rare to have anyone get in Mary's face. She was just that nice. "You have two preternatural advice consults, and three interviewees inquiring about raisings. Mr. Vaughn says it's fine if you want to schedule them a month or two out. The schedule is packed for the next two weeks. Georgia's trainee is getting popular."

Ariana Snyder was the niece of my childhood boogeyman. He'd taken her in after his brother and his wife passed, and promptly began abusing her just like the rest of his family. It hadn't been sexual, as far as we could tell, but it had been brutal enough to cause a young animator's powers to spin wildly out of control. One slip in a graveyard had given Marmee Noir a temporary window into our world, and she'd oozed through like the festering thing she was. Learning control could only do Ari good.

On the other, if she was getting popular, Bert would find some new and unsavory way to capitalize on it. He'd already sold the rights to a reality TV show centered around his business and two of his employees. He allowed people to raise zombies for entertainment. He definitely wasn't beyond exploiting the labor of a minor for his own gain. I'd have to nip any ideas in the bud before he could get the ball rolling.

All I said out loud was, "I'm happy to hear that. Can I get the names of the first two clients for reference, please? I'm afraid I didn't get a chance to check my work email."

"Oh, yes, of course! Mrs. Amber Sanford and her personal assistant will see you in just a few minutes. After that is Mr. Joseph Thomas."

"Thanks, Mary. That helps."

Mary positively glowed at the compliment. Nice to know someone was having a good day. Maybe I could absorb that cheer by osmosis. A girl could dream.

I took the sheaf of official forms Mary offered me and tucked them under one arm. I could feel eyes on me when I passed. I wasn't sure if my long absence was cause for staring, or if it was the undercooked fish shade I'd been forced to wear. Six of one and half a dozen of the other, really. The only people I really acknowledged were John Burke and his girlfriend Wanda. When I first met her, she'd been a prostitute catering to a fetish crowd. One child kidnapping, zombie mystery, and human sacrifice later and she was out of the trade for good and engaged to one of my peers They were even raising the kid together. I'd never understand the little trauma-bonded unit they had going, but I was happy for them. I returned her wave with a polite smile that didn't reach my eyes.

Burke must have brought her in for her shift today. Wanda worked as one of the firm's investigators, which meant she worked opposite hours from John. As I watched he laid a kiss on the top of her hair and smiled down at her. It was a good smile. That soft, syrupy smile you got when you were stupid in love and didn't care who knew it. It hurt to be in proximity to that kind of affection. It reminded me of the only person who'd earned that kind of smile from me.

I skirted Burke and walked briskly to my office, shutting the door firmly behind me when I finally reached it. It took a few deep breaths to calm the painful thud of my heart and another few to erase the hard lump in my throat. I blinked hard until the stinging at the corners of my eyes faded. I wasn't going to start my first consult with blotchy cheeks.

When my eyes finally came back into focus, I spied a crystal vase filled with a dozen slightly wilted red roses perched on one corner of my desk. The stationary attached to the flowers was familiar, and perfumed with Jeanette's signature scent, Iniquity. I didn't have to guess who they were from. Jeanette usually preferred white roses, but she'd send red on occasion. She must have had them delivered last night, anticipating I'd be at work and grateful to receive them. Stab. Twist.

I plucked the note from the flowers and lifted it to the light to read the words. They'd been typed, instead of handwritten, which was a shame. Jeanette had flawless penmanship. I recognized the title of the poem on the card and the painful throb of my heart kept up its steady rhythm. Bright Star, by John Keats. One of Jeanette's pet names for me was mon ciel étoilé. My starry sky.

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art—

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell,
Awake forever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

I dabbed at my eyes. Damn it. She was going to make me cry, and she wasn't even here. It would be so much worse in person. Would it be cowardly to run for the hills before she woke for the night? Yeah, probably. Besides, I wasn't up for that kind of cardio today.

A gentle knock sounded at the door and a moment later my first consult was striding into the office. The first was a woman of middle years. She was taller than me by a few inches and in good shape. She'd swept her ash brown hair into a tight chignon and pinned any flyaways with hair combs. She carried herself with the authority of a congressman's wife. This was a woman who knew how to command attention and respect, despite her small stature. Mrs. Amber Sanford, I presume.

Oh, one small, totally unimportant detail. She was also a werelion. They both were.

The second lioness was familiar, though it took me a second to put my finger on why. She'd put on muscle and cut her hair. The dark bob framed her face well, emphasizing her delicate bone structure instead of detracting from it. Her eyes were her best feature. They were a rich tawny color, with a ring of dark, almost black around the iris, and a hint of green-gold at the center. She smiled when she caught me staring at her.

"It's been a while, Blake," she said, injecting a note of playful antagonism into her tone. It had been real antagonism once upon a time. She hadn't liked me and I wasn't her biggest fan either. Our opinions of one another had mellowed after we'd fought bad guys together. You just couldn't hold onto a grudge if you were saving someone's ass from a skinwalker or worse.

"Yes, it has," I said, mirroring her tone. A slow smile spread over my face. It didn't even feel brittle. "Now what the hell are you doing in my office, Artnet?"

Chapter Text

Despite the mockery, Arnet was on her best behavior. Well, she at least put on the pretense of politeness with the regal-looking woman at her side. Had this been a one-on-one discussion, it would probably have been a different situation entirely. She introduced Amber Sanford with the sort of deference people reserved for heads of state. And, as it turned out, I wasn't far off. Amber Sanford turned out to be the wife of Joseph Sanford, one of Saint Louis' premiere finance moguls and the closeted leader of the St. Louis Pride. That alone wouldn't have made her the regina. Lions were one of the few groups in our area that didn't simply accept the significant other of the leader as the second-in-command. The Regina of a pride had to earn the right to the title. A Rex's regina wasn't always his romantic partner. The fact that Amber was both meant she was fiercer than her look would suggest.

And with that in mind, Arnet's attitude made a little more sense. She was fourth in the pecking order of the pride. Amber was number one. I was the lupa of the werewolves and the Nimir-Ra of a pard of wereleopards. Technically, she was the only submissive in the room. That had to really rub her the wrong way.

"So what brings you to my office, ladies?" I asked after we'd made a round of formal introductions. "I know you didn't pay Bert's consultation fee so we could gossip."

"No," Amber agreed. "It's more serious than that, I'm afraid. Christine wanted to be the one to talk to, but she's on a trip to Chicago at the moment. I volunteered to come in her stead."

Arnet and I exchanged a look and a frown over Amber's head. We both knew what 'Chicago' was code for. Christine was reporting back to Augustine Agostinelli the Master of the City there. He was her benefactor and provided for the needs of the group less shifters for a price. Christine disturbed us both for very different reasons. Arnet was still a cop at heart, and Augustine had stepped in to fill Capone's shoes after he'd left Chicago. The mob activity he oversaw wouldn't sit well with her. I was more concerned about the at-home consequences of allowing him to have a spy among us. I'd never understood why Jeanette didn't neutralize the security risk the second she learned of it. What kind of dirt did Augustine have to make her overlook it? Or was there a practical reason she'd never deigned to fill me in on?

"You two are close, I take it?"

Amber's expression barely flickered. "Oh no, I can't stand that little bitch. Too slippery by half, and I'll never trust someone who can sell their allegiance so easily."

"We don't exactly know why she ended up on Augustine's payroll," Arnet said. She trailed off when Amber speared her with a look. She didn't curl forward in obvious abasment but she did flinch. "And I guess it doesn't matter at this point."

"Indeed not," Amber said dryly. "I don't care what her sob story is, she's selling out the people who depend on her by reporting back to that vampire. If Joseph wasn't there to provide her alibi, I would have suspected she had a hand in it."

I rounded the desk and sank into my chair, prepared for what sounded like a long story. I wasn't going to loom batlike over the pair of them until they got to the point.

"A hand in what, exactly?" I asked.

"The disappearances," Arnet said. "Christine and Joseph have been working together to create the first non-profit organization by wereanimals."

"There have been a lot of therian non-profits," I said."

"For individual groups, yes," Amber said with the tone of a well-rehearsed spiel. "But not for U.S.-based wereanimal groups as a whole. It would be open to every species, born or infected. It would be an advocacy organization run by therians, for therians. Help lines, peer-to-peer counseling, anonymous reporting for abused packs, pards, prides, etcetera. Monetary help if it's necessary. Safe house locations. In short, it would provide resources to the needy and be an exceptional public relations move for us as a whole. Joseph lost a good friend to a government halfway house for recently turned shapeshifters. If we're ever going to get rid of those damned places, we have to offer a viable alternative."

I raised my hands defensively. "You don't have to twist my arm, I already agree it's a good idea. Let's skip ahead to the concerning part. People have disappeared and it has something to do with this coalition thing you're building."

"No, not exactly," Arnet said. "A few of them have been working with Christine, but for the most part, the disappearances were random. Almost every born shifter group is missing someone. Henry McNair and his family are werecobras. He disappeared without a trace a few nights ago. Donovan Reece says he hasn't heard from two of his swanmanes for a week. Gil, the werefox, hadn't been heard from for even longer than that. Simon went to check on him last night and he didn't come home after."

My stomach performed a nauseating roll at the mention of Simon's name. The muscle-bound wereskunk had been Ronnie's personal assistant for as long as I'd known him. I hadn't popped by much since Ronnie and I had our falling out. He'd been dating Arnet for over a year, and the two were apparently getting serious. The last I'd known they were planning to move in together. I didn't want the last time we'd spoken to have been over an intercom outside of Ronnie's office.

"Jesus," I muttered. "And have you called the police?"

"No."

I looked from one of them to the other, praying that it was some kind of joke. I could not be the first one they'd told about this.

"Why the hell not?" I burst out. "They could be dead. And don't tell me it's because they're closeted. Refraining from reporting disappearances to the police just obfuscates how big the threat is. Am I the only one who remembers the Skinwalker incidents? The body count was well into the teens before we understood what we were dealing with. If someone had come forward in the beginning, we could have stopped the tally in the single digits."

Amber crossed her legs, arranging her skirt in a prim gesture that reminded me of Judith. A reflexive prickle of irritation followed the thought before I could tamp down on it. My relationship with my stepmother was the healthiest it had ever been. She was still largely clueless about the enormous dangers I faced, and I felt like I had to handle her with kid's gloves, but that was on me. She didn't need the coddling after everything she'd been through. I just liked having one person not walk on eggshells around me. Disdain for the fussy Miss Manners things Judith clung to was something I'd have to train myself out of. She wasn't doing it to be contrary. People-pleasing had saved her life when her ex-husband threatened to kill her and make any evidence disappear.

"And what sort of life would they be coming back to if they happened to survive?" Amber said in a voice level enough to hang paintings on. "You don't realize the privilege you wield, Miss Blake. Your job allows you to amass wealth, so you are not subject to the million petty penalties that the public at large pile onto an outed shapeshifter. You own a home, but many don't. Some landlords find fine print to oust shapeshifters from their complexes. Gil works in a food truck. Shapeshifters discovered to have worked with or sold meat start health scares and can be fined or put in jail. Infected shapeshifters can be declared unfit by family members and put in halfway houses. And if they resist at all, the police are more likely to shoot them. So no, I won't be outing anyone against their will."

The steely silence that followed the tirade was nearly impenetrable. It wasn't that I didn't understand what she was getting at. I'd seen it firsthand. But living had to be better than dying, right? You could always get back on your feet and in St. Louis, we offered more help than most. Of course, I hadn't thought as much only twenty-four hours ago. I knew what it was like to creep to the cliff's edge of sanity and peer down at the abyss yawning below. I had all the privileges in the world and having one facet of my identity cracked into a million pieces had been enough to drive me there. How much worse would it be for a low-level therianthrope with no job and no prospects?

Arnet piped up with a hasty, "We'll check with their friends and family again, but I can't guarantee the answer will change."

"I don't know what I can do for you except liaise with the police," I said, mentally noting that even that could be a stretch. If news of what I'd done had gotten back to RPIT Zerbrowski would hesitate to put me on a high-stakes case. "And if something out there is strong enough to take out multiple therians, I don't know if I'll be able to take it on all by my lonesome."

"You wouldn't be alone," Amber said.

I folded my arms over my chest. "I can't ask Jamil to put his people on the line. I may be lupa but the wolves aren't my only responsibility, so he gets the final say. And there's no way that my leopards would be up to a fight with anything nasty. They're getting better, but they were hand-selected to be submissive. Their first instinct is to run not fight."

"Someone will have to start looking outside of their group or the coalition dies a quiet death before it begins," Amber said. "But that wasn't what I was getting at. Joseph and I had someone in mind."

She held out a hand without looking at Arnet, knowing without looking that the ex-detective would produce it without being told. Arnet dutifully pulled a small piece of cardstock from her pocket and handed it to Amber. Amber in turn handed it to me. The text was simple. Just a name, job description, and a number.

ORLANDO KING. CONSULTANT.

"Consultant," I muttered. "That's not vague at all. What does he do consults for?"

"Therian problems," Arnet said, nose wrinkling in distaste. "Before the incident in Zimbabwe, he had the fourth-highest official kill count in the nation. He had you beat in therian kills, but you trounced him in vampire numbers, and overall, your kill count is higher."

"What happened in Zimbabwe?" I thought I knew what, but I had to ask anyway.

"He and Joseph were on a reserve and-"

"A what now?" I spluttered. "Were they there to hunt?"

Amber aimed a look down her nose that probably made lowly peons wilt. It just made me want to plant a boot up her well-tailored ass.

"Yes," she said patiently. "In some instances, hunting of a sick or old member of a species would be allowed to bring in profit. That profit is then used to care for the others."

"And they got cut up by a werelion," I finished sourly.

"Yes," she said. "A pair of them. The male attacked Joseph and a lioness almost killed Orlando. And an accident during an intimate moment turned me as well. Joseph regrets that part of his life and has turned over a new leaf. Orlando followed suit in time. He disappeared for a while, wrestling with his demons, as it were. He had a deeply ingrained contempt for what he was, and it took him a year to turn his perspective on its head."

"Now he consults with animal groups around the country," Arnet said. "He's highly regarded by the leaders we've talked to. They swear by him. He's also made some inroads with the police and consults with them as well. Get in contact with him and try to formulate a plan. Please, Anita. You're the only other person we trust to handle this problem."

"I'll do what I can," I said, turning the card over in my hands once before stuffing it into the pocket of my unfortunately colored skirt. "But for now I want Arnet."

Amber's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"

"Because the next logical step is to visit the last place Simon was seen since he's the most recent missing person. That's probably the detective agency where he works. Veronica Sims and I haven't seen eye-to-eye for a while, so I'm going to need Arnet to smooth things over."

Amber seemed to consider that and then gave a curt nod. "Fine. She's yours for the duration of this investigation."

"Goodie," I drawled. "Now, if that's all, I do have a few more appointments to finish before I can talk to Ronnie. Arnet can wait in the lobby for me and you can tell Joseph that I'm on the job."

Subtle lines around Amber's mouth tightened. She was a woman used to deference and immediate obedience, neither of which she'd get from me. Had she never encountered another leader that would give her this much lip? Maybe, maybe not. Cooperation wasn't exactly the name of the game. Yet. Maybe Joseph's brainchild would change that.

"I'll do that," she said. "Happy hunting, Miss Blake."

"Always," I replied blithely. "Bye-bye now."

Chapter Text

Mr. Joseph Thomas looked like he'd stepped out of an earlier century, with his hedge-like mutton chops and equally bushy beard. His suit was at least a century out of date, and I wouldn't have been shocked if a spider had made its home in the creases of the dusty cravat he wore. His face was thin and pale. His dark eyes were far away and distracted. He lowered himself into the chair across from my desk with the air of a man who was already contemplating the next item on his to-do list.

The more I looked at him, the odder he seemed. It took my necromancy a few seconds to catch up with my mind, and I realized that he looked like he was from an earlier century because he was from an earlier century. The suit had probably been the height of fashion in the 1860s. His skin was sallow due to routine lack of sunshine, not illness. The aura of power that clung to him was colder than any human practitioner's should be, caressed from beyond the grave. This man had a vampire benefactor and a powerful one.

"So," I began conversationally. "Which Master vampire are you speaking for, Mr. Thomas? Does my Master know you're in town? Kind of rude to drop by unannounced. We haven't had a chance to prepare."

"You're perceptive. She told me you would be. And in any case, I'm just passing through," he said in a mellow voice barely touched by an Irish accent. "I believe the rules allow for servants to do so on business."

I tried to think of who the shadowy 'she' could be, and none of the answers I came up with were comforting. The power clinging to his skin didn't have the oily, coercive feeling of Belle's ardeur, so I doubted that she'd sent this guy. He wasn't really her type either. He wasn't ugly by most people's standards, but in Belle's court, he'd be considered a gargoyle. Vain as she was, she wouldn't attach herself to herself to someone like Mr. Thomas. But if he wasn't Belle's, who did he belong to?

"And what business do you have with me, exactly?" I asked, trying to keep the trepidation out of my voice. I was cursing Jamil for taking my guns at a time like this. "If you want to send Jeanette a message, she has an answering service. If you need a zombie raised, you should have told Bert and scheduled under raising, not consultation."

His lips quirked, and his eyes finally focused fully on me. There was a surprising amount of warmth in his gaze. At least he had a sense of humor. Most of the older vampires had servants who were drier than an overdone brisket.

"I admit, I'm not here for advice. I'm here to give you and your Master some."

I bristled, half-rising from my seat with my hands pressed flat to the desk. "A friendly warning, huh? About to declare war on us? Are you some sort of assassin sent to take out the competition?"

He waved the words out of the air like so much pipe smoke. "Hardly. I'm a writer, not a fighter. " He paused, considering it. "Well, I've done a bit of both over the years, but the point still stands. It's not my preferred method. Done right, the stroke of a pen can accomplish far more than a sword. That is what my lady asks of me--eloquence and tact. Now do sit, Miss Blake. The looming is quite unseemly."

I stayed standing, purely to spite him. It wasn't like I could take his word at face value. Standing gave me more reaction time if he decided to attack me. He seemed amused by my reluctance, not offended.

"Your name isn't Joseph Thomas, is it?"

"On the contrary. My full name is Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu."

I froze. I might have expanded my horizons in the last few years, but during my formative years, I'd only been interested in myth and monsters. I'd been the frizzy-haired goth kid who walked around raising roadkill. Being a bookworm had just been the cherry on top of my weird cake. Le Fanu's Carmilla had been a favorite of mine.

"You can't be serious," I said quietly. "Sheridan Le Fanu died in 1873."

"I appeared to," he agreed. "But appearances can be deceiving. I was visited by my Master shortly before my alleged death. She could tell my time was coming and offered me a chance at life."

A few facts slotted into place then. Jeanette had told me about Gretchen's sob story, about the human servant that had published the whole sordid tale for the masses, and exactly who he answered to.

"You're the Dragon's human servant. Jeanette said you write vampire literature for your Master."

His smile grew. "That I do. Me, and a string of others. I'm less of one man and more of...a composite, you'd say. I'm the most recent incarnation. She absorbs our souls as it were, and makes us a part of her when we die. Something about her divine nature allows for it. I am Ossenfelder, Polidori, I am Coleridge. I have been many before them, and when I am no longer Le Fanu, I will be someone else. I've had a hand in most of the literature you were forced to read in high school. I do apologize for that."

That was a fascinating concept, but not one I could afford to dissect at the moment.

"What are you here for, Mr...ah..."

"Thomas is fine," he said. "I rarely use my real name in public anymore. And to answer your question, I am here on behalf of my master. She wants to give you a gift."

"A gift," I repeated dubiously. "Something tells me that I should beware vampires bearing gifts."

His eyes lit. "Ah, touche. I think I like you. I really am sorry to have to do this to you, Miss."

He struck with more speed than I could have dreamed, and only years of muscle memory kept the blow from landing. I performed an awkward roll off the desk, upending the flowers and the poem, much to my irritation. It hit the ground with a crash that sounded louder than it probably was. I impacted the ground wrong and hissed in discomfort when glass shards dug into my flesh. I sprung to my feet in time to keep Thomas from stomping my teeth down my throat. His shiny dress shoe caught me in the gut instead, propelling me into a wall. I had a knife from its sheath before he could move in for the killing blow.

He was coming too fast and the sweep of my arm was all wrong to hit his jugular. I ended up managing to draw a crescent-shaped cut just beneath his right eye before we hit the back wall of my office. It seemed like that was what he was waiting for because the tension drained out of him. He kept me in place with one hand, using the other to swipe a bit of blood from his face. He brought the shiny digit to my face, drawing a design on my cheek with the blood. He repeated the design on his own cheek by memory. It looked like cuneiform.

"By blood and violence it is given," he intoned. "Through blood and violence it is earned."

It felt like a door opened inside of me and a Mongol horde stampeded through. Rage unlike anything I'd ever felt consumed me. My vision hazed to red, and I wouldn't have been shocked if my eyes were glowing like coals. I was the fire wielded by a frightened mob intent on burning the castle down, the blood of thousands of soldiers soaking into rapacious earth. I was the bloodthirst of the masses at the Colosseum, the hand wrapped around a man's throat, gleefully watching him breathe his last. For a single instant, I wasn't just named War. I was War.

Thomas thrust power into me like a blade, digging for my heart, setting it alight with blinding rage. I thought I'd combust. Then it hit the throughline that connected me to Jeanette. I felt her come alive in her coffin at the Circus of the Damned, dazed and a little frightened. It was hours too early to be awake. She and I both froze like frightened rabbits when the Dragon's indulgent chuckle rolled through our heads.

"Remember what I said, little ones," she purred. "I want you to burn the whole thing to the ground and watch them choke on the ashes. Use my gift wisely, Jeanette."

And then she was gone. Thomas released me and strode for the door as if nothing untoward had occurred, straightening his lapels as he went. He scrubbed my blood from his cheek with a handkerchief and bowed at the waist with a respectful, "Again, I do apologize, ma'am."

He disappeared through my office door, leaving me bleeding and breathing hard. Jeanette flipped through the last minute and a half frantically, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

"What was that?" I demanded. "She said she wanted to give us a gift, not send me to the hospital."

"She did give us a gift. When she does business, her tender is rage and violence. She couldn't give it to you any other way."

"What is that supposed to mean? She attacked us!"

"Exactly," Jeanette said in a small voice. "She attacked us with her power and I think she knew that it would be ours to use afterward. She was handing us a weapon."

That thought was almost more chilling than the thought she had a grudge against me. She was a Mesopotamian goddess with a fearsome reputation. If she wanted me to have her power it was so that I could strike at someone she couldn't touch.

"Who are we supposed to point it at?"

"That is an excellent question, ma petite," she said. "I wish I had an answer."

Chapter Text

"Keep pushing it that hard and you'll break it," Arnet said dryly.

But she didn't move to stop me. If anything, she seemed amused by my petulant punching of Ronnie's buzzer. She'd stepped back and folded her arms across her puffy coat watching me seethe at the metal box fixed next to the shuttered door. Every time the buzz went unanswered my anger ratcheted up a notch. I kept getting punched in the face with the reality that Simon wasn't here and the reason why was still unknown. He could be dead. He could be in trouble. Hell, he and Ronnie could have eloped to Vegas for all I knew. Unlikely, but technically possible. The only thing I did know was this. I'd arrived during office hours and Ronnie wasn't opening her damn door.

"I know that," I snapped back, jamming the button again. "I'm hoping if I'm annoying enough she'll finally come to the door. And if she doesn't, she'll have to review the surveillance video to see who broke her door. It's a win-win for me. I'll take an angry phone call from her if I have to. Can you try calling her again?"

"Her cell is dead, and her landline was on the fritz when I left. I doubt she's fixed it. She's..." Arnet hesitated, chewing her bottom lip as though thinking better of what she was about to say. "Well, she's not been herself for a while. I think she needs someone to talk to, and she won't open up to me."

Arnet gave me a significant look. Which pissed me off. Everything seemed to be pissing me off, and there was nothing I could do about it. Jeanette assured me the feeling would pass before closing the connection between us, but she hadn't said when. Going to Ronnie's place while I was this irritable wasn't a good idea, but I didn't have a plethora of options at my disposal. Simon was the most recent victim, and the trail would only grow staler the longer we waited.

"I'm not going to play her therapist," I said. It came out through my teeth. "She made her decisions last year. If she doesn't like the silence she shouldn't have been an asshole."

"I know that what happened in Stillwater was bad but-"

"You don't know a damn thing," I said.

My fist lashed out without checking in with my brain and impacted the siding of Ronnie's office. A plank of the cheap wide siding cracked under my knuckles. Prickles of pain danced up my hand and I hissed out a curse. The injury improbably made me want to punch the wall harder.

Thoughts beat a furious tattoo against the front of my skull and it took real effort to keep them from dripping like poison from my mouth. She didn't get to apply a 'but' to what happened in Stillwater. There was no but. It had been bad, period. And even that was selling the whole horrifying ride short. When she'd been terrorized by police, mind-fucked by a primordial goddess of the night, raped twice, learned awful truths about a parent she revered, and lost coworkers she liked to a zombie horde, she could quantify what happened. Until then, she should shut her damn mouth.

For once, Arnet decided that tact was the better part of valor and didn't reply to my sharp retort. She leaned in and pressed the buzzer for me. I felt absurdly disappointed. I wanted a fight. Arnet was about as adept a partner as I could hope for. Since when had she held back a scathing retort?

Since you started punching walls, dummy, a small, almost inaudible voice piped up. You're the lupa and Nimir-Ra. She can't afford to hurt you if it came down to a fight.

I wanted to duct tape reasonable me to a radiator and watch while she blistered. Which was probably a sign I should let Arnet do most of the talking if Ronnie ever answered her own damn intercom.

The static that came over the line was sudden enough to make me jump. There was a beat of silence before a bleary female voice mumbled, "Hello?"

"Hey Ronnie," Arnet said. "Could you let me in? I need to talk to you about Simon."

Ronnie sounded a little more alert when she mumbled, "Simon. Right...'kay. I'll be there. Gimme a minute."

Ronnie must have stumbled away from the intercom button because the line clicked and went dead. Arnet was smiling fondly at the speaker.

"She's probably putting pants on. She sleeps in the nude."

"I know that," I said tightly. "She was my friend before she was yours."

"And yet only one of us still checks in on her," Arnet mused. "So which of us is the better friend?"

I might have done something violent right about then if the metal shutters hadn't rolled up to reveal Ronnie on the other side. She hadn't been fetching clothes after all. The slacks and blouse she wore were wrinkled enough to have been slept in. Perhaps more than once. Her hair was lank, as though she hadn't washed it for a week. The dark circles under her eyes look like they'd been smudged there with charcoal. Worse still was the smell exuding from her every pore.

"It's a little early to be soaking yourself in gin, isn't it?" I said acerbically.

Her eyes came into focus then, sliding from Arnet's face to mine. They brightened for just a moment before simmering down into wary anger. She straightened a little, using the door frame to do it. Hard to strike a respectable pose when you were soused.

"If you weren't a teetotaler, you'd know it's whisky, not gin," she said, a sneer twisting her lips.

I hadn't been a teetotaler for a while now, but she'd removed herself from my life long before I drank during social occasions. The drunkest I ever got was with my girlfriend, and it was for her benefit, not mine. I'd never understand her obsession with wine, but it made her happy enough that I'd knock the glasses back now and then.

"Does it matter? You're drunk, Ronnie. Jesus, do you even know what day and time it is? You're supposed to be on the clock."

Ronnie glanced up at the sky and blinked rapidly, only now seeming to realize that it was directly overhead. She'd lost her entire morning to the rakish charms of Jack Daniels. It stuck a sharp pin in her anger, and she visibly deflated, leaning more heavily against the door frame for support. Her voice sounded lifeless when she spoke.

"It feels like a drinking day. Maybe even a drinking week. I already lost one friend and I think I lost another one last night. He left me a voicemail. I don't think he meant to. A butt dial, you know, but I got it. I tried to tell the police but I couldn't get anyone to take it seriously. Kept getting the brush off. I think I passed out somewhere around four."

The fact she hadn't thought of contacting me or Arnet said a lot about her state of mind. She'd probably been buzzed at the time, which hadn't helped her critical thinking skills. The cops had heard a drunken woman raving about a wereskunk in probable danger and hung up, probably warning her not to misuse emergency lines. If I didn't know her, I'd probably have hung up too.

"You want to help a friend and possibly mend fences with another?" I asked. "You let us in, you show us that message, and you sober the hell up and run a search for me. I need to know what I'm getting into with this Orlando King guy. Arnet's boss wants me to work with him. Do you understand me?"

"I understand you. I'm going to...I'm gonna give myself a sponge bath and change my clothes."

"Good. I'll hunt down your Lysol. If the rest of the office smells like you do now, we're going to need it."

Chapter Text

Arnet prepared a pot of coffee while I kicked a path through Ronnie's office. The trash was overflowing with fast food bags and styrofoam takeout containers from a restaurant right up the road. Ronnie hadn't been searching far afield for her meals. Though it was a wonder she'd even reached the door through the stacks of reference books, folders, and boxes scattered around the place. The cot she'd tucked up against the back wall looked in danger of capsizing under the waves of junk.

I'd cleared a semi-circle around the desk when something on its surface caught my eye. I leaned in closer, squinting at a grainy black-and-white photo tucked underneath another manilla folder labeled 'Lucia Chepe.' A prickle of unease scaled my spine and settled like a stinging nettle at the back of my throat. It was suddenly harder to breathe because I knew the man and the woman in the photo. They were younger, but still recognizable.

The man was painfully young. Probably twenty, if that. Last I'd seen him, his hair had been getting a bit thin up top. In this photo, it was thick and shiny, styled into whatever the fashion had been at the time. His eyes seemed to sparkle, even in the speckled black-and-white still. The woman had at least a decade or more on him. Seams had begun to form prematurely around her mouth and eyes, suspicion and calculation ironing themselves into her seemingly sweet face. By the time I'd meet her, she'd hide it better, but only just.

"Dominga," I whispered.

"Dominga Salvador and Manuel Rodriguez," Ronnie said. When I looked up, I found her leaning on the doorframe. Her expression was remote, all the earlier attitude evaporating like it had never been. "That photo was taken in Chicueyaco, Mexico a few hours before a local woman went missing. They never found her or her two-year-old son. The local authorities reported feeling something rotten when they entered the home. Some of them reported tasting blood. I think you'll understand what that means better than I do."

It meant that the magic performed inside had to be so vile that it had stained the place, smearing its bloodied fingers all over the metaphorical walls. The most recent batch of data reported a higher than average number of sensitives in the police and armed forces, but it beggared belief to think every one of the officers had been psychically gifted. If everyone sensed it, it had been power of the worst kind. Something that not even a null could ignore.

I ignored the queasy roll of my stomach and picked up Lucia Chepe's folder, flipping it open. Ronnie didn't try to stop me. Either she wanted me to see or she was too tired and hungover to fight me on it. Inside was another black and white photo. Lucia was holding a toddler on one hip and balancing a basket of flowers on the other. The kid was beaming at the camera and she was smiling indulgently down at him. The report the photo was clipped to said it was taken only hours before her disappearance.

"They're all like that," Ronnie said, taking a mug of coffee from Arnet with a grateful nod. She dumped two packets of Sweet and Low in without ceremony and took a drink. "The women who disappeared were known to have talent with the dead. Their bodies are never found, but their last known location was so metaphysically tainted that they usually ended up uninhabited or demolished in the end. I've found five of the eight."

"But you still don't have enough to make a reasonable jury convict, or you'd have taken your findings to the cops. The mastermind behind the plan is dead and Manny disavowed her years ago. Isn't that enough?"

Ronnie set her mug down on a coaster with a loud 'clack.' The brown liquid threatened to slop over the side and stain her folders. "No, it's not enough, Anita. There are eight families out there who have no clue what happened to their moms, sisters, and daughters. Heck, there are probably more, going by what Dominga said at her house. These are just the ones I can connect to him. Their families didn't even get the catharsis of a burial."

"So if I got Manny to tell you where the bodies were you'd drop it?"

Ronnie had been building up a head of steam, ready to lay into me. Part of me would have welcomed the fight, but it wasn't conducive to finding Simon. The question brought her up short. "What?"

"I don't know if there were any bodies left when Dominga was through with them. It depends on what rituals she was using. There was a lot of dark shit in the journals I saw. But if there are bodies to be found, Manny could probably point us in the right direction. If I found an anonymous way to tip off the authorities in their respective countries, could we bury this hatchet already?"

Ronnie sat down stiffly, considering it. She sipped her coffee in silence and finally sighed. "No, I still think he needs to go to jail for what he did."

"It wouldn't be jail, it would be an express lane to death row. So we're at an impasse. Again."

"Yeah."

"Good to know where we stand," I said, and couldn't quite keep the irritation out of my voice.

Arnet clipped my ribs with her elbow when she sat down, probably her subtle way of telling me to behave myself. Or maybe she thought I deserved a smack upside the head and couldn't conceivably make it look like an accident. She offered me a cup of coffee with a beatific smile, not fazed by the glower I leveled at her over the rim. The sparkle in her eyes dimmed when the gravity of our situation hit home again.

"You said you got a message from Simon," Arnet said, turning to face Ronnie fully. "Do you still have it?"

Ronnie nodded tiredly and produced her phone. She set it on her desk, dialed her voicemail, and put the whole thing on speakerphone. A chipper female voice informed her she had three skipped messages before launching into the most recent. At first, all I heard was heavy breathing and the repetitive drumming of knuckles on wood.

"Gil," Simon huffed. "Are you here? Your door's open. Good way to get turned into a hat, my man."

The door creaked and I could make out the heavy tread of Simon's boots on the floor. He took several deep breaths through his nose. Scenting. Simon had scented something unusual. Even in human form, therians had a home-field advantage when it came to smells. It probably meant that Christine, Amber, and Arnet's hunch had some weight to it. If there was an unusual scent in Gil's house, it probably belonged to the person who took him.

"What is that?" Simon muttered under his breath. "Smells like...rot..." His breathing picked up. "Oh God, Gil don't be dead."

The footsteps pounded down a long hallway and emerged into an echoing space. Possibly a bathroom or out the back door. They came to an abrupt halt and Simon's breath sped further. His voice shook when he spoke.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, raising his voice to disguise the quaver in it. "What are you doing in Gil's house? What's that...no, don't shoot!"

There was a clatter, a moaning exhale, and then the call disconnected. My face felt cold. Tears were rolling down Ronnie's cheeks, dripping silently into her coffee. To my surprise, Arnet looked only mildly not concerned. In her place, I'd have been flipping tables.

"Why aren't you more upset about this?" I asked her.

"Oh, you bet your ass I'm upset. I'm just trying to save it for when it counts. That wasn't a bullet they fired. It sounded more...hollow, I guess. I recognize the sound from my training with preternatural SWAT. That was a tranquilizer gun, not a long rifle. Whoever took him wanted him alive. That means there's a good chance that they're all alive. For now, at least." She turned haunted eyes to me. "Are we looking at another skinwalker situation?"

Ronnie let out a watery snort. "I wouldn't be surprised. This is St. Louis. Everything evil seems to gravitate toward this place. There were five fucking skinwalkers living here, for fuck's sake. The last time therians went missing they were skinned alive, left to suffer for days, and had their bodies fed to troll hounds. And if it isn't skinwalkers, it's a giant snake eating half the town."

"I don't think it's a skinwalker," I said. "Mostly because of the MacNair's. They're werecobras and skinwalkers can't use snake skins. And a skinwalker wouldn't need to sedate therians. They'd just run them down and incapacitate them. I'd say it's a human behind it."

"Or a vampire," Arnet mused. "We can't pin down all the disappearance times. It's possible they were all done at night and we didn't realize they were gone until morning."

"We can't rule that out," I agreed. "But in any case, I don't think Simon is dead. So here's what we're going to do. You're going to go with Arnet to the police. Skip the regular uniforms and go straight to Zerbrowski. Arnet will go with you and give you a little credibility. You still look like a bar fight happened right on top of you."

"Gee thanks, Anita," she drawled, taking another long swig of coffee. "You know just what to say to make a girl feel special."

"Take Arnet. Even if you were sober it would give you more sway, but right now you desperately need the help. If you want to see Simon alive again you'll stop pouting, put our fight aside, and go to the only damn cops who will take this seriously with the voicemail."

"This is treading dangerously close to the line Amber drew in the sand," Arnet muttered.

"Simon is out of the closet, as it were," I pointed out. "It's his disappearance we're reporting. You're his girlfriend, too, so it's at your discretion, not hers."

Arnet scrubbed her face wearily. "I'm going to get my ass kicked for this."

"But you'll go to the cops anyway," I said.

"Of course I will," she sighed. "Now that there's hope, I'm not going to let Amber's paranoia keep this under wraps. I can't tell the full story, but I can nudge. She can't kill me over a nudge."

Ronnie looked alarmed. "She'd kill you?"

"She'd be within her rights by the rules of some Prides," Arnet said. "I am going directly against her orders and potentially putting the Pride in danger. But no, that's not the way that Joseph runs things. She'll bury me in dominance fights until I'm knocked down a few pegs in the pride. She'd probably do it anyway, this is just a handy excuse. She doesn't like that I'm a female so close to the top. She's afraid we're all trying to steal her man. At least now I feel like there's a reason to get demoted, instead of petty jealousy. It's almost comforting in a way."

"And I'll be looking up who again?" Ronnie asked. "You said you needed me to look into someone."

"Orlando King, a former executioner turned advocate. I need to know if he's on the level before I trust him with everything we know. Can you do that for me?"

Ronnie's head bobbed, but I wasn't sure it was an acknowledgment. Maybe she was desperately trying to remain conscious. "And if I do this, we'll talk?"

I wasn't sure it would do us any good, if today had been any indication, but I could sit down for lunch. I nodded.

"We'll talk." My phone rang. I glanced down at the number and sighed. It was an FBSA number. "I have to take this. I'll be outside if you need me."

Chapter Text

The brisk morning air blew my hair back from my face when I emerged from the detective agency. St. Louis was beginning to thaw, but we had at least another month before we swapped snow and ice for warm afternoons and tepid showers. I hunched under the awning, trying to keep the chill off while I fumbled to answer the phone. Stupid me, not asking for a coat before leaving the Circus. Unless she'd done some spring cleaning, I had a few stashed in Jeanette's closet somewhere.

"Damn it, Doucette," I said impatiently. "I turned in my badge and gun last night. If you're going to give me a dressing down over what happened, you can save it. I'm not in the mood. I'll talk to you when I come back up for review. Or when I don't. If I get the boot we can talk about that then. But for now-"

"Anita, could you just shut up for a second and let someone else get in a word edgewise?"

The voice was definitely male, but it wasn't the person I'd been expecting based on the number. "Larry? Did you mug Doucette and take his phone?"

Larry laughed, but his heart wasn't in it. "Not really. I just got in from Illinois. The werewolf we were tracking tried to ambush us and my work phone got crushed during the struggle. He's getting approval for a new one right now. I wanted to call you when I heard what happened, but my personal cell is dead. Doucette loaned me his so we could talk. He sounded worried about you."

Yeah, he'd been so worried he hadn't come to see me personally. One of his underlings had taken my badge and gun and promised to get in contact. He'd sent me a form letter of dismissal and hadn't followed up. I could hear how petulant the complaints sounded, even in my own head. I wasn't the only agent he had to look after, but I thought that he and I had an understanding. I'd give a rat's ass if our positions were reversed.

"He did," Larry insisted, correctly interpreting my frosty silence. "And he said he was going to schedule a time to come up soon. There's trouble in Springfield. He wouldn't get into the details but it seemed kind of urgent."

I made a noncommittal sound, rather than snap the loud and angry, 'Bullshit!' I wanted to sling at him. If something was going on in Springfield, I would know about it. Branson and several of the cities surrounding it, including Springfield, were consolidated under one Master--Asher Louviere. He was one of the loves of Jeanette's long life, but more than that, he was our ally. If some preternatural nasty was prowling through a territory so near ours, he'd tell us, full stop.

"Any ideas what it could be?" I asked, trying and failing to keep my tone pleasant.

"Sorry Anita, but I really don't know. From what little I heard, there were bodies on the ground. Beyond that, I don't know. I wasn't invited in. He told me to go home and get some rest. See my wife for once. She's been on bed rest for a while and she's going stir crazy. Angel can't come soon enough."

I paused awkwardly at the mention of his little family. He hadn't had it the last time I'd been in St. Louis. The proposal hadn't been the height of romance and the wedding was just missing a furious father and a sawed-off shotgun to fit the stereotype. Tammy wanted to be down the aisle before their premarital baby showed. Larry had been with me during the shitshow that was Stillwater, so he knew why I'd taken off. And it wasn't like I hadn't sent gifts in the mail for both the wedding and the baby shower. But gifts weren't a substitute for being present, and I just...hadn't been. To almost everyone in my life, I'd become a ghost, chiming in occasionally with a brief phone call or cryptic text.

"Angel, huh? I wasn't aware you'd picked a name."

I couldn't be a hundred percent sure he was scrubbing the back of his neck, but he did sound sheepish when he said, "Yeah. It was our nickname at first. Tammy's grandmother mistook it for the real thing and cross-stitched it into a lot of baby blankets, so now we're sticking with it. I mean it could be worse, right? It wasn't something really unfortunate like Bertha. Bertha Kirkland gets bullied."

"True."

Another pregnant pause and then Larry said, "Are you okay, Anita?"

I blinked a few times. If I cried right now, the tears would probably stick. Besides, I didn't want the ribbing that was sure to follow if Arnet smelled them.

"No," I said, voice shaking on the way out. "But I'll get there."

"Anything I can do?"

I thought about it and then said, "I've been told by a professional that I need a break from police work but something has come up that I can't ignore. Something that strictly speaking the police shouldn't know about."

"Is it Andi..." Larry caught himself before he could finish the name and corrected it to, "Agent Malka?"

Agent Andrea Malka was a member of the Secret Service and tasked with rounding up alchemists all over the continental United States. She was also Andias, Queen of Air and Darkness of the Unseelie Court of Faerie. We'd met her in Branson almost two years ago now. I'd been tricked into making a bargain with her on our first meeting. I'd made two more of my own will later on to save lives. I'd paid back two of the favors I owed and lived in fear of the day I'd be called to honor that last debt.

"No, it's not Agent Malka. It's St. Louis supernatural business as far as I can tell. Jessica Arnet is helping out, but she has a lot of the same restrictions I do. If you have a little time you could..."

"Help?" he ventured when I failed to finish the sentence.

"Yeah," I said.

It hurt to ask the question. I didn't want to drag Larry into this. Every time I brought people into my private life they got hurt. Larry was my student and my friend. He deserved better than to clean up my mess. But if I continued to push it, there might not be a me around to clean it up either.

"Thanks," Larry said, warmth suffusing his tone.

"Um...shouldn't I be the one thanking you? I'm asking for a favor. A big one."

"I know. Thank you for letting me in. You've done a lot for me since we started working together. I just figure it's my turn to give back."

"I'm hanging up now," I said. My voice sounded strangled, and my throat felt raw. I blinked. One traitorous tear fell. "I'll meet up with you later. Tell Tammy I said hi."

"Tell her yourself. You can come to dinner with us to celebrate when we solve this case."

"Sounds like a plan," I whispered.

I hung up before he could hear me cry.

Chapter Text

"What does one get the vampire who has everything?" I mused.

After my conversation with Larry, I had time to kill. All my raisings had been scheduled for later in the week, and I still had a girlfriend turning 614 in two days. I had no clue what Jeanette's measurements were and wouldn't begin to know how to shop for any of the couture dresses she preferred. So I decided to go with the old standby. You could never go wrong with a diamond necklace or earrings. A ring of any sort could be misconstrued. It wasn't like I was proposing.

That thought brought me up short. Did I want to marry Jeanette? The answer was simple. Yes, yes I did. There were other lovers in my life I could see myself with long-term, but at the moment, there was only one I wanted to tie my life to forever. Not right away, but yeah, someday I wanted to get down on one knee and slip a ring on her finger. Excitement fizzed in my veins. There were things to live for. Like the look on her face, and the taut moment of hope before a yes. She'd want the big wedding and the expensive dress, which would be annoying, but I'd put up with it for her. For the smile she reserved only for me.

"Do you need help finding anything, Miss?"

I glanced up from the glass case of diamond necklaces. The woman behind the counter was a slim bottle blonde around forty. Her roots were just beginning to show, though it wouldn't be apparent to anyone who wasn't looking closely. She wore a customer service smile so shiny it could have doubled as a mirror, and that showed far too many molars. It didn't quite reach her eyes. Between the smile and the eyes, I was guessing she'd been yelled at one too many times today. Her nametag read, 'Sierra.'

"I'm looking for a present for my girlfriend. Any advice?"

"Definitely go with the sapphires and white gold," a gruff, male voice said from behind me. "It'd look killer with those baby blues of hers."

My back stiffened, my instincts reporting in before my conscious mind could weigh in. A prickling wave of power danced up my spine and my leopard raised her head, prowling to the forefront of my mind in response to what we were feeling. I didn't whip around or go for the knife in its sheath, though every cell in my body agreed it was a good idea. Sudden movements drew a predator's eye and could provoke an attack. Leopards in the wild didn't like to interact with humans as a general rule and making yourself appear larger and more aggressive could scare it off. But wereleopards weren't so easily cowed. So I turned to see what I was dealing with and exactly how much trouble I could be in.

The man approaching from behind was at least six feet and change, with the build of a champion boxer. His salt and pepper hair skewed heavily toward salt, and Van Dyke he sported was entirely white. His smile was deceptively warm and he would have definitely gotten a callback to play the father figure in a Hallmark movie. His dark eyes told a different story. I knew the look of a hard man when I saw one.

"Do you know each other?" Sierra asked politely, though I didn't think she cared about the answer. The look in her eyes said she wanted to be anywhere but here. The way her fingers kept twitching made me think she was jonesing for her next smoke break.

The man beamed. "I was in the neighborhood and I saw my daughter's car in the lot. Wanted to see if she's thinking of promoting me to father-in-law. You going to propose, Anita?"

Father-in-law. So he didn't want anyone to know what he was really up to. At least, he didn't want any vanilla humans butting in. It was probably a supernatural problem then. I didn't recognize him, but that didn't mean he was hostile. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn't approach me in a public venue like this.

"Not this year. But you're right. Why don't we look at the sapphires?"

I fell into step beside the guy, silent and staring straight ahead. Sierra didn't offer to show us their signature pieces which just affirmed my smoke break theory. Nicotine-deprived people weren't good conversationalists and they apparently made even worse salespeople.

I waited until we were out of earshot to ask, "So, what are you really here for, Dad?"

That earned me a rueful chuckle. "Hey, at least I didn't claim to be your boyfriend. I think it would have scandalized poor Sierra to see an old pervert like me preying on such a beautiful young woman."

"Doubtful. I bet she gets old perverts buying jewelry for their mistresses all the time."

"Ah, good point. Would you rather be my put-upon daughter or my dirty mistress?"

"Daughter. And you didn't answer my question. What are you here for?"

The smile dropped, leaving his features looking craggier than before. The lines on his face had been etched into his face by something unpleasant. There was a scar on his forehead that had never sealed properly. If I had to guess, someone had tossed him into a wall or concrete floor over and over, splitting his skull until the wound refused to fuse correctly. For a wereleopard of his caliber, that would take a while.

"My name is Merle. I'm here to talk to you about your wereleopards. Rumor is they've been leaderless for a while. My Nimir-Raj, Micah Callahan, is interested in filling the position."

I eased down just a little. I'd been envisioning nightmare scenarios when I'd felt his approach. The Harlequin would have been more subtle if they planned to kill me, but there were plenty of other people gunning for me. Not to mention Jeanette's enemies, who wouldn't be above taking out the competition in a roundabout way by killing her servant. The absence of my guns made me feel naked in the presence of things bigger and faster than me. I was probably attributing malice where there was none.

"Ah, right. I'm not interviewing prospective leaders for the pard today but if he comes to the Circus of the Damned tomorrow night I can find a moment to talk about it."

He laughed, and the sound jangled my nerves so badly that I took a step back from him. It wasn't a hearty, haha sort of laugh. It was the deep, scorful, 'you silly little girl' laugh. I hated that one.

"I think you're misunderstanding me, Anita. I'm not here to set up an interview. I'm giving you his terms. He's taking your pard. The question is, are you going to step down quietly, hand over your cats, and keep your life, or is he going to be forced to take them from you? The choice is yours."

Merle reached into his pocket. I had the knife free of his sheath before I could think about it. He gave it a contemptuous glance before holding out a card to me. He'd scribbled a number on the back of one of the jeweler's business cards.

"You have forty-eight hours to decide. After that, it's a fight by default and he will kill you. Think about this long and hard before you decide to do something stupid, Miss Blake."

Merle shoved his hands back in his pockets and ambled away, dismissing me. The chime of the bell above the door when he left made me wince. It was too cheerful to belong to this bleak day. I sheathed the knife again, feeling a little silly brandishing it at empty air. A glance back at the main counter showed Sierra discreetly checking her watch, counting down the minutes until her break.

I began walking toward the door, all desire to shop gone. There was yet another crisis to deal with. Best to let Sierra have her respite. At least one of us would be happy.

I'd pick up a bottle of Sangria en Noir, some expensive luxury chocolates, and a romantic movie, and drop by the Circus tonight to talk. When you were dating an ancient French vampire, alcohol was always a good contingency plan.

Chapter Text

I arrived at the Circus of the Damned at sundown and the place was already packed. A harassed-looking employee was trying to guide people into the overflow parking, seeming more and more upset when she got honks or middle fingers shoved in her face. She must have been new. The veteran workers flipped customers off in return. The administration looked the other way as long as they were discreet about it. I ended up circling to employee parking to avoid a hike into the Circus. I was already delivering bad news. I didn't want to stink of sweat while I did it.

The Circus was built in 1904 with little to no fanfare. The warehouse had belonged to a wealthy businessman and remained empty when he'd lost everything on a bet six months later. The property bounced from person to person for a couple of decades. In the 1920s it had been purchased by Rolfo Bartolomucci, a caporegime for the DiGiovanni Brothers; a pair of Sicilian Mafiosi who'd set up in Kansas City. They'd extended their reach into Saint Louis during the early days of prohibition. Jeanette had even hosted a period-appropriate party in one of the secret rooms one night.

I could practically taste the sticky champagne kisses we'd exchanged in a darkened corner. Feel the silk of her hair as it ran through my fingers. Breathe in the decadent scent of her perfume at the hollow of her throat. Hear her breathy moan when my hand slipped under her skirt. Jeanette was a delight to all senses. God, it felt like an eternity ago. Had life really been so simple back then? Ignorance was bliss.

A pair of Raphael's men flanked the rear door, eyes alert and scanning the darkness for danger. Both nodded to me as I passed their post. Fredo opened the door for me. I gave him a puzzled look.

"I thought you were one of Raphael's personal guards. Why are you on door detail? I thought that was more of an entry-level thing.

"Lisandro and I were assigned to watch over Andria Blake," he said mildly. "Our King has a vested interest in keeping your family safe, ma'am. He wanted his best on this detail. Claudia should be shadowing them inside."

I almost whistled. Rafael was serious about this. Claudia was Jeanette's head of security. If she'd decided to personally guard my family, the threat had to be substantial. Tension sang through me and I found myself glancing around, looking for an assassin lurking in one of the game booths. Then what he'd said registered.

"Andria is here?"

"As is Mr. Zeeman and their daughter. They were bringing Honoria for a visit. Jeanette seems quite fond of her." He didn't crack a smile, but his eyes did soften a little at the baby's name. "I believe they should still be on the upper level. You could catch them if you hurry."

For a second I considered backing out, slamming the door shut, and driving in the opposite direction. The last time I'd seen Richard and Andria they'd dropped the baby bombshell. I didn't care that it had been an accident, that they'd made a mistake while soaked in whiskey and mutual misery. The corpse of our relationship had barely cooled before Richard knocked my step-sister up. It wasn't just the Dragon's rage that had my hands clenching into fists at my side. There was a shamefully large part of me that wanted to punch her for sleeping with him. Unreasonable but true.

I couldn't let Andria's presence chase me off. I still had a girlfriend to apologize to. The crowds were thick enough that I could probably avoid them on my way to the back.

"Thank you, Fredo," I said, stepping over the threshold into the Circus proper.

The smell of kettle corn and cotton candy was thick in the air. I breathed it in, thinking wistfully back to the days when Aunt Mattie took Andria, Josh, and I to the State Fair. We'd gone every year until I graduated high school. Children ran past me, laughing and shrieking, a long loop of blue tickets clutched in their hands and streaming out behind them. Parents trudged along in their wake, keeping an eye on their kids' retreating backs. If I waded through the crowd I'd eventually reach the midway and the carnival games and rides. The happy family would probably be playing ring toss to win a stuffed animal for their kid.

I skirted the edge of the midway instead and was almost swept along by the crowd filtering into the Circus area, eagerly awaiting the coming performance. Meng Die was the ringmaster and only had to use a little vampire allure to make herself imposing. Though she was as short as I was, she had a presence about her that made you think of swords and the smile on her face as she cheerfully made you swallow one. Who better to introduce the oddities and death-defying circus acts than someone who looked like they knew how to handle the whip coiled at her waist?

The changing rooms held one of the private entrances to the Circus underground hidden behind a mirror. A bit cliche, maybe, but the guard with a long rifle waiting on the other side of the concealed door did a lot to undermine the tropey nature of it all. I slipped in, nodding to another of the guards I knew, and was almost knocked over by one of the makeup artists. There were a lot of those milling around, dabbing this, or smearing creams on that.

I thought I spied Stheno, one of the immortal gorgons we'd rescued last year in a swivel chair being dolled up. She was less dangerous than she'd been in the bad old days after a greedy pharmaceutical company removed her eyes. The gaping black holes where they should have been were covered with laces or silks in the posters, but for the performances, she emphasized the lack with elaborate makeup, like gold filigree around a hole in the ground. All the more disturbing for its incongruity.

I passed gymnasts, clowns, trapeze artists, knife throwers, and more on my way to the back. I was getting ready to move the mirror aside and knock when I spied the woman leaning toward the nearest mirror. She was objectively lovely with the kind of fragile beauty one usually associated with porcelain dolls. She'd arranged her inky hair into carefully crafted ringlets to reinforce that impression. But underneath the deceptive beauty lay the soul of a tiger.

She was wearing black, sequined hot pants that clung to her small but firm ass. They barely touched the tops of her thighs. The double-breasted ringmaster's coat and a gold bustier emphasized her trim waist and modest assets. I wasn't sure how she stood in the stiletto-heeled boots, let alone paraded around the stage on them. She finished glossing her lips and her eyes shifted over her shoulder to me.

"If you're going to stand there staring, you should buy a ticket and watch the show with everyone else.," she said dryly.

I flashed back to the conversation I'd had with Narcissa not so long ago and felt my face heat. This was the master she thought I'd gel well with? She looked like she wanted to rip my intestines out and set them on fire. She turned to face me when I didn't immediately answer and raised a brow. She sniffed the air delicately, paused, and then looked back at me.

"You're turned on."

"Am not," I said, folding my arms across my chest.

"Are too," she said, shrugging one pale shoulder. "And who could blame you? Look at me."

"Yeah, because you're just the kind of humble soul I'd fall for," I drawled. "Come on, give me some credit. I felt my girlfriend go down on you once. It's the sort of experience you don't forget."

Meng Die turned toward me and edged her ass onto the table, displacing a perfume bottle. It tumbled to the ground and rolled toward the corner of the room. She gave me an unreadable look.

"She was mine before she was yours, you know. You should ask her about what we had some time."

"Gretchen said you loved her," I said, thinking back to that tense conversation in Paramour's kitchen.

"Yes. She didn't tell you that Jeanette loved me too."

My mind tried to rebel against that idea. Jeanette, in love with Meng Die? It didn't track. She'd said she only had three great loves of her life. But...she'd never said I was the third. We hadn't even been dating when she brought it up. So was it possible that she'd been talking about Asher, Julian, and Meng Die? And if they had loved each other, how had they ended up in this twisted power struggle all these years later?

"So you're...what? Jealous? Is that why you hate her?"

Her eyes burned like twin coals in her face. Despite the coolness of her aura, her anger was hot enough to blister. "Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

"Yet you sleep with her?"

"She's my Master," Meng Die said dismissively.

"She'd never force you into something like that. Not with her personal history. See, I think you still like her, you're just too proud to kiss and make up. And yeah, I'm here, so it makes things complicated but it doesn't have to be. She's polyamorous. Just ask."

Meng Die examined her shiny red nails instead of meeting my eyes. She feigned a yawn. "I was under the impression she had to run it by her primary partners before something like that could happen, so there's no point."

"Asher and Julian won't care."

"But you will, so as I said, no point."

I hesitated. I wasn't going to get a better shot at this. So I sucked in a breath and blurted it out before I could lose my nerve. "And if I said yes? What then? You'd date her?

Meng Die's chin jerked up sharply and she gave me a look so probing I swore it touched the backs of my teeth. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you want?"

"A dominant. Narcissa thinks I need one and you're the only sadist she trusts that's local. So what do you say? A chance to be in her bed again and a chance to slap me around? That's got to be a dream come true."

A woman with a clipboard poked her head around the corner and tapped her watch. "You're on in five. Finish up."

The tense atmosphere broke and Meng Die stood abruptly, gathering her whip in one hand. She stalked toward the exit but paused in front and a little to the side of me. She brought the handle of the whip up to caress the side of my face. The leather of the whip and the chemical smell of the polish tickled my senses. My breath came a little faster in anticipation of pain. Strangely, I felt an electric zing of want, instead of the usual panic. God, I really was a masochist.

"Talk to her," Meng Die said at last. "I make no promises until I have an answer. Also, tell her I haven't chosen yet. None of them were up to my standards."

None of what were up to her standards? What was she supposed to be choosing? Why did everyone insist on being so maddeningly vague around here?

Meng Die swept past, leaving me breathless, keyed up, and more than a little excited.

"Wrong," I muttered, striding for the mirror and its concealed door. "Just plain wrong. You cannot go falling for that woman. She will eat you alive."

Maybe literally.

Chapter Text

This is a mistake. You should turn around. You should run.

Panicked thoughts kept shouting signals to redirect my feet. I wasn't ready for the coming confrontation. I'd left the memory of myself in St. Louis like a cold spot in a cemetery, felt but not seen. My absence had caused her no end of grief, personally and politically. If our roles had been reversed, I would have been pissed. Would she shout at me? Give me the cold shoulder? Give me a look of resigned disappointment that would settle like an ache in my heart? I hid every stinging barb, dismissal, or bruise-like absence in a shadowy closet at the back of my mind. It was getting crowded back there, and I wasn't sure a rejection that big would fit.

Still, I didn't let my twitching nerves steer me off course. Bully for me.

The underground had changed a lot in the months I'd been away. Jeanette had hired an interior decorator while I was away, sprucing up the place so much that it was barely recognizable as a cave. Nooks and sitting areas had been chiseled out of the rock, the natural striations incorporated into the design instead of buffed out. Bronze bas-relief art, geometric mirrors, and sometimes frescoes dominated the meeting areas. I had the idea that the ceiling in the coffin room had been transformed into an impressionist fever dream to add a little flavor to rising at dusk. The strip lighting had been replaced with LED lamps at regular intervals. It was an effort not to whistle at the shift in style.

Though it made sense the more I thought about it. Jeanette was all about appearances, especially when she was greeting an enemy. Presentation and first impressions had been the only weapons in her arsenal for a long time. She still wielded them with precision, despite gaining the title of Master of the City. She'd been challenged formally eight times now, which ironically meant she had to host them in the Circus. I bet the changes had started right after the death of the first.

I traded a few words and an energetic squeeze with Jason, who emerged from his room yawning. He eyed my outfit with a sly grin and gave me a tastefully lewd compliment. I fought not to blush. I'd realized that the salmon getup I was wearing wasn't going to cut it for my apology slash birthday surprise. Shucking it off would just make me think of flaying a catch after a fishing trip with Dad. So not a turn-on. The silken red wrap dress was bunched at mid-thigh, leaving a lot of intricately branded legs bare. I didn't trust the structural integrity of the spaghetti straps. The less said about the cleavage situation the better. I hadn't wanted to literally fall on my face the first time we met, so I'd forgone heels. The black ballet flats didn't quite fit, but I doubted anyone would notice. See above about the cleavage situation.

"Is she...?"

"Here?" Jason said. "Yeah. She was playing pass the baby with Judith earlier. I think she went back to her room to get ready for the evening. She has details about the New York trip to work out."

The reminder made the scar on my neck ache and I rubbed at it discreetly. The last time I'd faced Belle one-on-one, she'd slit my throat with my own aura. I'd been learning from older vampires like London and Verity how to keep it from happening, but my ignorance had almost cost me my life that day. How much worse would the petulant psycho bitch be in person?

"When does she leave?"

Yes, a small part of me was still looking for the easy out. It was crushed almost immediately by Jason's knowing look.

"For you? She'll cancel her plans for the entire night. Now stop stalling. She misses you. Don't make me truss you up and drop you like a present on her doorstep."

"Like you could catch me," I said, but couldn't stop the smile from curling my lips. Jason was easy to talk to, and cheerfully lecherous in a way that reminded me of Zerbrowski. That's probably why I liked him so much.

His eyes gleamed with challenge. "Wanna bet?"

"Sometime," I said. "For now I have an expensive and very fragile bottle of wine in this bag."

"Rain check?"

"Definitely. Have fun."

Only Jason could put enough innuendo into those words to heat my entire face. And that was how Jeanette found me a minute later. Red to the roots of my hair, squirming in discomfort and a guilty sense of want. I just drank her in for a minute, reveling in her presence. Jason had understated things a bit. She wasn't getting around. She'd barely woken. Her hair was tousled by sleep or sex. There was a hint of color in her cheeks, a fine dusting of pink across the dramatic sweep of her cheekbones. Her midnight blue eyes were half-lidded, and she moved with the languor of sleep.

Oh yeah, and she was practically naked. The royal blue nightgown was sheer in places, hanging like a gauzy curtain over her modest curves, emphasizing them rather than obscuring their existence. Only the bra and panties beneath were opaque. I had a second to wonder if she'd been sleeping with someone else last night. Then I was pulled past the threshold.

One instant I was holding my peace offerings, and the next I was unburdened, the gifts ending up God knew where. The next thing I knew I was pressed against the wall in a quivering line, her shapely, long-fingered hands deftly unknotting the ties that kept the wrap dress on. It slid off, pooling scarlet at our feet. I had no idea where the accompanying bra went. Off to wherever the wine and chocolates were waiting, I supposed. A hand mounded my breast, and my head lolled back, a small moan escaping my lips when full lips closed around a taut peak. When she spoke, her voice sounded reverent, a prayer whispered against my skin.

"Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime. Tu m'as manque mon ciel etoile...'

Not a word of English, wow. She must have been overwhelmed because she rarely forgot how to string an English sentence together. Endearments and what I assumed were dirty talk continued to burble from her lips, and I didn't understand a word. I didn't need to. Her hands glided over my skin, mapping the new contours with her fingers and the full softness of her mouth. I was gasping for breath by the time she reached my lips, moving in a restless rhythm that I knew by heart. Her skin was sweetly scented and maddeningly soft under my hands. I wasn't sure how I navigated the hooks on her back, but soon she was wiggling out of the veil-like chemise, kicking it aside so that she could guide me backward.

"When did we end up on the floor?" I wondered, surprised when the thought passed my lips.

It was hard to think at all with her on top of me, rising above me like the goddess of desire herself. Her hair cascaded in sable curls all around us. Her weight drove me into an incredibly soft rug. I arched into her when her nails scraped a fiery trail down my stomach and found their way between my legs. I was already embarrassingly wet, and it felt obscenely good when she plunged a single finger into me. I hadn't come to the Circus expecting sex, but now that it was happening, it sounded pretty damn good to me.

"You put us here," she said, voice filled with suppressed laughter. "Don't you remember?"

No, I didn't. I felt drunk, so befuddled by the magnificence of her that I could barely stand it. I'd never felt anything like it. Of course, I'd never been with another woman who had the same power I did. I would have thought it repelled, instead, we locked more firmly together, like magnets, drawn inevitably toward each other.

"Don't care. Just want you," I panted.

"Oui. No more talking."

"Just one more thing," I managed through a breathless squeak. Licking a line around my navel should be illegal when we were having a conversation.

"Oui?"

"Happy early birthday."

Her eyes shone, and some of her sultry sex kitten aura faded. "The happiest I have ever had," she agreed. "Would you permit a bit of...ah...experimentation ma petite? I have something I'd like to try."

I knew what she was after before she pulled the toy from its box. I'd never actually used a strap-on. I'd been raised to be a good girl. Good girls didn't strap on massive dicks and plow their partner. Nathaniel had practically begged me to peg him in the beginning. That had been weird enough. Doing it with my girlfriend was...well, I'd always found it odd. Now it just felt right. The toy slid with ease inside me a minute later, and the first experimental thrust drew a scream from my throat.

I ended up on top, her nails biting into my hips, guiding me in a rhythm that made soft cries fall from her lips. Each clash of our mouths changed the angle, sending the ecstasy higher until it pulsed white behind my eyelids. When I collapsed on top of her, naked and sweaty, it felt like coming home.

"I love you," I whispered. "And I brought a real present. I thought you'd like chocolates and wine since I missed Valentine's Day."

She kissed the top of my head. I swore I heard her sniffle, but her aura was edged with happy golden light. I didn't hear tears in her voice when she said, "This was the only present I wanted. You, in my arms. Everything else is secondary."

"But you do want the chocolates?" I checked.

Her laugh was soft and so layered in sensation that I writhed in an echo of the earlier orgasm. Usually, only Asher could make me do that.

"Most definitely."

Chapter Text

We ended up curled together in front of the new faux fireplace naked and boneless from our efforts. Jason was right about one thing. She'd been quick to cancel her appointments for the night, as unwilling to peel herself from my side as I was to see her go. I still wasn't looking forward to the painful but necessary conversations we needed to have, but it seemed distant and unimportant in our cozy little microcosm. For a while, we made casual conversation. I sipped my wine and let her feed me chocolates. Now and then she'd let one melt against the raised marks on my arms and use her tongue to lick the sweet stuff out of the contours. It didn't taste like much to her, but she delighted in the way I squirmed.

I was a glass and a half in when I finally had enough courage to broach the topic Meng Die mentioned.

"I wasn't your first pick for your human servant, was I?"

Jeanette went still in that way only the dead could. It was like a reverse Galatea, my beautiful girlfriend turning into a statue under my touch. I counted down the seconds until she became animate again, watching her face carefully. I wasn't sure what she saw on mine, but she finally relaxed when there appeared to be no explosion pending.

"Why would you ask?" she hedged.

"It was just something Meng Die mentioned."

One of her perfectly plucked brows arched. "And since when do you speak with my third? I was under the impression that you disliked each other."

"Narcissa said I needed someone to top me who was also a sadist. She suggested Meng Die. We were talking about it and she brought the topic up. So were you...you know, hers?"

Jeanette took a steadying breath and wouldn't meet my eyes, clearly unhappy to be having this conversation. She sounded subdued when she said, "I tried not to be. Love was a luxury I couldn't afford in those days."

Something twinged in my chest. I told my hurt feelings to stuff it. I'd asked the question, and I needed to know. "So you did love her?"

Jeanette rolled away from me, laying on her side so she could look at me squarely. I didn't think she planned to sprawl in a provocative pose. It seemed to be unthinking, drilled into her so often by Belle's and her court that she seduced on reflex. It was difficult to keep my train of thought with her displayed like a nude sculpture an arm's length away.

"I did," she said slowly. "We met in China in 1858 during the second Opium War. I was assigned to a wealthy man there on business. She was a performer. It began as an innocent flirtation. I tried to keep it that way, knowing too much attention would bring Asher's ire down on her. And yes, I thought of making her my human servant. If my feelings were the only thing that factored into the equation, I might have."

"But you needed someone powerful," I said. A pang of that old anger swept through me before fizzling out. I knew she hadn't chosen me for love. Not at first. It had been a hell of a lot more pragmatic than that.

"Oui," she whispered. "And she was human. Heartbreakingly so. She couldn't fight then the way she does now. I knew he'd kill her and through her me. She asked and I said no. She left me and I thought that would be the end but..." She sucked in another deep breath. "I found her in an opium den, barely breathing not long after. It was cruel to turn her. I know that but I..."

"But you loved her," I finished. "God, I guess I understand why she hates me now. From her perspective, I stole what should have been hers."

"Oui, I believe that she envies you, ma petite. I am shocked she would agree to top you."

I fidgeted. It did interesting things to my curves. Jeanette noticed. I hadn't promised Meng Die anything. It wasn't like I was pimping my girlfriend out. But in hindsight, I wondered if she'd taken it that way.

"I said I'd talk to you. She wants to date you again. I think a year ago that would have bothered me but with the ardeur...well, I've lost a lot of reservations by necessity. Would you want to be with her?"

I half-hoped she'd say no, but the careful silence was answer enough. She did. Some part of her still loved Meng Die. I thought I could understand that. There'd always be a part of me that loved Curtis and Richard. You carved little nooks into your heart when you decided to love someone. Even if they left, the memories still lingered.

"It's okay."

"Non, it is not. It would bother you and I've only just gotten you back."

"We can try it," I said. "I didn't think I could do poly again, but we did. I'm glad we tried. Maybe she can fill a need for both of us. You miss her and I need more pain than you want to provide."

Jeanette sighed. "We will try. I make no promises."

There was another silence, more pensive than the last. I kept waiting for the inevitable, the moment she freaked out on me over last night's events. She didn't bring it up, seeming to decide that our fragile peace was more profitable than a well-meaning lecture. I surrendered easily when she pulled me back into her arms, spooning me.

Something Meng Die said earlier popped into my mind. "Oh, she said she needed me to tell you that she hadn't chosen one. None of them were up to her standards. Do you mind telling me what wasn't up to her standards?"

She hesitated again. I let out a happy sigh when she set her teeth against the skin of my shoulder, nibbling a thoughtful line up my neck until she reached my ear. I almost moaned when she rolled the lobe between her teeth. She didn't fight fair, damn it.

"Human or therian servants," she said at last. "I've been performing an experiment of a sort."

"Another one?" I teased.

I felt her lips curve into a smile. "Yes, one decidedly less sexual than ours. My fae power manifested even after death because I had a living partner. I wanted to know if any of my offspring would possess the same through my blood. I asked them to pick a human or therian servant. Several agreed."

"And what was the verdict?"

"It's only a small sample size, but they do appear to have new powers through their servants. Meng Die and Gretchen haven't chosen theirs yet. Gretchen because she does not wish to inflict her madness on another, and Meng Die because she has exacting standards."

"And what does the success of the experiment mean exactly?"

Jeanette gestured for me to sip more wine and didn't answer. I didn't push. Honestly, I was just happy we weren't discussing my dismal mental health. I could stay in a contented little bubble for a little while longer. She'd tell me when it was relevant.

Until then, I had a birthday gift to eat.

Chapter Text

"A strip club," Arnet drawled, watching Kennedy waggle her ass in front of the skinny guy in the front row. "You sure know how to pick the classy joints, don't you, Blake?"

"Tammy is going to kill me," Larry seconded.

He was clutching his club soda like he wished it would turn into something harder. He'd blushed red to the roots of his hair when he realized where we'd stopped and how long I planned to stay. To his credit, he hadn't glanced at a single stripper since we'd been seated in a soundproofed space above the stage and the other tables.

"Smolder is pretty classy in terms of strip joints. The place is actually pretty ritzy after the remodel. Besides, it's a private room. No chance of being overheard and admission is free when you're with me. Would have come in handy for your bachelor party, huh?"

I nudged Larry with my elbow. His only response was to burrow further in his seat and cast anxious looks around. I didn't think that Tammy was going to get on his case for this. On the other hand, I didn't know her well enough to predict her reaction. And if my boyfriend was at a strip club while I was on bedrest, I might have been testy too. So it could go either way.

"Couldn't we have gone anywhere else?" he asked.

Arnet gave me a knowing look over his head. She knew why we'd met here instead of Paramour, which also had private rooms. Sleep had eluded me the last few nights, and I needed to feed if I was going to raise the dead for clients in just a few hours. Larry and I planned to carpool and hit the crime scene on the way back. It had taken over a day of bargaining, but Zerbrowski had gotten permission from on high to let therianthropes and us dirty, dirty necromancers take a crack at the scene. The FBSA was working with RPIT on the budding case, and they were less than pleased to be inviting me in, even for a routine consult, but even their troll hounds didn't want to get near this. That left the psychically gifted and therians to figure out what the dogs wouldn't.

The waiter returned with our meals, stalling conversation for a minute. Larry accepted his sliders with enthusiasm. Anything to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied with something that wasn't wearing a g-string. Arnet and I had ordered the buffalo boneless wings, but I was content with one basket, while she'd need at least three to keep up with her enhanced therian metabolism. She popped three of them in her mouth whole, the wings disappearing so quickly it could have been a magic show. I felt positively dainty taking measured bites of my messy meal.

"Just drop it, Larry," Arnet advised. "We won't tell Tammy if you don't. Anita is probably here on Human Servant business, so it's need-to-know only. We don't need to know."

I mouthed a heartfelt 'thank you' at Arnet while he picked apart the bun on one slider. It was a bald-faced lie, but it saved me from having a very uncomfortable conversation with my former trainee. Larry knew about my connection to Jeanette. He even knew about some of the shadier parts of my job. He didn't know about the ardeur and I wanted to keep it that way. The second Tammy knew I could kiss our friendship goodbye. It didn't matter that I had control over my hunger now. It didn't matter that I had a dozen other lovers who'd feed me in an emergency. She'd hear 'coercive sex magic' and issue an ultimatum. The sad thing was, I couldn't even blame her for it.

"Fine," Larry conceded. "But let's keep this short. I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to."

And unlike most of the men I knew, he seemed to mean it. I was eyeing the girls on stage more frequently than he was. Jeanette picked attractive and talented people for every single one of her clubs, but the dancers at Smolder were even a cut above the rest. There wasn't a woman here who was anything less than stunning and it showed. The ambient lust in the room would tide the ardeur over for the night, or until I could hook up with London, who was due to return from her trip soon. Whichever came first.

"Agreed," I said. "What has Zerbrowski graciously allowed you to share?"

I hadn't meant the words to come out sounding so bitter, but I couldn't take them back once they left my mouth. Even I wanted to wince at the caustic bite in them.

"Anita, it's not like that," Larry began in a conciliatory tone. "It's not personal. Doucette and Zerbrowski just want-"

"I know what they want," I said, cutting him off before he could get further into the weeds of this topic. I so didn't want to go there. "The point is that Arnet and I are approaching this case as civilian consultants and you have more insight into things than we do. You have interdepartmental cooperation. So spill whatever you can."

Larry sighed and picked at the bun on one of his sliders. Arnet swallowed another boneless wing, watching us with that too-observant stare of hers. Scientists were still up in the air about whether it differed enough from eidetic memory to be classified as a psychic gift. I knew better. She was an indexer, someone who could not only vividly recall information she was exposed to, but who could figure out where the information would lead next. Dolph had called her a bloodhound. I didn't want to give her too many threads to pull on with this conversation. There were some parts of my life that I didn't want Arnet trying to unravel.

"As I said before, it's not much. We'll know more when we can all observe the scene. The techs describe Gilbert Zerda's home as smelling musty with a faint rotten odor. No one could find the source and I only got a cursory look at the place. There were no humanoid corpses around that I could spot. Lots of rabbit and bird bones in the backyard, but I figure that's not out of the ordinary for a werefox."

"It's not," Arnet confirmed. "Simon eats chickens and their eggs when he's in skunk form. We know a guy in St. Charles who breeds small animals and sells them to therians as a side hustle. It's not strictly legal since it's violating some obscure federal laws, but I would have looked the other way even before turning into a werelion. No one is getting hurt and those chickens were bound for someone's dinner table anyway."

"So the smell wasn't from corpses?" I checked.

"Not as far as I can tell. But then again, you and Georgia have more juice than I do. If it's there but buried under some kind of spell, I trust you to pick up on it before I would. I'd say that I'm about seventy percent sure that whoever did this wanted them alive for some reason."

I wished that sentiment was more comforting than it was. Alive didn't mean well, and anything that wanted to tranquilize a therian before approaching probably meant it ill. Visions of Humans First zealots with guns and shingle-like chips on their shoulders sprang to mind. But even that didn't make sense when I thought about it. A troll hound would go after humans, therianthropes, and vampires without prejudice.

"I just don't understand what could have confounded the dogs," Arnet said, following my train of thought. "I mean they undergo rigorous training to avoid this kind of reaction."

"I know," I said. "My grandmother trains them to this day. It's one of the reasons I'm not worried that she refused Jeanette's offer of protection. Between the Oak Tree Clan and the troll hounds she has on hand, nothing is getting within a mile of her place without her knowing it."

"What if they weren't trained?" Larry said.

Arnet snorted. "Yeah, like St. Louis PD is going to bring untrained troll hounds to a crime scene."

Larry made a face at his plate. Glaring at Arnet would have required him to see past her to the new set coming on stage. Garnet was dressed in an even skimpier getup than Kennedy. The pasties and g-string beneath the transparent latex she wore barely qualified as an outfit.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Oh?" she asked. "And what did you mean?"

"I mean that troll hounds aren't usually stymied because they're prepared for what's most likely to turn up here in the U.S. I bet breeders get even more specific by region, so they're rarely surprised. But there's no guarantee whatever did this is from the U.S. right? Maybe they won't follow the trail because it belongs to an unfamiliar predator."

Arnet and I stared at him. I could practically hear the pieces clack together in our heads and felt stupid that I hadn't considered it from that angle before. To be fair, my arrival in town had been fraught with all kinds of stressors. A mental breakdown, the pack's unrest, this newest mystery, threats from strange wereleopards. You know, the usual.

"Holy shit, Larry, you're probably right," I said.

"You don't have to sound so surprised by that," he answered, but the teasing slant took any sting out of the retort.

"Arnet, can you look up what creepy-crawlies emit musk or have an aura that smells like rotted meat?"

"On it," Arnet said, already pulling a tablet out of the bag by her side. "And I'll stop by Ronnie's before I head home. She has access to a few databases that I don't. You'll call me when you're both headed to Gil's place?"

"Of course," I said. "And you'll let us know what you find out?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed out of the booth, gathering her things. I took that as a 'duh' and moved on, orienting on Larry as she moved to leave. Larry watched her tip the last of the boneless wings into her mouth before taking off, leaving me with the bill. I'd pay it without teasing her about it. This had been a more productive session than I could have hoped for only twenty-four hours out from the initial disappearance. He waited until she was on the ground floor and wading through the pumping bass to speak again.

"There's one more thing," he said quietly. "The experts on site did find a pair of paw prints leading away from the house. We're not sure if it's connected, but Zerbrowski specifically asked me not to mention it to Arnet."

Arnet had been a detective with RPIT no matter how short her tenure. There was only one reason that Zerbrowski would ask Larry to keep this from her. If she was a suspect.

"They belonged to a lion," Larry continued, confirming my fears. "The brass' current theory is that she did it or knew the person who did."

Chapter Text

"Am I in the middle of something private?" Larry asked from the backseat. "Because we can always pull off at a gas station if you two need to talk."
Verity and Malicia had been assigned to cover me at work tonight. The taller, dark-haired Verity was driving while her fair-haired sister lounged in the backseat with Larry. They were among the best at covert work among the guards, and discreet was the name of the game tonight.

Bert had roped most of his senior animators into a group project at New Saint Marcus Cemetery. After my success on the set of New Orleans Undead Hollywood had been eager to take advantage of the possibilities that animating firms offered. Unfortunately for them, animators who could raise the dead and make them completely lifelike weren't common. I'd already refused to work on several more movies, despite the comparatively easy work and large payout. Even with the consent of a person's estate, I didn't feel right dragging a long-dead celebrity back into the limelight to star in a film that they hadn't consented to act in.

But I'd underestimated the draw of nonfiction television as a money maker. Documentary crews and true crime podcasters of note were beating down Bert's door with offers. It made me less queasy than the naked commercialism of Hollywood, but I still wasn't sanguine with it. Don't ask me why. It didn't make sense in my head either. I raised the dead to set the historical record straight all the time. This time I just had cameras on hand to watch me do it. Tonight could shed new light on a decades-old cold case, and everything had been vetted. So why did this assignment make me so nervous?

"Nothing is going on," I said. "Right, Verity?"

Silence. Oh. Okay, so maybe there was a vibe I hadn't picked up on. Where was my head at tonight? Normally I'd catch that sort of thing before Larry did. Verity was a vampire servant to my necromancer. We were attuned to each other. I sighed.

"Okay, fine. Pull over at the gas station ahead," I directed. "Larry, go inside and get me an iced coffee. Malicia, watch the parking lot. Verity and I are going to stay in the car and talk."

"Yes ma'am," Malicia said with a strained smile and salute. I'd been too in my head to notice the tension in her body until Larry pointed out the atmosphere in the car. I was usually better than this.

Verity steered my Jeep into a mostly empty Shell gas station and parked outside the golden glow of the sign. Parking too near the lights was like painting a neon target on my position. I understood that in theory. It still made me nervous when the others piled out and the dark closed around us like an implacable fist. I stared straight ahead, bracing for whatever was going to leave her lips. I expected her to shout at me. If she'd heard the stunt I'd almost pulled, she had a right to be angry. But what came out was worse. Her voice was quiet and tremulous.

"I can't keep doing this, Anita."

From a lover, that phrase would have been the final nail in the coffin of our relationship but that wasn't what Verity and I were to each other. Even if she hadn't been straight as a ruler, she and I wouldn't have worked as a couple. She was too reserved and moody for my taste and the fact that we were bound this tightly would always skew things in my favor. It was the same reason I was reluctant to crawl into bed with Julian, Asher's former human servant and current zombie lover. I'd raised him from the grave, which meant I had authority over him. How could that ever translate into an equal partnership between us? Though I'd felt my resolve toward him weakening from almost the moment we met. It was fraying to pieces now that Asher had taught him to text. He was still bad at it and often bungled his meaning, but that just made it endearing.

"Can't keep doing what?" I asked, and even to my ears, it sounded defensive.

"Being sidelined," she whispered. "You keep pushing me off to the fringes before you do something dangerous or monumentally stupid. Do you know how many times you've almost died recently? Because I do. I can list them. And where was I during all of those times? Where you put me. On the periphery doing fuck all because you won't let me serve my purpose."

"Your purpose isn't to die for me, Verity."

"But it is," she insisted. "Even without the magic that binds us together, that would be my purpose. As a blood-oathed member of the St. Louis Kiss I am beholden to the Master of the City. You'd be my priority even if we weren't Master and Servant."

"But-" I began, but Verity continued as if I hadn't even spoken.

"You don't understand what this is doing to me. I have never, ever been useless in a situation, Anita. Never. I was a warrior for my entire life and I didn't cease that role in death. We were selected specifically for our prowess and we survived a purging of our line almost five centuries ago. I am capable but you never let me be. How can I possibly do what I was born to do if you push me out of your life at every possible turn? I know you didn't want me on this detail. I heard you arguing about it with Jeanette earlier."

I ducked my head, heat prickling up the back of my neck at the embarrassment of being caught. The small but emphatic argument had been about having guards with me while I worked. I reasoned that if I was in a cemetery full of bodies and in the company of other animators I already had a handy defense at the ready. Even the most hardened assassin would think twice about trying to shoot his way through a bulwark of zombies.

"I don't want you to die for me. You wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for me."

"No, I wouldn't," she agreed. "I'd be a soap mummy under the thrall of a demon-possessed witch in a bum-fuck town in Minnesota. I'd be suffering a fate far worse than death. You saved me the only way you knew how. It isn't as if you turned me into a Bride."

"A what?" I asked.

Verity's hands relaxed around the wheel for the first time since we'd pulled in. She risked a glance over at me, her quicksilver eyes assessing my expression. "You don't know what that is, do you? I assumed you'd know. You are the Executioner."

"I ran with a lot of old-school hunters before I earned that title, which means I'm more knowledgable than most, but I don't know everything. I didn't know the difference between a human with a few bites on them and a human servant. I didn't know the difference between a Freak and a Pomme de Sang. If this is vampire slang that Jeanette doesn't use, there's a good chance I don't know it."

"It's less slang than a joke," Verity said, leaning back in her seat. "The Dragon's human servant was responsible for penning many of the staples of vampire literature. If he didn't pen it, then he was almost certainly a part of the creative process somewhere along the line. Do you remember Dracula's brides?"

"Sure, it's pretty iconic. I even heard that someone tried to cast Jeanette as a bride in an adaptation of Dracula earlier in her career. She turned it down."

"Of course she would. It's not a flattering term. Le Fanu was mocking the poor creatures that trail Belle and some of the other Council members. Any vampire with enough power can create them, but most don't. They consider it cruel."

"Consider what cruel?" I asked, letting some of my irritation show in my voice. "You're tapdancing around the point and it's starting to piss me off.

"A Bride is...well, it's worse off than a complete thrall. Thralls still maintain some personality. A Bride is more of an empty vessel. It looks like the person it began as, but it isn't. Their entire concept of self and all of their autonomy is wiped clean. A Bride is a battery, cannon fodder, food. Anything that its master needs it to be. They can be male or female. Belle has more than any other Council member and goes through them often. It's...distasteful to most."

I absorbed that, a queasy feeling beginning in my gut. "You're saying that they're basically zombies with pulses."

"Yes."

"How powerful does a vampire have to be to create them?" I asked.

It was a good thing to make public knowledge for my fellow officers. A Bride couldn't be talked down like a servant or a groupie. If they had no will of their own, negotiation was useless. It could save some well-meaning cop from getting shot.

"Council level or near it," Verity said with a shrug. "Some of the Mother's guards were rumored to have the ability, but that's speculation. I believe Jeanette could do it now if she wanted to."

"She's not Council-level," I pointed out.

"She's grown more powerful since Albequruque. Haven't you noticed?"

I hadn't. I'd been too busy having sex and trying to avoid the fight that I could feel brewing. It hadn't left a lot of observational power left over. But now that I thought about it, it made sense. I'd been exposed to what amounted to a supernatural thermonuclear reactor when the Aztec seal broke. It had left permanent scarification on my arms and legs and muted my connection to Jeanette for days. It made sense that she'd absorbed some of that energy before our connection shorted out.

"Oh."

Verity sighed. "My point is this. I'm not a thrall or a Bride. I get to decide what I want to do with my life. You saved me from eternal suffering in the only way you knew how. We're bound as a result but it doesn't make you a bad person. I choose to protect you because you are worth protecting. I don't know who in your life convinced you that you aren't, but I won't let your hangups get you killed. I want to be on your guard detail as often as humanly possible."

I turned my face away from her to hide my expression. My eyes itched, the precursor to tears. I knew who'd instilled the idea in me. My dad, who hadn't raised a finger or said a word in my defense when I was nearly raped in high school. Who'd continually ignored the abuses heaped onto me by Grandma Flores. Dad, who'd willfully ignored the truth about my mom's real identity, even when proof was thrust under his nose. My father valued his comfortable status quo far more than his daughter. I'd known that for a while. It shouldn't still hurt.

"Please," Verity said quietly when I didn't answer. "Even if I can't physically be your guard, you need to use me. This lopsided triumvirate we forged is only hurting us. If you won't let me guard you, at least draw on my energy and skills to defend yourself."

It had only recently occurred to me that failing to use what Jamil and Verity offered could have consequences. Power wasn't like a book that gathered dust on a shelf when ignored. It was a living thing. If it couldn't manifest productively, it would come out in other aspects of our lives. It had been the story of my life until I learned control of my necromancy. The power used me until I learned to control it. Was it possible that some of my recent mood swings and sleepless nights weren't just a mental health crisis? Could the untapped power be exacerbating the issues I already had?

"Fine, I promise. For the foreseeable future, you can be my night guard but I'm not moving you into my house. A girl has to have boundaries."

"It's a start," she said, letting out a long breath. I realized she'd been ready for an argument. Was I really so unreasonable that she'd prepared to browbeat me into compliance? Yeah, I could be. Shit. I didn't like being the unreasonable one.

"It's a hard limit," I said. "You're not in the house, period. It's embarrassing enough you've heard London and I have sex. I'm not parading my other lovers in front of you too."

"Very well."

"Is that all?" I asked. "Or were there other issues you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Jade is sending me sodoku puzzles."

That sentence was so out of left field that I mentally staggered, trying to recover from the abrupt topic shift. "She's what?"

"They're made up to look like sodoku puzzles, so no one rifles through them when they arrive in the mail. Even your enemies wouldn't think to look for messages in a puzzle book. Her ciphers are truly inspired. It took me days to crack the first one, and there are a lot more in there. I'd like to learn the skill from her someday. It's ingenious."

"Why is my girlfriend sending you puzzles? Shouldn't she be sending me puzzles instead?"

"You're under strict scrutiny from the Mother's Guard, I suspect. Even before you killed one of their own, you were a target. I suspect there is at least one spy among the St. Louis Kiss, if not more. The puzzles come to me because I can communicate the content to you without words. Jeanette can communicate directly with Jade because of their connection, but she would also be under strict scrutiny. No one can know Jade is alive or she'll be hunted down. So, I'm tangential enough to communicate with and get away with it."

"I see. And what did the messages say?"

"That she's in a remote part of China looking for a lost amulet. It was stolen from a man named Ziying in the 1500s and has changed hands since then. She thinks it will offer limited protection from the Mother of Us All."

That name tickled something in the back of my head and I had to raise a finger for silence so I could chase it down the elusive corridors of memory. When I finally caught it I muttered, "Son of a bitch."

"What?"

"I've heard that name before. Harold Gaynor had his body and wanted him raised. He was willing to perform human sacrifice to have it done. He claimed Ziying was an ancestor, but that was a lie. He was performing a sort of trade with Dominga Salvador. He wanted her to raise zombies for porn and she wanted the location of the treasure Ziying was hiding. She hadn't been able to raise the corpse herself because he was a wereanimal. A weretiger, most likely, if Jade was looking into his past."

John Burke hadn't raised the weretiger either. I hadn't even tried. I'd sacrificed one of Dominga's grandsons and raised the entire cemetery instead. It had almost gotten me killed when the Mother of All Darkness possessed their bodies. Dominga hadn't been as lucky as I'd been. I'd listened while they tore her limb from limb. The resulting screams and the meaty ripping and popping sounds would haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.

"She was looking for a talisman to up her chances of victory," Verity said, cottoning on quickly.

"Yeah," I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The night had barely started and I already felt tired. "It makes me wonder what else she knew. She was an evil bitch, but she had her reasons. I'm not even sure if they were bad ones, half the time. I've seen what Marmee can do to people. She has to be stopped."

"But not like that," Verity said.

"Yeah, not like that. What did Jade say the artifact was?"

"It was allegedly a gift from the Father of Tigers to his Black Queen consort. According to legend, it protected her when the Mother came for the clan tigers. She broke it into pieces and spread them among the remaining clans, except for the proud Gold Queen who refused her share. It's their explanation for why the golden tigers died out and the rest of the clans didn't. It's probably not that simple, but she's found evidence that an artifact does exist. So she's tracking it down for you."

"I don't need it the most," I said. "I have Jeanette. If Jade sends it to me I'm giving it to Ari. She's new and she doesn't know how to control her abilities let alone shield herself from Marmee Noir. Besides, I don't need no stinking amulet, do I? I have a kickass bodyguard."

She smiled and unlocked the car when she spied Larry striding toward the Jeep, two iced coffees in hand.

"That you do."

Chapter Text

"I feel like I'm on the set of New Orleans Undead again," I said in a stage whisper. "Do they really need this many cameras?"

At least twelve people were milling about setting up tripods, cameras, and boom mics. Two young women were squabbling about the lights while another kept accosting us, applying makeup to anyone who'd sit still long enough to allow it. It was irritating and overwhelming, and I'd already been through a version of this before while playing a bit character in a Hollywood blockbuster. My fellow animators appeared to be blindsided by the hustle and bustle. Usually, the only audiences we worried about were the gaggles of lawyers and court stenographers assigned to insurance cases or disputed wills.

"Are you kidding?" Ari said, bouncing up onto the balls of her feet. "CrimeVibe is like the biggest true crime podcast on the internet. They've got almost two hundred and fifty million subscribers on their YouTube channel and they have five stars on most streaming platforms. I used to listen to them on my phone before I went home. Aunt Kylee didn't like listening to that kind of thing. Too dark, she said."

Some of her enthusiasm dimmed at the mention of her aunt and she toyed with a lock of her hair. She'd dyed the tips violet sometime while I'd been away. Retreating socially was probably a nervous habit left over from her time in Stillwater. Ariana Snyder had moved to the backwater Missouri town after her parents died. She'd been one of only a few black students in the district and a favorite victim of her racist Uncle Clayton. She was coming out of her shell bit by bit, but the process was far from over.

"How is your Aunt doing?" I asked, checking the latches on the chicken cages.

"She's settling in," Ari said. "She's never lived in a big city before. It took some getting used to."

Of course she hadn't. Kylee's plans after high school had been derailed when she'd gotten pregnant with her rapist's baby. Small-town expectations had forced her to marry Clayton. The last time we'd met I'd told him in no uncertain terms to leave his soon-to-be ex and her kids alone or I'd be back for him. He'd taken me seriously. They hadn't heard a peep from him in months.

"And how are you doing?"

Ari's lips turned up at the corners. "Okay, I guess. Dr. Hale has been nice. I'm finally getting the hang of this zombie thing, I think."

Just in time to have her face and voice plastered all across the internet. I would have warned her away from doing this if I thought it would do any good. Here was hoping CrimeVibe turned off their comment section. She didn't need the usual internet vitriol on top of her unique circumstances. Being one of five necromancers in the world and on the shortlist to be a Lovecraftian horror's potential meatsuit was enough.

"That's good. It'll be invaluable when you get older and strike out on your own. It's so much easier to get along with your neighbors when you don't raise Fluffy from the backyard. But just remember that, no matter what Bert is saying, you can have a life outside of the zombie stuff."

Ari risked an uncertain look up at my face before turning her attention back to the chicken in the cage at her feet. She'd named this one Sam. According to Georgia, she named every bird before it met its end. She looked surprised too. Had anyone ever asked her what she wanted to do with her life? Her mom and dad might have at some point, but over the last few years, I doubted anyone really cared what she did or became. I doubted she ever got so much as a 'How was your day?' let alone a 'What are your plans for the future?'

"He's training me," she pointed out.

I snorted. "No, Georgia and Manny are training you. Bert is being a manipulative bastard. He's trying to snag you with the sunk-cost fallacy. It's an internship, and that's all. It doesn't mean you have to work for him. And even if you did decide to work at Animator's Inc immediately. You can do whatever you want with your future."

Assuming there was a future. If we somehow managed the impossible and stuffed Mommy Darkest into a deep dark hole to be dealt with in another million years.

"Could I...?" she began, then trailed off, rolling her full lower lip between her teeth.

"Could you what?"

"I...I want to be a chess grandmaster. I looked it up and if you're good, you can make three or four thousand dollars a month depending on whether or not you coach. I'm close to ranking that high. I think if I did one or two raisings a month I could keep this under control and supplement my earnings. Aunt Kylee didn't think it was a good idea."

Of course she hadn't. Kylee and I had grown up in the same neck of the woods. There was a tiny conservative voice in the back of our heads whispering about the way things should be, even as our lives traveled far afield of what could be considered normal. That voice said that Animating wasn't a real job, that dating more than one person, let alone more than one gender, was wrong. Wanting a non-traditional sports career would chafe against everything Kylee was raised to believe was appropriate.

"I think that's a great idea," I said. "And I had no idea you were so good at chess. Grandmaster, huh? I saw the photo on your missing poster so I knew you played but..."

Ari's mouth swept into a shy smile. "Dad started playing with me when I was five. I've been giving lessons for a long time and I did this chess BootCamp thing every summer until I came to stay with Uncle Clayton."

Again, the smile flickered out of existence. Her family had been murdered during a spree killing. When the murder weapon was a gun, it was hard to tell what was a clandestine assassination attempt and what was hust the risk of walking outside in an American city. The Harlequin could have targeted them, but I was pretty sure the mass shooter was just your run-of-the-mill evil bastard who had no business owning the gun he used to do the deed.

"You should play with Jeanette sometime," I said, trying to get ahead of the dark cloud I could practically see unfurling over her head. "She's been a grandmaster for a while. I'm sure she'd appreciate playing against someone worthy. She can beat me in about five moves. I'm better than Jason, but not by much."

Ari brightened. "She's a grandmaster?"

"Yeah. Belle Morte had her vampires become proficient in a lot of different disciplines."

I almost blurted the motive for all those proficiencies but managed to catch myself in time. If I was caught on a hot mic sharing the juicy details of Belle's many scandals, the next challenge Jeanette faced wouldn't be from an ambitious vampire with more ego than sense. She'd face Belle herself. That wasn't a battle we could afford at the moment.

"Okay," Ari said. "I'll ask. I see her a lot at Hotel Serpentine anyway. She visits the gorgons a lot. Cleo, Josh, and I are usually hanging out together when she arrives. I also see her with Andria's boyfriend a lot."

My chest twinged at the idea that Richard was Andria's anything. It wasn't a reasonable reaction. We'd broken up almost a year ago. I didn't have a claim to him anymore, but the hurt persisted. He'd had sex with my step-sister before the ink was dry on our relationship's death certificate. He hadn't even been careful while he fucked her, and now they had a newborn together. They'd made a little person together, a reminder of what they'd done. I didn't want to resent that, but I did.

The makeup girl thankfully interrupted our little exchange. She'd cloned herself sometime when she'd been off pestering other people. A girl who could have been her twin steered us away from each other, putting the finishing touches on our makeup while a young man chivvied everyone into place for the opening shot.

I opened the cage at my feet and pulled out the chicken Ari named Dottie. She was limp under my hands. Some practitioners were convinced that drugging them stole a bit of power from the ritual. That something had to suffer while it bled to more thoroughly pay the toll. I didn't care whether it was true or not. You didn't make something suffer if you didn't have to. I'd take less power in exchange for a humane death.

I let her chest rise and fall against my palm, watching calmly as Matteo and Macie began their rituals. Macie was an atheist and tended to work with few words and sometimes in total silence. Matteo prayed to the Lord Almighty to raise zombies from the grave. CrimeVibe's host Everly had chosen the order for the spectacle. Maci and Matteo would produce the least lifelike zombies first, with the more animated (if you'd pardon the pun) zombies rising toward the end. It was striking visually and tonally. It meant that I had time to kill while the others began walking their circles of power.

Summoning my necromancy was less like calling it up than letting it loose. The power was always there, a tightly clenched muscle somewhere inside me that yearned to be set free. If I had the blood and the will, I could raise all the dead in the city and still have power to spare. I didn't, because summoning a swarm of undead was just begging Marmee Noir to make an appearance. Plus, disenterring a corpse on a whim was just rude.

The chicken in my hand shuddered as the cool wind of my power whipped outward, seeking the dead. I could feel them under the ground, waiting. The one under my feet was stirring already, even without the catalyst of blood to draw him from the grave. I could feel the smaller bodies of animals beyond the cemetery's boundaries. I could feel something faintly tasting of death waiting for me in the copse of trees just beyond my sightline. My power stuttered over the shape. Small, delicate, and too warm register to my abilities. Yet, there he was.

The more that I prodded at it, the better I could sense it. It wasn't just warm, it was searing, blazing across my other sense the way that only a therianthrope could. And once I'd finally puzzled that piece out, another slotted into place. The leopard I'd inherited from Gabriel raised its furred head, scenting the air for another of its own. The presence out there was a wereleopard and a powerful one. The mysterious Micah Callaghan perhaps? I was nearing his deadline, after all.

I scanned the graveyard once, weighing my options. Wereanimals in general didn't like interacting with humans, despite the scales being weighted in a therian's favor. Humanity was good at finding and killing the things that scared them, so you poked the masses at your own peril. With this many cameras on site, he'd probably stay away. But what a time to be wrong.

I made an executive decision then. I began to pace away from the others, ignoring the squawking of one of the producers. I wouldn't drag my fight into Bert's lap. No need to risk my friends over something that didn't concern them.

"Verity," I thought firmly. "Come to me now. Let's see what Mr. Callahagn will do when facing fair fight."

Chapter Text

I took off at a loping run, outpacing the videographer by a mile. Verity touched down beside me a minute later, appearing from the clear blue sky like magic. The twins had been lurking within flying distance since we'd arrived. She hadn't even bothered to pocket the sodoku puzzle book before joining me.

"Engrossing read?" I asked as she took up a position a little ahead of me.

"You'd be surprised. There's an encounter with clouded wereleopards and this interesting interlude with a giant salamander."

"A salamander?" I echoed. "You're sure you translated that right?"

"Pretty sure. I'll tell you about it when we're done here. In the meantime, stop wallowing. I can feel that you're questioning yourself."

"I shouldn't just be able to order you around like that," I muttered. "It's wrong."

"Stop thinking about it like a master/slave arrangement. You're War, Anita. Even if we weren't bound together you'd still outrank me in the organization. We're soldiers. You just happen to be the commanding officer."

I wasn't sure I bought that, but it did feel less morally questionable put that way. I'd signed up to be in the Armed Forces when I was an idealistic college kid. Only my psychic abilities kept me out. I knew a thing or two about the chain of command.

Verity crept forward, a silent, nigh invisible shadow against the dark trunks ahead. She moved soundlessly, feet not quite touching the hard ground. I knew several vampires who could levitate, but very few who would fly like the Wicked Truth. Even Jamil, the other third of our triumvirate admitted he had trouble tracking them when we were all working together. If someone metaphysically connected to one of the twins could barely pin them down, this Callaghan guy had no prayer of doing it. By the time I stepped into the treeline, she was already in position, lurking somewhere close but out of sight.

Micah Callahan was waiting for me in a small, circular clearing. He was almost lost to the shadow of an oak, so small that the eye naturally drifted past him to the more imposing shape of his second-in-command. Merle had at least a foot and a few decades on Micah, but he hung back in deference to the smaller man. Honestly, it shocked me just how short he really was. If he was an inch taller than me, I'd eat my blade point first. I was a little under-average for a woman, but he was incredibly height deficient for a man. Physicality meant a lot in wereanimal circles. How had this guy managed to beat out someone like Merle for the command of his pard?

The leopard inside me stirred, treading that long metaphysical path toward the surface of my mind. If I wasn't careful, she'd try to force a painful shift on me. The bright lantern-like reflections of her eyes seared into me, an almost tangible weight against my mind. She didn't understand why the sight of this guy had my heartbeat riding up into my throat. She didn't fear him. She liked him. She raised her snout and scented the air as though she could somehow track his beast from inside me.

Micah's chin jerked up and his nostrils flared wide, mirroring the cat inside me. I was momentarily taken off guard when our eyes met. His eyes were a mesmerizing shade of chartreuse, the leopard's eyes in his human face. But there was no flicker of heat traveling over my skin to hint at the beginning of a shape change. Which meant someone had forced him into animal form long enough that parts of him hadn't come back. A mess of auburn curls had been swept back from his face into a haphazard ponytail. His nose was bent at a slight angle, a hint that whoever had forced him into animal form had abused him long and hard enough that even his therian healing factor couldn't keep up. I didn't like that thought. I couldn't afford to pity him if he'd come to take my leopards.

"So, you're Micah Callahan? I thought you'd be..."

"Taller?" he asked, lips quirking into a disarming smile. If he wasn't here to kill me, I'd almost have called it flirty.

"Oh come on, give me some credit. As a fellow vertically challenged person, I wouldn't go with the usual."

His grin blossomed into the real thing and I felt heat creep into my cheeks. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with me? I hadn't reacted to someone this instantaneously since Jeanette, and she had laid a mind whammy on me the first time we met. It hadn't held, and she'd seduced me the proper way eventually, but still. Micah shouldn't be able to charm me. He wasn't a vampire. He didn't have the coercive mind or voice combo that bent someone to his will.

"Oh, right. Far be it from me to interrupt."

He made a fanciful 'carry-on' motion that made a laugh rise in my throat. I quashed it, leaning on the cool pillar of Verity's strength to shake the charisma he exuded.

"I thought you'd be beefier," I clarified. "Someone around Merle's size."

"Muscle and height don't always guarantee victory. Just look at you. You have the highest official vampire kill count on record and I probably only outweigh you by twenty or thirty pounds. How does it work out for the people who underestimate you?"

"Touche."

Micah stood a little straighter. With moonlight slanting onto him at last, I could make out the subtle but defined muscle on his forearms under his dress shirt. He was in good shape for his size, probably a runner or a swimmer. His bone structure was delicate, more pretty than handsome. That deceptively pretty facade plus his size had probably lulled tougher customers than me into a false sense of security.

"I hate to be that asshole, but I'm running short on time. I need your answer."

"You'll get my pard over my dead body," I said.

Micah's face scrunched as though the answer had tasted bad. "I heard that about you."

"Heard what?"

"That you're a real ball-buster and that you don't make things easy on people."

He took a slow step forward, hands slipping from his pockets. My knee-jerk reaction was to go for my gun, only to realize that Jamil had confiscated most of my weapons earlier in the week. I still hadn't earned my guns back. I made do, drawing a silver alloy knife from its sheath while half-forming the claws on my free hand. It took a lot of practice to shift only that part of me, but now that I'd mastered the move, it was a lot like pulling five switchblades simultaneously.

Merle surged forward, ready to put his body between me and Micah. He only made it half a step before Verity dropped down behind him, threading her long fingers into his hair. She bared his neck in one long line and laid the edge of a saber against the beating pulse in his throat. He went very still. It didn't matter if you had superhuman healing factor. If you lost your head, you were just as dead as a vanilla mortal in the same position.

"I'd stay out of this if I were you," Verity said coolly. "But by all means, struggle if you like. I haven't performed a proper decapitation in ages."

"Don't hurt him," Micah snapped, and there was enough authority in his voice that it gave me pause.

"Then don't approach us so close to humans," I countered. "You want to have a showdown, fine, but we do it my way. I have an attached training area in my house. We fight there under the supervision of a neutral party. No cheating, no threats, no funny stuff."

"Done," Micah agreed. "And I didn't come here to threaten the nice humans. I wanted to size up the competition. You're prettier than I expected."

I tried to ignore the compliment. It shouldn't mean anything coming from a guy like Callahan. Still, inexplicable warmth settled in my belly, the precursor toward actual arousal. I had the thought that if he touched me, I wouldn't be able to tell him no. It was the most out of control I'd felt since gaining the ardeur. Something strange was going on here, but I couldn't put my finger on what. Was this my ardeur running amok again? It didn't feel like the power was coming from him. I'd sense it if he had some flavor of Belle's sex magic. He wasn't even a vampire, so I had no clue how he'd have the power in the first place.

"We'll go by old-school dueling rules," I said. "Have Merle and Verity exchange details about the fight. For now, I have a job to do. Let me get back to it before some hapless podcaster stumbles onto something they shouldn't."

Micah reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a business card. I took it with a frown and glanced down at the number. I recognized a Colorado area code. What was a Colorado wereanimal doing this far east?

He was careful not to let our skin touch, but my hand still tingled at the proximity anyway. Most of his aura was his own, but there was an undercurrent of something colder just beneath.

"You taste like death," I whispered. I hadn't even meant to say it aloud, but the effect it had on Micah was immediate. He jerked out of arm's reach, expression shuttering. The genial Micah was gone, and a predator stood in his place.

"Just call within the next forty-eight hours," he said. "If you don't, I'll have to track you down again and neither of us wants that. Now, tell your guard dog to let Merle go."

"Verity, let him go."

Verity looked like she wanted to argue, but she released Merle, sheathing the sword so that it was all but invisible beneath the folds of her long coat. One moment she was standing behind the big wereleopard and the next I was swept off my feet, spiraling off the ground at dizzying speed. Verity moved fast, not touching down until we reached my Jeep in the cemetery parking lot. I appreciated the thought. Touching down next to the others would just invite questions that we didn't want to answer. It also drew fire away from the others if Micah went back on his word. And, yeah, I needed a second to collect myself after the nail-biting interlude and the death-defying flight that followed.

I leaned over the hood of the Jeep sucking in deep lungfuls of air. When I glanced up from the shiny paint job I found Verity examining another piece of expensive stationery. I could smell the perfume wafting off of it from here.

"What does it say?" I asked.

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent."

"Byron," I mused. "One of his most famous poems. Strange that Jeanette would put it out here."

"I don't think she did," Verity said, expression solemn. "The perfume is masking another scent. Whoever delivered this wasn't anyone I know. It's male, but that's all I can tell you. The roses on your driver's seat are the same. It belongs to a man I don't know. It isn't the wereleopard menace either. He couldn't have delivered these in the time since we left the clearing and the scent is fresh. A few minutes, if that."

Which meant the conversation had been a diversion so someone else could approach my car. I took a few steps back, visions of car bombs dancing in my head. Verity swept me behind her as I retreated, just in case. Something else occurred to me then and I reached for my phone with numb fingers.

Did you send flowers and a poem to my office recently? I texted, mashing the keys wrong several times before I could get the message right.

No. Would you like me to?

My mouth went dry. Someone had been in my office and now my car leaving messages that seemed a lot less charming in this new context. I had a stalker on top of a wereleopard rival.

"There should be video cameras aimed at the parking lot," I said quietly. "While I raise zombies, I need you two to confiscate the footage by any means necessary. I want to know who's been after me tonight."

Chapter Text

The raisings went off without a hitch. However, there would probably be a snippy review on the company's Yelp page. The star of CrimeVibe seemed to think walking off the set during filming was unprofessional behavior. I didn't see what they were bitching about. I was the second-to-last raising on the schedule and probably wouldn't have raised a single zombie for hours. I considered telling her what I was out there to do but held my tongue. Advertising anything less than a united front among the St. Louis supernatural set was just begging for an enterprising investigative journalist to poke their nose where it wasn't wanted.

We were skirting dawn by the time the crew wrapped up, so Larry swung by the Circus of the Damned, letting an unhappy Verity off at the main entrance. If she could have guarded me during daylight hours, she would have. Larry watched her disappear into the back entrance with a frown. He waited until we were on the highway to ask the question I'd been dreading.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

I knew it was coming, and the reminder still made me burn with shame. Larry was FBSA just like me. Word spread fast when an agent went rogue. We'd skirted the topic once during our last phone call. He hadn't asked for details, hadn't probed to figure out what had gotten into me. I needed that. I didn't want to wade into the weeds of what had gotten me to this point. I could do that with a therapist and a box of Kleenex. Not with Larry. He was my friend, but he hadn't earned that story from me.

"No," I said shortly. "I'm stable for now and that's all you need to know."

"Anita-"

"Please, Larry," I said, cursing myself when my voice wobbled. "Don't. I can't right now. Just let me examine the crime scene in peace."

"You don't have to do this," he continued. "I'm perfectly qualified to search the grounds with my animating ability. I don't need to be a necromancer to find a dead body. If there's a corpse on the property I'll find it. You could go home and snuggle with your girlfriend. I know I'd rather be with Tammy right now, and I'm not in a bad place."

I had a brief, violent impulse to slam his face into the steering wheel until he stopped talking. Guilt followed immediately on its heels. I'd been experiencing uncontrolled bursts of rage all week. Feeding the ardeur seemed to sand the edges of the rage the Dragon forced on me, but it wasn't a permanent fix. Jeanette theorized it was semi-sentient, similar enough to the ardeur in its origins that I would probably need to feed it at some point.

If the anger was rearing its ugly head so soon after I'd visited Smolder, it probably meant I'd need a real feeding every day until it abated. No use waiting for London. I had to figure out who I could afford to feed from before I turned in for the night. I had to spread the feedings out among multiple partners or I risked draining them to death. Jeanette had already been a meal once in the last few days. So had Jamil. So who did I send my A.M. booty call text to? And how the hell had I arrived at a point where my friends-with-benefits list had become a literal lifesaver instead of a fun way to pass the time?

"I'm going, Larry. That's final."

"Doucette said-"

"I don't give a damn what he says!" I snapped. "He doesn't give a shit, so I'm happy to respond in kind. He can take his well-meaning lecture and shove it up his ass."

Larry flinched. "I think he wants to be here, Anita. There's just this thing going on down there. Last I checked in, he was consulting with Dr. Radborne. He can't be sure, but he thinks that they're dealing with another snake case. All the scenes he's been to have one thing in common. Animal prints, but specifically something that looks like a snake trail. A big one. Think anaconda, not sidewinder. She's pretty sure there's a weresnake prowling around Springfield. Someone near the investigation leaked that to the press and now everyone is panicking, assuming it's in the water."

"Wicked Jenny two, electric boogaloo," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "She did tell them that most squamatathropes are terrestrial, right? There's been one instance of a were sea snake in the tropics. That could be a curse or dark magic at play, not an infectious strain."

Larry rolled his eyes, though I wasn't sure if it was at me or the absurdity of the public backlash. "I know that, Anita. I took the same preternatural biology classes that you did. And of course she told them. The talking heads don't let the truth get in the way of a good story. At least Collette is out of the river. They won't be able to target her again."

The mention of Collette made me smile faintly. Not so long ago I'd been asked to help out a pair of friends studying a Nessiteras rhombopteryx, better known as a Lake Monster. They were rare, gentle giants whose jaws were only equipped for small, freshwater fish. That didn't stop the public from blaming a rash of deaths on her. A few battles and a compact with a faerie queen later, Collette was safe from harm. She'd settled in with the scientific team observing her in a Wisconsin lake. Richard would have been studying her with them if he hadn't knocked Andria up.

And damn it, now I was pissed again.

"So what is the weresnake up to?" I asked to keep myself from shouting obscenities at the first person unfortunate to look at me funny. "Eating tourists?"

"Scaring them, so far. There have been sightings of huge snakes and after what happened with Apep a few years ago, I don't blame people for getting twitchy when they see giant reptiles. There have been tips flooding in, some bullshit, some not. He's making sure that people who went missing on hikes weren't eaten. More likely than not, they got turned around but..." he shrugged. "You know how it is."

Doucette had missing people? Now that was interesting. "Were any of them shapeshifters?"

Larry paused, thinking about it. He was a smart kid. He knew where I was going with this. It seemed like too much of a coincidence that our boss was dealing with missing person cases and wereanimals at the same time we were.

"I don't know. I can tell him to ask. You think this is all connected?"

"Could be. Doucette should consult the Master of the City about the animal groups in his area. Asher should be able to tell him if any of the groups are missing members."

I hadn't meant to call him Asher aloud. The Asher situation had been tense from the beginning and I'd barely started changing that before the ardeur madness. Larry didn't know the full story, but it had to seem odd that I was using his first name now when I'd hated his guts not so long ago.

"Okay." He seemed to think things over. "And I think you're right. This might be connected. Remember what the techs said? The place smelled musty and even rotten. Cottonmouths release a musk that smells rotten when you get close."

"It's in their sweat glands. It varies from snake to snake, but the odor is unmistakable if you've been around one. I have. Have you?"

He nodded. "I had a crazy professor who kept one as a pet. Herpetologists are wild, man. I've just never heard of a werecottonmouth."

"Me either, but there's always the chance they're an undiscovered species. Maybe just a born family line that started as a curse."

"Kidnapping and murder," Larry said cheerfully. "Now that's fun for the whole family."

I laughed weakly. "Something like that. Either way, tell Doucette the theory. I'll call Asher's answering service and let him know that Doucette is coming. Common courtesy, you know. Master to Master."

No need to tell Larry that Asher was now blood-oathed to Jeanette and her second-in-command for the region. The less the police knew about that side of vampire politics, the better.

"It doesn't explain the lion pawprint," he pointed out. "It was relatively fresh and Arnet insists Gil wouldn't have been around a shifted lion. He's nervous enough around her when she's in human form. She says he's a nervous wreck on a good day and is convinced she'll eat him if they encounter each other in animal form. A lion and a weresnake seems like an odd partnership, doesn't it?"

It did, but I'd seen weirder. I'd puzzle out how the pieces fit together later. For now, there was a scene to examine, a theory to confirm, and a come-to-Jesus meeting in my future. Jeanette wanted to talk soon and I knew I wouldn't be lucky enough to escape an uncomfortable discussion twice. I had a plan to get myself out of the dog house, but it would take a little time and effort before she woke for the day.

"Take the next exit," I directed. "We're almost there. Let's get in and get out. I'd like to sleep sometime in the next century."

"Amen," Larry agreed.

Chapter Text

Arnet was pacing in front of Gil's house when we turned onto the long gravel drive. The house was an older brick affair with a wrap-around hardwood deck. There was an air conditioning unit wedged into one of the many sash windows, and some kind of plant life dripping from the eaves. The first hard frosts had withered it to thin brown streamers. The paint on his front door was peeling. The place had definitely seen better days. The question was whether Gil had let the place go to hell after he moved in or if the place had been in disrepair, to begin with.

Plumes of dust billowed around us as we came to a stop. I waited a precious second to let it settle before reaching for my door, intensely grateful that no one had come to an agreement about a day guard for me. Waiting to be let out of the car would drive me nuts. I'd have to learn to accept it at some point. Jeanette insisted, and it was good practice for New York. Jeanette had been called to attend New York Fashion Week with her maker, Belle Morte. It wasn't the sort of invitation she could refuse, which only left me six months to get used to being the guardee.

Arnet rounded on us when we exited the car, eyes narrowing on me as though I was somehow responsible for her ire. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, you know, the usual," I said returning her flinty stare with one of my own. "We decided to pull off on the side of the road, twiddle our thumbs, and sing show tunes for no other reason than to piss you off."

Larry pinched the bridge of his nose and paced away from me, muttering under his breath. I was being childish, yes, but Arnet was the one who had a bug up her ass before we'd even begun. Arnet's teeth pulled back in what could only generously be termed a smile and swallowed the muted snarl building in her throat. It wasn't like her to curb her rage, so I bet Amber told her to play nice.

"One of these days you're going to mock the wrong monster and it will get you killed," she said.

I shrugged. "Probably, but that monster won't be you. Do you want to go through the alpha female posturing rigamarole or do you want to solve this thing? Larry had a breakthrough."

"Not really," Larry said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He looked exhausted. I should have sent him home to Tammy instead of dragging him here. All-night raisings always left him feeling wiped out. "I was reporting on the trouble going on in Branson and Anita put the pieces together. Agent Doucette has missing people too and they've been followed by some kind of weresnake. We don't know if they're shapeshifters but it seems like an awfully big coincidence if not."

Arnet's facsimile of a smile grew by another molar, though her eyes remained cold. "So does that mean you've dropped my Pride as possible persons of interest then?"

Larry went very still, the rabbit in the sights of a raptor. "How did you...?"

Arnet tugged one of her ears. "Humans are loud and they never stand far enough away, even when they're trying to keep secrets. I heard details when I went on a follow-up visit to the station with Ronnie."

Larry mouthed at her for a few seconds before shooting a panicked glance at me. I stepped between the two, hands up in a push-away gesture.

"Look-"

"None of us are responsible!" she snapped, pointedly ignoring my attempts at diplomacy. It was just as well. I wasn't exactly the person you wanted diffusing a social situation. "We can account for all of our members. Maybe you get your eyes checked because it wasn't one of us."

Larry shoved one of his hands through his hair. It stuck up in spikes after just one passthrough. "I didn't do the identification, Jess. That was handled by Louis Fane at the University of St. Louis."

I mentally ran through my memories for any interactions they might have had and came up blank. The last I'd seen them, they barely knew or talked to each other, let alone worked closely enough to use nicknames. A lot could change in six months, it seemed.

"Well that explains it," she said, an edge of snarl to her voice now. "He's a rat. He'll do whatever Rafael says. After what they pulled a few weeks ago, it doesn't shock me that he's told his lackey to lie."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"The rats keep harassing our younger members. Rafael keeps turning a blind eye to it. I wouldn't be shocked if that was a wererat print and he's misattributing it to one of us."

I frowned. "Why would Rafael want young lions taken out?"

"I don't know, but he won't punish those responsible. That's tacitly condoning the behavior."

I wanted to argue with her. This behavior didn't gel well with everything I knew about Rafael. He could be a tough man but he was usually fair. He didn't revel in suffering, like many of the former wereanimal leaders. He took care of the mischiefs that he'd absorbed into his wider community. If anyone was likely to sign onto this Coalition idea, it was going to be Rafael. So why wouldn't he punish the people responsible to keep the peace with Joseph?

"How about this," I began. "I'll go identify the print. If it's a rat, I will tell Joseph. He and I can go confront Rafael together. If he's really trying to hurt other animal groups I won't just stand by and let it happen. But if it is a lion print, what then?"

Arnet crossed her arms over her chest. "It isn't one of us."

"Maybe, maybe not," I said. "But you'll get a lot more sympathy and support from the other wereanimal groups if you go in with concrete proof. If it's a wererat print you have the smoking gun. So before you go Uma Thurman on all our asses, maybe take a breath and think about what you'd be kicking off."

Arnet glowered at me for a few extra seconds before the tension melted out of her posture. It was promising. I honestly hadn't been sure if my offer would hold any weight. I was a preternatural biologist, but there was no guarantee she'd trust my opinion either.

"Fine. But I'm telling you it wasn't us."

"I believe you," I said. "Can we go inside now?"

Actually, I believed she didn't have anything to do with it and that she wouldn't let the culprit live if she knew who they were. It wasn't exactly the same thing, but she didn't call me on the half-truth.

Arnet nodded and beckoned us to follow her inside. We climbed the peeling steps up to the deck. The windows were dingy, clouded with grime or age. We carefully navigated the net of police tape that barred the door. I was surprised that Zerbrowski hadn't sent out a plainclothes detective to babysit us while we walked through. Maybe he considered Larry's status as an agent close enough.

The smell hit me the second we were inside. It was like a produce section had spoiled all at once and began leaking fluids onto the floor. I gagged and had to tug my blouse over my mouth and nose to stifle the stench. Larry turned his head and retched, but managed to swallow back the vomit instead of splattering it on the floor. Arnet's eyes were streaming from the intensity of the scent but she didn't puke.

"What is that?" I choked. "Are you absolutely sure there's no body here?"

"I couldn't feel one," Larry said, pulling a face. "God, it smells even worse than last time. I haven't smelled something this nasty outside of morgues and cemeteries."

I trusted Larry's prognosis, but I let my necromancy off its leash, just in case. It wasn't easy. Daylight felt like a smothering rag, choking off the power I needed to animate. Even hobbled, I was confident my range was better than his. It roamed outward, touching on all the dead in the vicinity. As Larry said, there was a small animal boneyard near the treeline, and beyond that were a few larger shapes. A deer someone had shot but failed to track down in the woods. Field mice and bunny rabbits unfortunate enough to have met a hawk or an owl.

I'd made it about seven miles past the property line and was about to pack it in when I felt it. Something was flickering in the hollow of large tree roots. Something had bunkered down there, hiding. It was still too warm to be easily identifiable by necromancy, but I knew dying when I saw it. I took off running toward it without thinking.

"Anita, wait!" Larry called after me.

Arnet didn't bother. She adopted a graceful lope and burst out of the back door seconds after I did. She kept pace with me easily as I ran.

"What did you sense?"

"Someone out here is dying. Don't know who. I could tell you if they were all the way dead, but since they're still living, it's hard to say."

"Do you think Simon is still alive?" she asked, and couldn't keep a note of hope from her voice. The question had to have been eating her up over the last few days.

"I don't know. Let's find out."

We ran together silently, leaving poor, fumbling Larry behind. Normally I'd have made allowances for his slow, human pace, but there was no time. The sooner we got the person out there help, the more likely it was they'd pull through.

The trees blurred into brown smudges as we ran. Well, staked, was more accurate in some places. The March weather was growing milder as we progressed toward April, but the occasional snowfall made things muddy. I was surprised neither of us fell on our faces as we sprinted toward that flickering shape.

We found him curled into a fetal position under a huge oak. He was slicked with mud, blood, and thicker things, so it was hard to make out who I was looking at at first. My hopes dipped when I tufts of untouched strawberry blonde hair poking through the mess. His eyes had been green once, but now they were cloudy, unseeing. Scars marred what had once been delicate features. The police would probably say they'd been caused by acid. I was betting on venom. I put a hand on his shoulder, recoiling when the simple touch elicited a shriek.

"Gil!" Jessica said, shouting to be heard over the sounds coming from him. "Gil, it's me, Jessica! I'm here to help you. Do you know where they took Simon? Do you know who took him?"

"Ch...ch..." Gil began through chattering teeth. "Chi..."

"Chi?" Arnet asked.

Gil shook his head frantically. "C...call-ed h-him Ch..Ch...Chim...era."

Gil's eyes rolled to white and Arnet scooped him from the ground. I stripped out of my coat and draped it over Gil, for what little good it would do. Some protection from the elements was better than none.

Arnet took off, and I didn't even try to pace her. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, praying to God that we hadn't found him too late.

Chapter Text

By the time sunset rolled around I was in no mood to entertain, but circumstances made it necessary. I needed to have an audience with potential members of this fledgling coalition, but more importantly than that, I needed to have a few hard conversations with my girlfriend. I didn't like scheduling them on the same night, but I was running out of time. I'd have a few days max before Micah Callahan made his bid for power, and I needed all my allies on the same page in case the worst came to pass.

"You should take a nap," Nathaniel urged, one hand curling around my elbow like he might guide me to the bedroom himself. "You look exhausted."

Because I was exhausted. I'd been dragging when we found Gil clinging to life by his fingernails. I hated all-night raisings. I always felt wiped out the day after. Add on the hours I'd spent in the hospital waiting rooms and answering Zerbrowksi's questions on top of that, and I was ready to sink into a boneless pile on the floor and sleep for the next year and a half. Maybe there was some truth to the idea that there's no rest for the wicked. Recent events had certainly left me with my share of insomnia.

"Jeanette will be here in a half hour and Joseph and Rafael will arrive not long after. There isn't time for a nap."

"Then don't sleep, but at least lay down. Remember all the magazines you kept on your coffee table in the old apartment? Well, I read some of them and there was an article that said lying down with your eyes closed is better than nothing. I cleaned the house and you helped with dinner. Don't worry about anything else. Just lay down."

I wanted to argue. If I wasn't on my feet, things weren't getting done. But Nathaniel had a point. Not sleeping was half the problem. If I hadn't been screaming myself awake from nightmares every night for the last six months my mental health might not have frayed so drastically. It was probably a deliberate ploy on Mommy Darkest's part. The human brain doesn't cope well with a lack of sleep. Given enough time it could even kill a person. And if she could catch us at that moment of death, she had her shiny new body. The only time I slept without nightmares was when I was curled at Jeanette's side. Georgia had reported a similar phenomenon when she fell asleep near Warrick.

"Fine," I grumbled. I didn't mean to sound grumpy, but it seemed to be a state of being after you were exposed to the Dragon's powers.

I let Nathaniel guide me down the hall and into one of the guest rooms. My room was further down the hall, and I could have asked to stop there. But Nathaniel knew me. My pillows smelled faintly of Jeanette's shampoo and perfume. I'd wallow in it, running imagined conversations through my head, and there'd be no hope of resting before the big talk.

I flipped onto my side, snuggling into the downy pillows, and didn't argue when Nathaniel climbed into bed, curling into me as the little spoon. He was too tall for it. He'd grown into the potential of his shoulders recently, and the changes made him more beautiful, not less. Having him at my back would have felt more intimate. Almost sexual. Curling my arms around him like this felt a lot more like cuddling with one of those life-sized stuffed animals. Petting his hair was as soothing as stroking a cat or holding my stuffed penguins. I almost laughed when I realized he was trying to be a warm, oversized version of Sigmund for me.

"Does this make you uncomfortable?" I murmured, eyes closed.

"No," he said. "And I know what you're really trying to ask. Am I reading into this and making it more than it is? The answer is no. I know you don't like me that way. You love me, but it's the way you love Josh or Georgia. I didn't think I'd be happy with that, but I am. My therapist says I need friends, not just people who want to fuck me."

"Wise therapist," I said, relaxing into the mattress.

"A lot of them are," he said. "I didn't expect that. Gabriel and Raina demonized therapy. I realize now it's because mental health professionals are mandatory reporters and they didn't trust me to keep my mouth shut about the abuse."

I pet his hair a little slower, savoring the fact that he was alive and whole and the ones who'd abused him were six feet underground. He was right. I loved Nathaniel like a brother. A self-destructive little brother that I had to look out for, but a brother nonetheless. I'd kill for him because he was family.

"Can I say you're my favorite kitty-cat without it being weird?" I asked.

I couldn't see his face, but I could practically feel the pulse of happiness that rolled off Nathaniel at the praise. He nuzzled his cheek against my palm in a catlike gesture that made me smile.

"I'm proud to be your favorite," he whispered back. "I don't think I deserve it."

"You're one of the few who do," I said.

My words sounded fuzzy at the edges, and I had a brief moment to worry Nathaniel had drugged me again, but no. It was just the warm, velvet grasp of sleep reaching up to pull me under. I fell asleep with my cheek resting on the sleek fall of Nathaniel's hair.

When I woke, the sky had gone from a rich plum color to black. Stars glittered through the part in my curtains. Nathaniel was sitting at the edge of the bed, watching me with a nervous expression. He had a bundle of fabric in his arms.

I blinked at him blearily and said, "What did you do?"

"Postponed dinner by a few hours," he said. "No one got offended and you needed to sleep. Forgive me?"

I eyed the bundle in his arms. "That depends. How high are the heels she wants me to wear with that thing?"

Nathaniel winced. "Five inches."

"Son of a bitch," I muttered. "Fine, I'll forgive you. But you owe me big."

"Definitely," he said, beaming at me.

I've never been a morning person, and that didn't change when my mornings started at sundown. I grimaced at him.

"I'd be mad if you weren't being infuriatingly adorable. You're going to make someone a great boyfriend someday, you know that?"

"I know," he said with more certainty than I knew he felt. "Now, let me help you change. The back straps are complicated."

I groaned. Of course they were.

Chapter Text

"I think that you're just trying to hobble me so I can't run," I muttered under my breath.

I clung to her like she was the last anchor keeping me from drifting out to sea. She had me snugged to her side, one hand resting on the small of my back. No one else could tell how precarious the bejeweled stilts she'd thrust on me were affecting my balance. Not that anyone was paying attention to my feet. The dress had slits on both sides that reached my hips, which served the dual purpose of drawing the eye and allowing me free range of movement if I kicked off the heels.

Many of the evening gowns I owned were like that, tailored specifically to my needs by a vampire in Jeanette's Kiss. Elinore was another of Belle Morte's beauties, and she just so happened to have a flair for design. She'd been the head of Belle Morte's London Division since the seventies, but happily traded the life of fashion fame for safety when Jeanette offered it. Now she acted as a mix of PR person, personal shopper, and event planner for the Saint Louis Kiss. Every fancy dress I owned had been specially designed with my needs in mind. I had voluminous inner pockets, no matter the silhouette. She kept the skirts loose and preferably slit. She made room for every weapon I commonly wore, and she occasionally used Kevlar in her designs.

Jeanette smiled widely enough to flash the delicate point of one fang. It warmed me, just a little. Vampires of a certain age rarely smiled with teeth, a reflex born of years of caution. In the past, just being found guilty of being a vampire in the first degree was enough to condemn you to a sharp and splintery end. The fact that she was able to let her guard down around me was a huge compliment.

"Do you really believe I'd do such a thing, ma petite?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"Yes."

She laughed, a sound so full of life that I could feel it thrumming in my bones. It was warm enough to thaw me from the inside out, and I settled more easily onto her arm. I couldn't even be mad at her for trying to lame me. I probably needed the handicap so that I didn't sprint across the room and throw myself out the nearest window to escape this social situation. She knew me inside and out, and I felt like I was only beginning to scratch the surface of her.

Jeanette steered me toward the supper spread that Nathaniel had laid out while I was sleeping. Some of the guests had already helped themselves to the finger foods. The bread was mostly untouched, unsurprising, when you were dealing with mostly carnivorous wereanimals. Red meat would always be a crowd favorite. I plucked up one of the small loaves and a glass of wine we'd selected to go with the meal. It was probably too rich a vintage to go with the bread. It was bland, and purposefully so. It only consisted of a few ingredients, and I'd made it myself.

"Only bread, ma petite?" she asked, voice lilting musically, sanding off the worst of her teasing. "Are you truly worried about your waistline?"

"Let's just start with this," I said, clutching the loaf closer. It was still warm. "I made it myself."

Her brow shot up, and her smile turned a little incredulous. "You baked? Now I know I have to try it if only to congratulate you on your efforts. The last time you attempted to cook I believe you scorched a pan into unusability."

"I was a bit distracted by the scuffle going on between two of my leopards," I pointed out. "I sacrificed the pancakes for the integrity of my walls."

"Touche."

"Besides, I had Nathaniel supervising."

Her eyes positively sparkled, and I wanted nothing more than an empty house at that moment. I didn't want Jamil, Rafael, Joseph, and their people roaming around my house. I wanted to be waist-deep in warm water, naked and held tightly in her arms.

"Ah, well that changes things. I rest easy in the fact that it's edible."

"Do you want to tease me all night, or do you want to eat before the politicking really gets underway? This is the calm before the storm."

Jeanette dipped her head in acknowledgment. "Very true, mon amour, very true. For someone who detests politics, you are surprisingly adept at them. For all your claims of being a blunt instrument, you can finesse when necessary."

I shrugged. "Necessity is the mother of invention."

"Yes, it is."

I dug my hands into the warm crust of the bread and pulled, coming away with a chunk around the size of my thumb. I nibbled on the fluffy insides, watching her face. The second the bread touched my tongue, she froze, eyes going wide. They welled with tears, the first trembling on her lashes before carving a line down her alabaster cheek.

"Maman..." she breathed. She turned her shining eyes to me, her smile trembling under an onslaught of emotion. "Oh, mon tresor how did you...?"

I took another bite. The bread was bland, and a little heavy on the salt, but warm nostalgia swept through me as I swallowed. A remembered joy that was not my own consumed me. It was one of the few good dreams she ever had. A rare morning when her mother was able to struggle out from under the crushing force of depression and make breakfast for her three daughters. Ordinarily, it would have been the preteen Jeanette's job to take care of the household in her mother's absence. The bread wasn't perfect, but it had been her mother's.

"I watched her bake it in your dream," I said quietly. "It's one of the few memories where you got to be a kid, not the only functioning adult in the room. I thought you'd like to taste it again. It's the least I can do after the scare I gave you. I wasn't...I wasn't in my right mind. I wouldn't abandon you on purpose."

Jeanette tipped my face up and claimed my mouth in an achingly sweet kiss. I was breathless by the time she pulled back and pressed her forehead to mine.

"Of course you wouldn't. I only wish you'd allow me close enough to share your pains. Perhaps the weight of it wouldn't be so hard to bear if you permitted others to support you."

"I have to stop after this," I whispered. "I need to be out of the violence, the killing, the politics. I need time alone with you. We need to go somewhere private, somewhere where I'm not in charge and I don't have to kill anything. If I don't get away from this fuckery I won't be able to hold onto my sanity."

"Of course. I still owe you a tour of my hometown, do I not? The shack where I used to live with my family is now public land. Perhaps we could picnic there." Her gaze dropped to the bread in my hand and her mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile. "You could make more of this. With supervision, of course."

"I'd like that."

Someone cleared their throat. We both jumped, turning to face the new arrival at almost the same instant. I relaxed only a fraction when I saw who was glowering at us. Meng Die was dressed in a green silk wrap dress that ended at mid-thigh. Some trick of the light or silhouette made her legs look longer than they were. She was only a little taller than I was. She'd twisted her inky hair into an elegant knot at the base of her skull.

"If you're through gabbing, the werelion and his woman would like a word with Anita."

"Joseph and Amber," I corrected. "If you're going to be here, you should probably get people's names straight and not, you know, dehumanize them. And by the way, what are you doing here? I thought this was a conversation between the leaders and their second-in-command."

"I am Jeanette's second if only be technicality. Asher couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone, so he didn't get the invite to this get-together."

"Oui," Jeanette sighed. "Asher's new personal assistant, Marco, informed us that he is unable to attend at this time. Thus, I reach for my third in a time of crisis. I apologize for not informing you beforehand."

"It's fine," I said, fighting not to frown at Meng Die. "It's probably my fault. I got a lead on what could be attacking wereanimals and told Doucette to talk to Asher about it. He's probably ass deep in whatever alligators the FBSA is dealing with."

"Be that as it may, I still should have warned you."

"It's fine," I said. "You two have things to talk about too. I'll leave you to it."

I pocketed the last of the bread and leaned up to kiss her cheek, walking away before she could argue. I made it five steps before I tried to wobble right out of my impractical shoes, and would have probably upended the drink table if Jamil hadn't rescued me. He looped his arm through mine, steadying me before I could fall. I leaned into the lapel of his well-cut suit, chosen by his fashion-conscious second, Shang-Da.

"Thanks," I muttered. "I hate these damn things."

"They make your ass look fantastic, though," he said.

"My ass is fantastic with or without heels," I groused. "And you damn well know it."

Jamil grinned and pinched my ass a moment later, and I grinned. It wasn't professional, with so many of the others around, but it made me feel better.

"If I smuggle a more sensible pair from your closet and bring them back to you, I want you to promise that you'll wear those shoes and only those shoes the next time we're alone together."

"Deal."

Chapter Text

Wereanimals were often just regular people when you dug past the fur and claws. They went to work, paid their taxes, cried when they were upset, and celebrated when they were happy. If you weren't psychic, it could be difficult to tell who turned furry once a month and who didn't. Most therians didn't exude a sheer animal presence that would give away the game.

Unless of course, they were Joseph Sanford. The way he'd draped himself over one of the ballroom chairs reminded me uncomfortably of a lion lounging on a rock, watching the waving grass for prey. I'd met him in passing a few times, and almost always during times of extreme stress. I'd never seen him comfortably in his element until now. He'd always struck me as the strained paternal type, guiding conversations back on track, mediating disputes, and gently pushing his lions into more productive avenues. I realized that I hadn't seen him and several other wereanimal leaders since Raina's death. Had the mild front been just that? An overabundance of caution and deference that kept his werelions off a skinwalker's menu?

Joseph was handsome, especially if you were partial to silver foxes. The change from human to wereanimal had frozen him on the very cusp of his prime. Aging moved like molasses for therians. The greys at his temples would remain understated, taking several decades instead of years to wind through the rest of his golden hair. He'd donned a pair of reading glasses to project a more erudite appearance, though I knew he didn't need them. He could see me just fine without the rimless lenses. His eyes tracked my progress across the room, flickering from the palest hazel to the lion's amber.

It didn't bode well. Joseph and his brother Justin's looks didn't say 'yum' or 'food.' They said 'threat.' I'd seen too many nature documentaries over the years and could guess what that meant. Male lions didn't get off their asses and hunt often, but when they did, things died. Painfully.

When Jamil guided me to a stop just out of Joseph's reach. He wasn't standing in a defensive posture, per se, but I could sense the tension singing through him. Jamil was ready to throw me behind him at a moment's notice and tear into the perceived threat. If it happened to be a lion he would have one hell of a fight on his hands. The largest werewolf I'd ever met had only been a little over the size of a Dartmoor pony. Male werelions were seven feet tall at the shoulder and six hundred pounds of pure muscle. Jamil was facing three of them. Even with me and Shang-Da at his side, it would be close. Wolves brought down prey by ganging up on it, and he just didn't have the numbers here.

"It struck me just a moment ago that I hadn't greeted the hostess of this party, " Joseph said, lifting a glass of wine to us both. He sniffed it, getting the bouquet before he took a sip. "Good evening, Ms. Blake. Your taste is exquisite."

Technically, Jeanette's taste was the one he should be admiring. Nathaniel had modeled this dinner after the last few she'd hosted. The wine selection was the one she would have chosen, the foods the ones she'd have catered, and the decorations exactly the way she would have arranged them. Nathaniel had an uncanny knack for organizing vampire functions down to the last obsessive detail. I thought he was wasted as a dancer. He should have been an interior designer for the rich and famous. But I didn't say any of that aloud. When someone gave you a compliment, you responded gracefully or in kind.

"Thank you. We're happy to have you with us tonight. And may I say that you look lovely, Amber?"

It wasn't just flattery for flattery's sake. Amber did look amazing in the royal blue backless evening gown, but her posture didn't agree with me. Though she'd plastered a polite smile onto her face, everything else about her screamed insecurity. She'd practically draped herself over Joseph's shoulders, which would impede him in a fight. She couldn't seem to help herself, as though he might grope the first young woman he found if she didn't lean on him.

"You're too kind," Amber said tightly, and couldn't quite make the reply sound sincere. "You look stunning as well. You're a lucky man, Jamil."

Jamil gave my hand a brief squeeze. "Don't I know it? Now, what did you two need to talk to us about so urgently?"

"We needed to talk to you about the ongoing police investigation," Justin said, butting into the conversation with an unusual lack of tact. Normally he'd have built up to that first. "Arnet said you suspected us."

Joseph frowned up at Justin, who was looming over all of us looking like a younger, angrier version of his brother. I could practically see him reining in the temper that wanted to clout his brother over the head for the thoughtless foray into unpleasant business. In settings like this, you built up to it.

"Firstly, I've hung up my badge and gun for the time being. I'm just an executioner, which means RPIT brought me on to consult, nothing more. I couldn't bring charges against you even if I wanted to. Secondly, I haven't accused anyone of anything. I'm trying to keep an open mind about the evidence we have. I can't say whether or not the prints at the earlier scenes were rats. And, thirdly, I'm not allowed to disclose anything more presently."

I was proud of myself. I'd managed to lay it out without snarking even once. Maybe finesse was in my vocabulary after all. Jeanette would have applauded the reply.

"It's not a rat print," Rafael said, appearing on Jamil's other side. He'd linked arms with Claudia, who somehow managed to make her chocolate brown cocktail dress look like an Amazon's armor instead of provocative eveningwear. "I've told you over and over, Joseph, I'm not attacking the younger lions."

Amber leaned forward, eyes narrowing to slits. "We know what we saw and smelled, Rat King. Some of your mischief are harassing our people and appear to have kidnapped or killed others."

Rafael's control slipped for just an instant, and the buzzing warmth of his aura rose to choke us all. He'd gotten more powerful in the years since we met. It made sense, given how many mischiefs he'd brought under his direct control. Comannding the loyalty of so many people had metaphysical weight, which only added to the energy he had to draw on. His anger was like the pause before lightning struck.

"Be careful, Amber," he said quietly. "Accuse the wrong person and it could get you killed."

Joseph surged to his feet, and only Jamil's lunge toward the lion kept him from bowling Rafael over. As it was, Jamil only managed to halt the attack in its tracks, rather than take Joseph off his feet. Claudia drew Rafael behind her, drawing a 9mm from God only knew where.

"How fucking dare you?" Joseph seethed. "How dare you threaten my wife!"

"It wasn't a threat," Rafael said, calmer than I would have been in the situation. "I'm saying that none of the rats under my control did this. But if your wife harasses one of my regional commanders needlessly I can't do anything about it unless I'm there in person."

I stepped in between Claudia and the struggling Joseph, hands up in a pacifying gesture. Claudia frowned at me, moving the gun slightly to my left so it wasn't leveled at my face. It was rule number one of gun safety. You didn't point a firearm at something you weren't willing to kill.

"Get out of my way, Anita."

"I won't. Put the gun down, Claudia. Jesus, we're not going to turn the ballroom into the OK Corral. I like my house the way it is."

"He was trying to attack my King."

"And Jeanette and I will bust his chops for that later. It was a disproportionate response. Still, Rafael could have phrased things better."

"Apologies, Ms. Sanford," Rafael said, though I didn't buy his attempt at sincerity one bit. "I misspoke. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It takes a lot more than a rodent to frighten a lioness," Amber replied coolly.

"Okay, people this is getting ridiculous," I said, reaching out to gently tip Claudia's gun toward the floor. She let me. It was progress. "We gathered here to have a civil discussion about St. Louis therian politics. Can we stop the name-calling and alpha dog posturing? We're all adults here. We can talk this out."

Jamil let out a snort and gave Joseph another shove. Joseph stopped struggling and finally stood straight once more. He was still glowering at Rafael, lion amber eyes shining with dislike.

"Just think about who's saying those words," Jamil said. "If Anita is the cool head in a room, someone fucked up."

That rankled, even if it was true. Worse, the statement startled both groups into barely-there civility. Therians united by Anita's lack of tact. There was the real name of the coalition there.

"It wasn't me," Rafael insisted. "And I trust my regional commanders. Only a handful of them have traveled through St. Louis and none of them would provoke a fight with one of my allies. For Christ's sake, Joseph, until recently we were friends. What happened to your ideas about cooperation?"

"I still have them," Joseph said. "But cooperation isn't devoid of consequences when one group assaults another. We have to have rules."

"I do have rules," Rafael insisted. "They weren't my rats, that I promise you. There was recently an attack on one of my mischiefs by wolves, but I didn't go pointing the finger at Jamil, even though he's the most powerful leader in the region."

Jamil craned his neck so he could look at Rafael. "What do you mean? I wasn't made aware of this."

Rafael shrugged. "I didn't recognize any of the wolves as yours, so I assumed it was a rival group testing the limits of what they could get away with. They'd need to know the strengths and weaknesses of the regional groups before they attempted a hostile takeover of your pack just in case one of us backed you."

Hostile takeover. The thought stirred an idea in my head, but I couldn't quite bully my brain into coughing out an answer. I would have asked a follow-up question if the window a few feet away hadn't exploded inward. Something small sailed into the ballroom, bouncing with small metallic clinks across the floor.

"Grenade!" I shouted. "Shit! Everyone down!"

Then the world exploded into light and discordant sound.

Chapter Text

The effective range of an M67 fragmentation grenade was one hundred and fifteen feet and the kill zone was around five meters from the explosion. We were standing about five feet back when the damn thing went off. Worse, two more grenades followed the first, landing even closer to our huddled group.

The concussive force knocked me off my feet, and I landed in a painful sprawl of limbs on the ballroom floor. My teeth clacked hard, slicing my tongue, and I tasted blood in my mouth. Black spots spread like ink stains over my vision, blinding me. Anything that had been facing the explosion was a wall of tingling feedback. It sounded like a Salvation Army bell ringer had set up shop in my inner ear, clanging shrilly, drowning out all other sounds. I couldn't even hear my pulse over the racket. I might have moaned in pain, but couldn't be sure. I still couldn't hear over the insistent ringing in my ears.

Tinnitus, a surprisingly calm thought supplied. The grenades are flashbangs, not military-grade explosives or you'd be hurting a hell of a lot more.

I wasn't pleased with how much I was hurting now but the thought was right. If someone wanted to kill us, a frag grenade at this range would be the way to do it. Therianthropes could survive a lot, but three consecutive blasts from explosives at point-blank range exceeded even a wereanimals healing capability. So why had they thrown stunners instead?

Because they want us alive, Dummy.

I'd barely processed the thought before something grabbed me by the arms and began hauling me backward. I twisted hard in their grip, trying to roll away, but the slippery material of my dress worked against me, and I mostly flopped pathetically a few times before giving up the exercise. I tried to go for the wrist sheath next and heard a panting exhale that might have been a sigh.

"Stop fighting me, Anita!"

I went limp with relief. I recognized the voice. Jamil. He had to shout to make himself heard, but at least I could hear him. It probably meant the damage wasn't permanent. Jamil dragged me backward another few feet and propped me against something solid. I thought it might have been a chair, but couldn't say for sure. The blackness over my eyes was impenetrable.

"What's happening?" I shouted back. "Is everyone okay?"

"I don't know," Jamil said, a growling edge to his voice. "I can barely see or hear. I turned in time to stop the worst of the light show but my vision is still spotty. It's getting better, but not as fast as I'd like."

I wondered idly in that floating, calm part of my mind how he'd managed to drag me to safety if he was almost as incapacitated as I was. I leaned more heavily against the chair, forcing myself to breathe in the cordite-laced air. Hyperventilating and passing out helped no one except the bad guys. Then the answer hit me.

"Smell. You used your nose to find me and get me to safety."

"Right." He had the grace not to add, "Obviously."

"Where's Jeanette?"

"I thought I saw security hustling her toward the panic room. She was fighting them every step of the way. She wanted to get to you. They said they'd be back for us."

"So we just need to hold on a few minutes," I surmised. "Should be a piece of cake, right? Both of us against whatever's coming through the window."

"Whatever's coming through smells like a landfill."

"Weresnakes. Shit."

So not just your garden-variety assassination ploy. It was a two-for-one special of treachery and modern warfare with a venomous chaser. Could things get any worse? Wait, don't answer that.

I rose up onto my knees, only to be yanked violently back down. Jamil's breath was warm against my throat, his limbs circling me like I was a beloved teddy bear. In reality, he was putting his body between me and the faint popping noises from just beyond my perception. Someone had drawn a gun, but was it one of ours or one of theirs? I really hoped it was them. Panic fire was more likely to result in hitting a friendly instead of the opposition.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jamil asked.

"I'm going to fight."

"You can't see," he said.

"No, but you can. Open the link and I'll do the rest."

Jamil loosened his grip, considering that. His instinct would be to tuck me under his arm and make a break for the panic room, but we both knew that would be a losing proposition in the end. We had to stand as a combination of bulwark and distraction so that the more vulnerable members of our group could make it to the panic room. There was no point in having one if you couldn't get the door shut and locked in time to stop the monsters from eating your face.

"Fine," he said. "But take this too. I trust you with it, just this once."

He took my hand and settled a familiar shape into my palm. My fingers curled around the well-worn grip of my Browning. It felt like slotting a puzzle piece back into place. In a combat situation, I didn't feel complete without my preferred duty gun in my hand.

"You take the ones on the right. Verity has taken the left and Malicia is keeping them from flanking us. Careful where you step. There's a lot of blood."

I nodded and stood, opening the bond between us. From one blink to the next, my vision was back. Blurry at the edges and flecked with specks of black, but otherwise okay. It wasn't perfect. I had to adjust to Jamil's point of view as he stalked forward, which was inches off where I was standing. I bumped a few chairs on our way forward, but it was a small price to play. The scents were a reliable course correction, letting me hone in on the nearest intruder.

The weresnake looked like the cross between a cottonmouth and a cobra. Its coils were about three feet wide and corded with muscle. When it reared up it dwarfed Jamil's six feet easily. For a second, all I could do was stare. What were these things? Where had they come from? Nowhere local, that was for sure. Which begged the question of why they were here, of all places. Yes, Jeanette was a big deal in vampire circles, but did that really warrant an attack from the opposite side of the world?

"Look out!" Jamil shouted.

The snake's hood darted forward and missed me by a fraction of an inch. It smacked into the ground hard, and I turned the Browning on the back of its head, aiming as best I could. The snake convulsed, blood misting the air around it. Its tail scythed my legs out from under me and I landed on my stomach, once again biting my tongue. Jamil was watching in horror as the snake turned, half its hood blown off, and opened its mouth wide. Inch-long fangs glinted in the dappled light of the chandelier as it came in for another attack.

I shot it four more times in the back of the throat before it could so much as twitch in my direction. The snake convulsed again, but this time it went still, slumping to the ground, already shrinking into a smaller human form. Dead. Good.

"Get up," Jamil said, offering me a hand. "You can't stay there."

"Give me a second," I muttered, flattening my palms against the floor, letting the cold seep into me. Then I reached for my necromancy.

I'd like to think I learn from my mistakes. I think I learn even more from the successes of others. My not-Grandma Flores hadn't been pleasant, but she'd been smart. The ring of undead cattle she could call to bear at a moment's notice had saved our lives. When I'd asked Bert for the remains of all the sacrifices we used he'd been thrilled. No more paying disposal fees or crematory costs. He'd never asked what I did with the remains.

A nearby snake let out a bubbling scream when a full-grown male goat climbed its back like it was a particularly challenging cliff and gored its throat. A little ways off, a bull swung its massive head, warning a pair of strange wererats away from one of the party-goers. Chickens were pecking the eyes of any creature that looked even vaguely threatening. In mere moments the bloody battlefield was plunged into confusion.

Someone must have called a retreat, because the snakes and their counterparts fled the way they'd come, jumping over overturned tables as they were routed by my undead chicken army. I didn't let up on the power until I felt the last of my chickens settle, still and compliant now that the threat was gone from the property. Then I slumped, exhausted to the ground.

"Did we win?" I asked a little while later. I might have drifted off for a minute or two.

"Depends on your definition of victory," Malicia said. When I squinted, I could see her through the spots in my vision. Her golden hair was liberally streaked with blood. "Most of us are alive, but we have another problem."

"We do?"

"Rafael and Joseph were taken in the first wave. This wasn't an assassination attempt. It was a kidnapping."

Chapter Text

"I thought we agreed to stop meeting like this," Zerbrowski said, looming over my hospital bed with a notebook in hand.

Granted, that would have been a more impressive sight if he was 6'5" and built like a defensive lineman. His predecessor Captain Storr had been a giant, and Zerbrowski was still trying to fill his metaphorical shoes. The promotion had aged him a lot in the last year. His hair was shifting to a distinguished salt-and-pepper mix long before its time. Still, he was plenty tall enough to flatten me to the bed if I tried to make a break for the door.

Not that I could have made it that far, even if I'd wanted to. The blast had burst one of my eardrums, and I hadn't realized just how badly it hurt until the adrenaline wore off. I had trouble walking a straight line without throwing up. Jeanette was confident that a thorough feeding of the ardeur would fix the damage, but I had to give the police a statement before I could sign an AMA and head for her bed at the Circus.

"You made the request, but I never agreed to it," I said.

"Ah, so you keep getting in these scraps just for spite, I see. Ever the nonconformist."

I pumped my fist weakly. "Fight the power."

Zerbrowski chuckled, but there wasn't a lot of life to the sound. He'd been dragged out of bed after midnight to sort through a ballroom blitz at his friend's home. It wasn't exactly how I'd want to kick off a new day either. The fact that multiple human-looking corpses were lying around didn't help matters. I couldn't blame him for keeping his striped sleep shirt on under his suit jacket. I wouldn't be bringing my a-game wardrobe to this either.

"Alright. I just need you to answer a few questions and then I'll let the doctors try to reason with you."

"They won't talk me into staying here," I said. "It's ridiculous I even have a room in the first place. My ears will heal as long as I stay near Jeanette for a while. This room could go to someone who actually needs it."

"Just don't bully the poor doctors, kid. They mean well."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Zerbrowski twirled his pencil through his fingers, gazing down at me expectantly. His lips twitched once when I sighed. It was very Zerbrowski to indulge in a little harmless schadenfreude at my expense. "So?"

I tried to cross my arms and winced when one of the IVs pulled. Again, I hadn't seen the point. Sure, your average person needed fluids after a concussion, but I'd be right as rain after sleep and a large feeding. The doctors hadn't agreed to my assessment and had insisted on jabbing needles into me anyway.

"Do I really need to go over all this again?"

"Yep. Once more for the record. Start from the beginning. You were at this party and didn't invite me-"

"Good thing too," I said.

Zerbrowski carried on as though he hadn't heard. "Even though I still have that powder blue suit from prom in the back of my closet. Thus denying me my opportunity to commit a huge fashion faux pas and be an embarrassment in front of your friends-"

"Okay, okay, I get it," I said with a laugh. "I'll invite you next time. Just don't blame me when you pass out from sheer boredom. Most of the political wheeling and dealing Jeanette does is about as interesting as watching paint dry. I will never understand why someone wants to take public office. It sounds like too much paperwork and social networking to me."

"Maybe," Zerbrowski conceded. "But you're stalling."

"Am not," I lied.

"Just spit it out, Anita. What happened?"

I chewed my lip, wondering just how much I should share. I'd given the first responders a cliffs notes version of events that, while technically accurate, left a lot of key information out. I'd been forced to exclude the identities of the guests or risk outing them to the public. Breaking that taboo would only make me and my leopards targets to the offended parties. I couldn't afford that with Micah out there somewhere looking to perform a coup.

"I was talking with some of our guests when-" I began but didn't get the chance to finish my thought.

Before I could construct a plausible half-truth, a man poked his head around the door frame. The man was white, probably in his late forties or early fifties. He wore the age well, his salt and pepper hair lending him a distinguished look. He was wearing a brown dress shirt and slacks. I might have mistaken him for a plainclothes detective with RPIT if not for the energy wafting off of him. My leopard stirred, restless and wary as she sensed another big cat in the vicinity. The new man was a wereanimal, though I couldn't tell what flavor.

"Zerbrowski," he said, voice low and pleasant. "Tammy Kirkland needs to talk to you. Something about a disturbance in East St. Louis. She thinks something bad is happening in one of the nightclubs there but there's nothing to substantiate it. She needs you to talk to that judge you know. See if you can get a warrant. She'd rather do it legally, rather than send me in."

It was Zerbrowski's turn to sigh. He massaged his temples for a three count. The job had visibly aged him. New lines showed around his eyes and mouth, and they weren't the result of laughter or smiles. It made my chest twinge to see the Zerbrowski I'd known worn down by the mantle of responsibility he bore. I missed the wise-cracking detective I'd met all those years ago.

"Of course. I'll be there in a minute. Anita, this is Orlando King. Orlando, meet Anita Blake. She's one of our best consultants. You'll probably work with her if you stay with us long enough."

Orlando King. This must be Joseph's hunting buddy turned activist. My smile was just a second too slow, and I couldn't push it into my eyes. Something about Orlando spooked my leopard.

"You're the consultant I heard about from Amber," I said.

Orlando touched the brim of an imaginary hat, a small smile on his lips. "At your service, ma'am. I do some bounty hunting on the side. I might advocate for the rights of wereanimals, but we both know that some of them are just too dangerous for a regular human to handle."

"Right," I said.

"Legally I can enter that club without a warrant, but the paperwork is so much easier when things are official."

"Amen," Zerbrowski said. "And I think that might be my cue to go. I'll send Clive in to get your statement when he's free."

He gave me an apologetic smile and backed out of the room, leaving me alone with Orlando King. My heart tried to push up into my throat and I choked on my pulse. Orlando stayed where he was, upper body leaning against the doorjamb as he studied me. There was a look in his eyes I couldn't decipher.

"What?" I said finally, and the question sounded defensive, even to me.

"You have more than one beast," Orlando remarked. His tone was milder than his expression. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell it interested him. "I can smell them. And...something else. It smells like...water."

That would be the nixe. The year before I'd accepted the offer from a monster, allowing him to transform me into one of his wives. After what he pulled after that, I'd made sure he didn't live long enough to see the honeymoon. I didn't like the dark, gliding consciousness that lurked in the darkest reaches of my mind. I rarely reached for its power. I was definitely not revealing the details to this stranger.

"Panwere," I said, parroting the lie that Jamil had helped me craft. I'd repeated it so often that my body no longer betrayed the physical signs of the deception. As far as everyone outside my inner circle knew, it was the truth. "It's rare, but it happens."

"I see," he said, leaning toward me, eyes bright. "That's good to know."

I'd had just about enough of this conversation. I let one shoulder of the hideous hospital gown slide off my shoulder and gave him a hard look.

"I'm going to change into my spare clothes as soon as the nurse comes in to take out my IV. I'd appreciate privacy."

Orlando blinked, and the look that had unnerved me was gone. His smile returned, just as charming as before. He tipped his imaginary hat again.

"Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blake. I hope we'll meet again. I think we'll have a lot to talk about."

"Sure," I said. Anything to make him back out the door. "Have your people call my people."

Orlando laughed, though nothing I'd said was particularly funny. "I'm sure they will. And until then, keep me in mind. I'm here if you have a monster problem."

"I'll do that," I said, crossing my fingers beneath the blanket. I wouldn't bring this guy in unless I had to.

Here was hoping that I'd never get desperate enough to eat crow.

Chapter Text

The discharge process dragged on long enough that I nodded off and fell into hell.

Growing up I'd been told that hell was a place of fire and torment. Now I knew better. Hell was a vast frozen darkness waiting to swallow you whole. Hell was a bacchanal of monsters waiting to pin you down and tear out your guts. Hell was staring into the abyss and having it stare back at you, scoffing at your puny existence. Seeing how insignificant you were on the cosmic scale. Hell was realizing your hubris for thinking your fragile species was somehow the pinnacle of being.

Hell was the Mother of All Darkness. And somehow, some way, she'd forced her way into my dreams.

The sky was as black and foreboding as the center of a black hole, and only the wind whipping past my face, lifting my hair in a flapping curtain all around me, convinced me that I wasn't about to be spaghettified. I wasn't sure how long I fell, but when I finally hit the earth I swore every bone in my body exploded into agonized powder. I stared up at the treetops, watching them twitch and tremble in the wake of something large coming their way.

I shrieked when hands slid under my shoulders and fisted in the material of my hospital gown. I tried to twist out of their grip, but could only manage a weak flop onto my side. My arms felt like hollow rubber tubing and wouldn't respond when I tried to move. A hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream. I aimed for the fleshy part between the thumb and index finger, biting down with all the force I could muster.

"Ouch!" a familiar voice hissed. "Damn it, Anita, I'm trying to help you. Be quiet. The longer we can avoid her, the more likely it is you make it out of this in one piece."

I let my head loll back and got my first real look at the person holding me. His face was half-obscured by shadow. Only distant flickers of firelight through the trees let me get a look at him, but I would have known the denim blue eyes anywhere.

"Dolph?" I asked. Well, tried to ask. Blood bubbled in my throat, so what came out was closer to, "Doamph."

Dolph pressed a finger to his lips. I nodded, and he seized me by the hospital gown and began dragging me away from the twitching treeline.

"I know it's hard, but I need you to push through the sending. I'm good, but I can't carry you all the way. This isn't my fight."

Sending. That word rang a distant bell, but I couldn't put a memory to it. My brain was more scrambled than a Denny's breakfast platter. The last time I'd needed to think about it was...

Sháńdíín. Now I remembered. The skinwalker who'd been parading around in the skin of Raina Wallis, a werewolf originally from New Mexico. We'd fought a cold war of sorts for months, with Sháńdíín disturbing my sleep with visions of sharp teeth and bloody chases. A sending was the preferred trick of sorcerers, tricking the body and mind into believing a malevolent lie. And Marmee Noir was not above using it.

When I concentrated on my arms, peeling away the lie from my skin by inches, I could finally feel them, stiff but whole. I hadn't bitten my tongue or swallowed a mouthful of blood. My back and legs felt shaky, but still useable. Dolph let out a relieved sigh when I rose to my knees, extending a hand for help.

"Thank God. I was afraid I'd need to do something drastic."

Dolph's hand slipped into mine and it was...sticky. When he released me, I examined my palm and found it coated in rust-colored stains.

"You're bleeding," I whispered.

"I died bleeding. I can control what I look like when we meet elsewhere. This is your mind. You remember me this way."

I carefully kept my eyes to the side of his face. When I thought of Dolph now, I pictured him chalky white, his lips turning gray as he lost blood, or as a corpse slowly decomposing under the ground. I knew better than most exactly what that looked like. Either option would haunt me. At least his hands felt whole. That probably meant he didn't look like a rotting zombie, but I wasn't going to look, just in case.

Dolph dragged me north, away from the sloshing surf I could hear behind us. Past the masked guards who lay in wait between the trees. Knives whizzed past my shoulder, my thigh, my ear, and only Dolph's guidance through the maze of tree roots kept one of the projectiles from landing.

"How did she find me?" I asked.

"Do you remember the junior league god you fought in New Mexico?"

"Yeah. He was the one flaying collectors alive."

Dolph let the statement hang rather than elaborate. He'd just loved doing that when he'd been alive. Dolph never gave me details until I'd gotten a cold read of the crime scene. I did the mental math and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the gale whipping through the trees.

"She ate a pantheon," I whispered.

"A small one," he agreed. "Your lady friend can't find and unlock every seal in the world. Not without help. At this rate, it's a race to the finish."

The finely honed tip of a knife skimmed my outer thigh and I almost went down. My leg buckled, and only Dolph's hand kept me from planting myself face-first in the dirt. He didn't slow, practically yanking my arm from its socket as he kept moving forward.

"You need help too," he said. "Think, Anita. What do you have that could get you out of here?"

Nothing. I couldn't think of a single thing I possessed that she didn't. The ability to feed on fear and anger? She'd invented those concepts. The ardeur was useless here. It wasn't as though I could inspire lust in the darkness incarnate. My necromancy was part of what made me the ideal host for her, so throwing power at Marmee Noir was a lot like chumming the water near a shark. She had an affinity for the big cats, so my leopard was out. That only left...

Wolves.

Help me, I called, frantically flinging my metaphysical connections open. I wasn't sure if it even sounded like words to them, but the SOS pulsed down the threads that bound me to a pair of wolves. I felt them jerk in surprise and then reply in kind.

It started slowly, just little vapors barely visible in the wind. The motes of light were blinding in the near-dark of the forest, tiny constellations coalescing to form distinct lupine shapes. In the real world, there were visible differences between Jamil and Richard's wolves. Jamil's animal form resembled the timber wolf while the gingery tint to Richard's pelt was closer to the red wolf in Appalachia. In this dream world, they were ghosts in the dark, glowing like the piercing white light that some holy objects threw off in the presence of a vampire. The creatures in the trees shrank back when the phantom wolves charged forward, loosing savage snarls that echoed in the still night air.

I could barely keep up with the pair, but managed to keep in the halo of light they cast. The temperature had dropped to something shy of arctic in seconds, and frost crept along the ground, trying to foul their paws. For the very first time, I wished I'd been exposed to Warrick's power. A fire sounded like absolute heaven. My fingers felt stiff, the blood crystalizing painfully in my extremities.

"I don't go down like this, damn it," I huffed. "Anita Blake doesn't get killed by a wannabe Krueger."

The feather on my bicep flared with pain, sending licks of fire down my arm, lighting me up from the inside. For one terrifying moment, I thought my blood would boil, roasting me from the inside out. When it settled into a pulsing warmth, I let out a sound that was half-gasp and half-sob. Heat soaked into my scalp the way sunlight would gather in your hair in summer. An inner light kindled to life, and a word echoed in my skull. I didn't know the language, but I instinctively knew the meaning.

Sunlight. The power pulsing from the eagle feather belonged to Tonatiuh, a god I'd killed during Oliver's battle for St. Louis. His energy had ripped through me a month ago when the Aztec seal cracked. Which, I belatedly realized, meant some of the abilities were mine to keep. And given what I knew the pantheon could do, that was something of a scary prospect.

The dark shrank away from the beams of light that issued from my outstretched fingers and I sprinted toward the edge of the forest. All that awaited me was a sheer cliffside. Without hesitation, I threw myself off the cliff, spiraling toward the earth far below. Dolph recaptured my hand on the way down.

"Don't look down," he advised. "And when you wake up, go for his eyes."

"His?" I echoed.

But whatever Dolph said next was lost in the furious whipping of the wind. I hit the ground once more and startled awake with a violent jerk. My forehead collided with something hard, and stars burst in front of my eyes. Hands were furtively shoving my hospital gown, spreading my thighs. Calloused fingers dropped to one hip, hooking a finger in the waistband of my panties.

I came alive, thrashing at the unseen shape. No. I would not go through this again. An arm batted down my ineffectual blows. When I could finally blink past the spots, I found Micah straddling my legs, pinning them to the bed. A frantic glance around the room revealed he'd shoved a heavy chair against the heartlessly closed door. I was alone in a dim room with my enemy. And he was trying to take my clothes off.

Micah slapped a hand over my mouth. The motion was jerky, like a puppet whose strings weren't the right length. His vivid eyes were wide with anguish.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't stop him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Then Micah's hand was gone and his lips crashed down on mine, muffling my scream.

Chapter Text

I twisted. I clawed at him. I tried to scream. The breathless 'no's fell on deaf ears. Micah's breath was coming hard and fast, and he kept up the litany. He apologized so often that the words ceased to have meaning. It was just a burble of sound, an insignificant detail as I stewed in horror. Despite the marks, I wasn't a match for a determined wereanimal.

My phone buzzed on the window ledge. Its barely audible rattle against the frame brought helpless tears to my eyes. Richard or Jamil would want to ask what the hell they'd just felt. When I didn't answer, they'd come looking for me. But by then it would be too late. He'd already reduced my underwear to confetti, drawing thin lines of blood across my thigh with his claws. The feeling of his dick bulging against his fly made a fresh shriek bubble in my throat. He was huge. I was pretty sure it would break me.

No, no, no no...

"God, please," Micah panted. His arm was frozen mid-motion halfway to his zipper. He was shaking so hard his teeth rattled. Tears gleamed on his cheeks. "Don't. God, please don't..."

The momentary reprieve was bizarre enough to snap me from my panic and let me think. Micah was either a very good actor or he wasn't moving under his own will. Another alpha wereleopard could force a weaker pack member into submission this way, but I didn't think that was it. I'd felt his beast. There wasn't a leopard in the vicinity stronger than he was. Which only left...

"Vampire," I thought desperately in Jeanette's direction. I felt her pause floors below, fingers digging into the cardboard container. She'd gone to get me pizza and was already heading toward my room.

"Pardon, ma petite?"

I flung the connection open wide. Jeanette felt my heart pounding, the numbness creeping into my hands and feet as my mind tried to separate itself from what was happening in hopes that it wouldn't. Micah's weight over me was crushing, despite his petite stature. I wanted my gun in the worst way. He couldn't shove himself into me if I unloaded a clip into his head.

The pizza container clattered to the floor and Jeanette broke into a run that carried her halfway down a hospital corridor in the time it would take someone to utter, "Oh shit." And I knew with utter certainty that she still wouldn't be fast enough. Micah was moving again, still apologizing, nudging my legs apart.

Cool vampire power poured over us, the energy seeping into me, caressing my insides with velvet fingers. My body relaxed under Micah's, ignoring my mind's protests. I felt soft and supple, heat gathering between my legs. My breath came in quick pants, the ardeur stirring to life at the alien power, running like magma just under my skin. Suddenly I wanted, no needed to have someone, anyone touching me. My body screamed out for release, bypassing my brain entirely.

Jeanette hissed. An actual, cat-like hiss, that distracted me for all of a half-second.

"Requiem! That loathsome little lickspittle. Belle must have sent him."

I vaguely remembered London mentioning him. His touch was hours of foreplay packed into seconds. He was going to make Micah rape me and he'd make me like it. It wasn't about me, it was about trying to degrade Jeanette. I could practically feel his malice, the sick satisfaction he'd get from hurting the woman who'd constantly denied him.

Micah leaned into me. At some point he'd freed himself from his jeans and the tip of him brushed my inner thigh. My right hand burst into pins and needles, swinging upward in a wild arc, and Jeanette hit Micah right in the ear. He jerked to one side, stunned by the blow and my body twisted without permission, flopping off the bed and onto the floor. I could barely move. The need was so dire that I'd mount the first person I saw.

"I have you, ma petite. Just get up. Run. Find a safe place. I will meet you and we will take care of this together. Give into his power and Requiem will be able to mark you by proxy. Belle wants to steal you from me."

My body was more fluid under vampire control than Micah's. For once I didn't want to fight Jeanette's occupation. It was the only thing that could save me from being raped and ripped from her all in one go.

Micah was too stunned to follow me. So were the nurses, for that matter. None of them tried to stop me as I sprinted down the corridor toward the stairs and the emergency exit waiting at the very bottom. She was already doing the math in her head, trying to figure out what was nearest to the hospital. The Burgess-Price building, she decided. There would only be a few people working there at this time of night and the office was mostly soundproofed. No one would hear us.

The alarm shrieked out a protest as we burst out of the emergency exit a minute later. I couldn't sense a pursuer, but that didn't mean one wasn't there. Jeanette was already dealing with the wereleopards Micah placed in a waiting room. They weren't being obvious about it, but they were blocking her way out.

My bare feet flew over the asphalt and concrete sidewalks. It took every ounce of control not to select a stranger from the crowd, shove them down onto a park bench, and straddle them. I was aroused to the point of pain.

"Hold on a little longer," she urged. "I'll come to you."

It wouldn't be in time. I had a bad feeling that whoever was manning the desk at the Burgess-Price building was going to be the target of an amorous assault. But when I stumbled through the doors minutes later, I didn't find Cherry or Dean, the personal assistants who usually ran the front desk. The 'out to dinner' sign was propped on the desk. A man was leaning against it, head bowed. When he raised his face to me, I almost cried.

Asher was always handsome, but at that moment he looked like Adonis. His hair flowed like a golden curtain over the right side of his face, hiding the scars from view. His eyes were the blue of a Siberian Husky's and went round at the sight of me.

"Mon Dieu," he said, taking stock of me. "What happened?"

I belatedly realized I was only wearing a hospital gown. Even my panties were gone courtesy of Micah. My lips moved, but it wasn't my voice that spoke. I saw the burning blue of Jeanette's eyes reflected back at me from his.

"Requiem has awakened Anita's ardeur. Please, mon ami. She needs help. Belle cannot have her through him."

All of us knew what she was asking. It wasn't how I would have chosen for it to go down, but it was leagues better than the alternative.

"Anita?" Asher asked, voice uncertain.

"Yes," I gasped. "Yes, Asher, yes. Please. I need you."

My body thrilled when he reached for me. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling it to the point of pain. I moaned when he locked the door and crushed me against the nearest wall.

"I need to give you the fourth mark," Jeanette said, want stirring in her chest when Asher's lips came down on mine hard. "It's the only way to make sure this doesn't happen again. Please, ma petite."

I spoke only one word. A word I would never have considered uttering a few years ago.

"Yes."

Chapter Text

Asher didn't bother with sweet nothings or a gradual seduction. I would have welcomed that on any other day of the year. While I liked rough, I could appreciate tender lovemaking especially when I was with a new person. There was something about honest, fumbling exploration that I found sexier than any dirty talk. Sex didn't have to be perfect to be good. Sometimes you just needed the intimacy, not the orgasm.

But today was not an ordinary day. Today I almost dislocated my shoulder trying to rip my clothes off. I felt like an imploding star, my sanity crumbling in on itself the longer I waited to sate the need. I was barely conscious of Asher lifting me from the floor but hissed in surprise when my ass hit the cool marble surface of the reception desk. The 'out to dinner' sign went clattering to the floor, spinning toward the opposite wall.

I didn't care. My hands were moving of their own accord, yanking the belt from the loops in his slacks. There were holes in his shirt and flecks of blood on his collar. Had I made those? Did I care enough to apologize if I had? It wasn't like raking my nails down my lovers' backs was a new phenomenon, but I should probably have warned him.

Asher hissed a curse when I popped the button of his slacks and reached inside, spilling him out of his pants. He was gloriously firm in my hands, and I had the urge to drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. I knew the almost bruising force he used when he fucked me there. The thrill of having his hand in my hair, controlling the punishing pace, forcing me to swallow the head of him with every thrust. But when I tried to slide off and kneel at his feet he gripped me tighter.

"Non, ma choupette," he murmured against my hair, pressing me firmly down. "Stay right where you are."

Asher's fingers slid through my wetness, and it only took one pass over my clit to send me tipping over the edge. An almost painful climax ripped through me and I screamed, body spasming around the fingers he'd eased inside me. He hissed something else, but I couldn't hear it over the sound of my own voice echoing back to me from the walls. I was almost sobbing with relief when Asher nudged my legs apart and thrust every firm inch of himself inside me.

Asher's groan of pleasure vibrated through me, as much a revelation as the feel of his body. I had so many memories of touching him, of being over him and under him. Of mapping every inch of his skin with my lips, teeth, and tongue. Except, I'd never touched Asher like this. Jeanette's memories were like a pale imitation of the real thing. Asher might feel ashamed of his scars, but the texture of them as he thrust himself inside of me only added to the experience, an interesting texture layered on top of waves of bliss.

I kissed him desperately, moving in a frantic rhythm, chasing that elusive climax yet again. I almost came when, sometime later, Jeanette's body molded to the back of mine, her breasts pressing into my shoulder blades as Asher drove me mercilessly toward another orgasm. She kissed my throat gingerly and then, at some signal I couldn't see or hear, Asher moved.

One moment he was inside me, the next he was dragging me from my perch, pressing me forward until I was bent over the desk. When he found my entrance again, he slid in with ease and tears rolled down my cheeks. It felt so good, so right, and it was Asher not some stranger being forced into it. I'd been through the mutual rape thing before and I never wanted to go through it again.

Jeanette leaned down to me, kissing my mouth with infinite care before trailing lines of petal-soft touches down my throat. I writhed. I might have begged. When she drew a crimson line over one breast, I was absolutely sure I begged. I wanted her in me too, all of us united in this one perfect moment.

Jeanette's blood hit my tongue at the same instant Asher came, spilling inside me in a scalding wave. The ardeur fed at the same moment Jeanette marked me. The fourth mark wasn't as frightening as I thought it would be. I didn't see fireworks or get sucked under by her will. Instead, our minds touched gently, like a pair of tectonic plates refusing to violently clash. It was a seismic shift in many ways, but not one that made me want to scream or run.

When my eyelids fluttered open, I found her smiling gently down at me. Her hand cupped my cheek and I rubbed against her palm like a cat.

"I love you," I said, voice thick with the pleasant torpor that followed really good sex.

"And I love you, ma petite."

Her gaze flicked up to Asher, lips parted as though she'd thank him. She froze, mouth forming a round 'o' of surprise. When I turned I saw exactly what she was staring at. In the ardeur-fueled haze, Jeanette and I had both overlooked the blotchy blue-black bruises that spread like ink stains across his chest. Several vicious cuts ran the length of his arms and legs. His shirt was speckled with blood because he was bleeding and had been since he arrived. Now that I was paying attention, I realized splatters were leading from the door to the desk. Someone had tortured him, and not long ago. If he'd had the chance to feed, he'd have healed some of his injuries.

And I'd just taken even more energy from him. Shit.

"Chimera," Asher panted, eyes sliding out of focus. "He called himself Chimera. He attacked my Kiss. Everyone inside is a hostage, including Julian. Help me, please."

The statement took what little energy he had left. Asher's eyes rolled to white and he collapsed on the floor at our feet.

Chapter Text

"Will he be okay?" I whispered, staring at Asher's pallid face. The bruises that shadowed his jaw looked like lurid makeup, too bright a color against his skin to be real.

Jeanette clutched Asher's limp body closer, adjusting him on her lap to keep his head above water. Inhaling water wouldn't kill him, but I doubted it would help his condition either. The steaming bath was a stop-gap measure to help Asher recover. Sharing Jeanette's energy and upping his internal temperature could only do so much.

"If we can get blood or energy into him, oui. He is the Master of the City, and the blood oaths of his followers will keep him afloat for a time, assuming they are not all dead. It's a sort of...tithe of power, I suppose."

"But he still needs to feed."

"Oui."

"But after what I took from him, there's no guarantee it would be safe. His donor could die because he got carried away. I know you're not willing to sacrifice one of our people that way. So that leaves energy. How do we give him that? He's blood oathed to you, sure, but that transfer of energy mostly goes in your favor, not his."

Jeanette chewed her lip thoughtfully, not looking at me. She eyed the gauzy outline of her reflection in the fogged-up mirror for a moment, considering it.

"I have a plan, but I'm not certain you'd like it, ma petite."

"Asher gave me what was left of his strength to save me from this Requiem guy, knowing that it could kill him. I can stand to be uncomfortable for a little bit. What did you have in mind?"

Her gaze shifted over my shoulder and I could have sworn she looked...guilty. When I glanced back, I saw why.

Meng Die was lounging in the open doorway of Jeanette's bathroom, wearing nothing but a silk robe. She draped herself artfully against the frame, looking more like an art piece than a person in her stillness. Jeanette may have turned her, but through that bloodline, she was a vampire of Belle's line. She'd no doubt learned how to flaunt every asset she had in the last century and a half. She was a feast for the eyes, a sculpted beauty in ice blue.

All except the eyes. Those were cold and hard as agates, a startling contrast to the soft feminity on display. Her lips curled into a mocking little smirk as she watched realization play over my face.

"I'm not feeding on her," I said quickly. "I'm sorry, but I don't know you or like you well enough to go there."

"Who says you'd be doing the feeding?" Meng Die asked, leaning more firmly against the door frame. "Believe me, I don't like you well enough to fuck you either. I told you before. I'm only in this for the opportunity to see Jeanette again." Her gaze shifted over my head to Jeanette, softening infinitesimally. "That's why you called me here, right?"

So Jeanette had concocted this plan long before she'd been sure I'd say yes. On an ordinary day that would have pissed me off and earned her the silent treatment for a while. Now I was just irritated. Of all her vampires, this was the one she chose when the chips were down? I didn't know Yasmeen well, but a roll in the hay with her would have been tolerable. Meng Die was...well, frankly she frightened me at times.

"Oui," she said at last. "This operation will require a transfer of significant energy and only so many of my people have that to spare. And ma petite told me about your...conversation and stipulations."

"Two birds one stone, is it?" I muttered darkly. "Start a new relationship and heal Asher?"

Jeanette threw one hand up in exasperation. "I told you that you would not like this, mon Tresor. Did you mean what you said or not?"

I shut my mouth. I'd been about to launch into an angry diatribe, but the reminder stopped me short. I meant what I'd said. Asher knew what he might be giving up by feeding me and did it anyway. I owed him. I could stand being uncomfortable for a little while. Even if it meant letting my girlfriend fuck her ex.

"Fine," I sighed. "Climb in. Go nuts. I'll hold Asher for a bit."

The delicate point of one of Jeanette's fangs graced her bottom lip, and my stomach sank. She wasn't finished detailing the plan. Fuck. I had a bad feeling about this.

"I can give Asher energy through his ties of fealty, but that risks spillage from the feeding to my other vampires."

"Which would dilute what Asher gets. It might not be enough. What are you saying?"

The point of her fang slid through the soft skin of her lip, drawing a bead of blood. Her tongue flicked out to capture it absently. Which shouldn't be doing it for me, damn it.

"You are a necromancer, ma petite. Your link with the dead is more focused, which means you could give the power of our lovemaking to Asher alone. You and I will both feed on Meng Die, and the combined energy should bring Asher back from the brink."

Meng Die shrugged out of her robe, letting the blue silk puddle on the floor. It left her gloriously naked and...well, I had to admit that she was a knockout. She was narrow and angular, a lot like Jeanette. Her breasts were modest, and I knew from Jeanette's memories that they'd fill the palm of my hand perfectly. She'd pierced one of the nipples since I'd seen her last, and the silver flashed in the low light as she stepped into the bath.

Meng Die caught me staring and leaned over me, closing my mouth with a gentle fingertip. Her breath ghosted over my mouth, and my heart picked up. Was she about to kiss me? Did I want her to kiss me? I couldn't tell. The anticipation popping like champagne through my veins was Jeanette's, but I had to admit I was curious too. Curious enough to set aside my dislike for, I wasn't sure.

"I won't forget you, ma petite," she said, making a mockery of the nickname. "We have a deal, after all."

"Don't call me ma petite," I said reflexively.

"True," she said, leaning closer. Our lips touched, and even the barest brush zinged like electricity through my veins. "You need me as a dominant. So ma petite won't do. I'll call you my little whore."

My heart beat faster. I should have punched her for calling me that. But there was something strangely erotic about being called the filthy name in this context. It was like she owned me. And a sick part of me liked the idea of being owned. A submissive masochist with a public humiliation kink. Jesus.

"If I'm a whore what does that make you?"

"A lady. Your lady. Say it, whore."

Oh, like hell....was what I wanted to say. What came out was, "My lady."

I couldn't quite believe I'd agreed to that, even though I heard it come out of my mouth. Something about her demeanor coaxed the submissive side of me out. If I found her this attractive while she dominated me, I was in trouble. I already had Asher for hot kinky sex. I didn't need another fuck buddy.

Meng-Die grasped my chin hard enough to bruise and kissed me. She kissed me roughly enough to cut my teeth on my lips. When her tongue quested inside my mouth, she tasted me thoroughly. A groan built in the back of my throat as she straddled my thigh, pushing me hard against the tile.

"Good little whore," she whispered breathlessly when she pulled away. "Now, you're going to watch me have her. I won't permit you to touch either of us until it's time to feed the ardeur, is that clear?"

"It's clear," I said.

"Jeanette is mine. I am going to fuck her until she comes screaming my name, not yours. I'm going to take her from you and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it."

Oh God. It should not feel like my insides were melting into warm, syrupy goo. I liked watching my lovers with each other. The brief almost-threesomes I'd had with Jeanette and Richard were among the hottest sexual encounters I'd ever had. Not liking the third member of our group should have put a damper on the experience, but honestly just made it more exciting. I'd never seen the appeal of hate fucking before, but now it had possibilities.

Meng Die leaned over the side of the tub and produced a black gym back that clinked ominously when she stretched to set it on the sink. She rummaged around for a moment before producing a truly impressive amount of kinky toys. I swallowed thickly, my throat dry. God, what had I just signed up for?

"Let's get my little whore attired properly, hm?"

Chapter Text

The gag bit into the inside of my mouth, almost uncomfortably tight. The stocking was one of Meng-Die's and had been knotted behind my head before she'd moved on to some of her more...inventive wardrobe choices for me. The stocking was clean, thankfully. I might have enjoyed humiliation more than I liked to admit, but there were lines. Risking athlete's foot was mine.

Meng-Die would probably have blindfolded me next if it wouldn't have defeated the purpose of the exercise. Flaunting her ability to touch Jeanette was the point. Lording it over me. Look at what you want, but cannot have. And to top it off, there was another witness to the humiliating tableau. If I was going to feed on Meng-Die when the time came, I couldn't be holding Asher. Jason had climbed eagerly into the tub when Jeanette called for him, propping Asher up in the corner while our little sexual melodrama played out in front of him.

Soft moans fell from Jeanette's lips as Meng-Die went to work between her legs. I could already see her trembling from here, and we'd only been at this for a few minutes. Meng-Die's dextrous tongue circled Jeanette's clit in lazy circles while the fingers of one hand pumped into her, making her hips arch in desperate motion. She clutched the edge of the tub like it was the only thing tethering her to earth, eyes, and head rolling back under the onslaught.

Meng-Die used the other hand to jerk the chain she held, smirking when the tug elicited a muffled scream. The clamps fixed to my nipples weren't new. I'd done a scene with Asher and Narcissa months back, and I still remembered the burn. The clamps on my labia were new. By some unknown alchemic process in my brain, the lightning zings of pain transformed into an erotic burn, sending spikes of pleasure surging straight to my clit. The sadistic bitch had made me don a pair of lace panties with a waterproof vibrator, and every time I jerked, it pressed the damn thing closer to my clit. The intensity was low, edging me closer to a climax without ever getting me there.

"Pay attention, whore," she murmured against Jeanette's thigh. "I think you're getting too comfortable over there."

Comfortable, yeah right. I was trying hard not to combust. I hadn't moved from the place she'd put me, but I couldn't quite follow the order to stand still. Between the clamps and watching them together, I was dangerously close to the edge already. If this was her opening move, I didn't want to know what she'd do to me if I came without her permission.

Meng-Die kissed her way up Jeanette's thigh, licking a slippery line over one of Jeanette's hipbones, earning herself a shiver. Her questing hands found Jeanette's breasts, plucking the nipples, making her keen. I swallowed a moan when she closed her lips over one of the delicate pink peaks. She grinned triumphantly when Jeanette whimpered her name.

Jeanette didn't argue when Meng-Die guided her back into the water and straddled her lap, grinding down on her. Their lips met in a passionate kiss, Jeanette's hands threading into Meng-Die's hair, drinking her in greedily. I couldn't tell if the feeling twinging behind my breastbone was jealousy or a horrified kind of fascination.

Every undulating motion of her hips jerked the chain, sending more erotic agony through the point of contact. Jeanette was panting now, pleasure peaking with every motion. The delicious friction was building between her legs, so intense that I could feel it through the bond we shared. And with the ardeur, I could tell that Meng-Die was close too.

The waterproof vibrator buzzed with sudden intensity, and white edged my vision, threatening to swallow me whole. I groaned in protest when it dimmed, providing just enough stimulation to keep me maddeningly aroused, but not fulfilled. It was almost a relief when she twisted on Jeanette's lap and dragged me toward them, erasing the space between us. Her lips crashed down on mine, swallowing my scream when she dialed the vibrator up a notch.

"Beg to finish, whore," she ordered when she'd pulled my gag from my mouth.

"Fuck y-"

Meng-Die's fingers twisted my already abused nipple, tearing a gasp from my throat. Indignation flew from my head, replaced with an almost painful sense of clarity. I was so damn close.

"Beg."

"Please," I gasped. "God, please..."

"Lady," she corrected.

"Please, my lady. I need..."

"Need to come?" she asked. "How do you ask politely?"

"Please may I come, my lady?"

I'd feel embarrassed about those words later. Right now, I just needed a little more. The ardeur was close to the surface, sensing a meal.

Meng-Die leaned closer to me, claiming my mouth in another bruising kiss. Her fangs split my lip before she hissed, "Feed" into my ear.

The ardeur crashed over all of us. I wasn't sure who came first. Jeanette, who was still writhing underneath Meng-Die. Meng-Die, who'd picked up her pace, riding Jeanette's thigh to an explosive climax. Or me, who barely had the presence of mind to open the link between my necromancy and Asher's barely there aura, pouring the tidal wave of power into him as it spilled from Meng Die to Jeanette and ultimately to me. I lost track of things for a moment. I was blind, riding high on that blissful cloud that only Asher had been able to give me thus far. The space you could only get to when someone pushed you to the painful limits of what your body could handle.

I could sense, rather than see Asher heal. The part of me that existed without sight or sound knew when the energy spilled over into him and mended what was broken. His aura glowed brighter in my awareness, still hurting but healthier than he'd been a moment before. It might take him a while to wake up and tell us what happened, but I could stand the wait. It was better than the alternative.

When I finally came back down to earth, I found myself wedged between Meng Die and Jeanette, cradled in the softness of their bodies. Jeanette laid gentle kisses on my throat, nuzzling my skin like I was a beloved teddy bear. Meng Die was fiddling with my hair, humming softly under her breath. Her eyes were at half-mast, weighed down by satiated exhaustion. She'd removed the clamps at some point, though I couldn't remember her doing it. They were coiled like a silver snake on the edge of the tub. She was rubbing circulation back into the peaks, not to arouse, but to stop serious bruising from forming. When she kissed both, the contact was almost tender.

"What a good little girl," she purred into my ear. "So obedient. Since I'm in a good mood, I'll let you pick what we start with the next time we play. Fair?"

"Fair," I agreed. For some insane reason, I was already looking forward to the next time we did this. God, maybe I was a masochist. A big one. I'd never think ill of Nathaniel's interests again.

"I need to see to Asher," Jeanette said, reluctantly disengaging a few moments later. "I need to arrange a safe place for him to sleep and a donor when he wakes."

"I'll do it," Jason said.

Jeanette smiled wanly at him. "While I appreciate your willingness, mon loup, you have already fed me this evening. I won't risk you. We'll send for Nathaniel. He has fed Asher before."

Jason shrugged. If he was disappointed with her instructions, he didn't let it show. He just helped her lift Asher out of the tub and slung him over one shoulder when he was through. He didn't seem to mind that Asher was completely nude. Jason was one of the most comfortably bisexual people I'd met outside of Nathaniel. He was also very hard at the moment. Heat rushed to my face when I remembered why. Our little BDSM threesome was like something out of a porno.

"Not you," Meng Die said, yanking me onto her lap when I tried to stand and follow. "You're staying here."

"But-"

"You've done enough. If I let you go now, you might suffer drop. Stay near me for a while."

"Do I have to be on your lap?"

Her lips curled into a wicked little smile. "Of course. Your body is mine. I get to touch you when I like."

Meng Die's fingernails traced a ticklish pattern on one thigh. It felt oddly nice when she nuzzled her face against my damp hair, breathing in the scent of me. She petted my thigh like a well-loved cat, a motion that felt more reassuring than sexy.

"Such a pretty whore," she crooned, somehow making the name sound like an endearment. "So beautiful when she comes. You're going to come for me again sometime. Just us."

Just us. No Jeanette. How much more intense would this get without my vanilla girlfriend there to draw Meng Die's attention?

"My safe word is tax audit," I said, mouth try. It came out softer than I intended.

She laughed, a rich, rolling sound. Her voice wasn't as candied and delectable as Jeanette's, but it had its charm. She gave me a quick, perfunctory kiss before she let me go.

"I'm looking forward to hearing it. I'm going to take you to the edge, slut."

It was my turn to smirk. "Good luck with that, my lady."

Chapter Text

I left Meng Die to luxuriate in the bath when I felt steady enough to walk. I wrapped a towel around myself, strode into the bedroom proper...

And bumped headlong into Richard.

Walking face-first into a brick wall would have surprised me less. I hit hard and bounced off. I caught myself painfully on a stone wall. When I could finally bring him into focus, I saw that Richard had extended a hand to help on reflex.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to bump into you."

I should have mumbled a 'no big deal' and left. I should have hunted down a pair of clothes and a nice, soft bed. Hell, it would have been better if I'd just given him the silent treatment. What came out was worse.

"That's not what you should be sorry for."

The muscles in Richard's neck bunched, tendons straining with the effort it took not to shoot back a cutting retort. The last conversation we'd had about the unspoken topic had ended with me almost shifting on top of him. We'd almost been literally at each other's throats.

"Anita-"

I held up a hand. "I shouldn't have said that. It sounded bitchy, even to me. Just...move, Richard. I have stuff to do and I don't have time for a pissing contest with you."

"No."

My gaze snapped up to meet his. Richard had the grace to flinch at whatever expression he saw on his face. He raised his hands in a push-away gesture.

"I'm not starting a pissing contest," he said quickly. "But we need to talk. I would have called if I thought you'd pick up. I might have done it anyway if Jeanette hadn't convinced me not to. She said you didn't need the added burden, and I understood that. But since you're back, I assume you're better than you were."

"You know what they say about assuming," I said acidly. "I still don't want to have this conversation."

I tried to dart around him and make a break for it, but he intercepted me, blocking my path once again. I could have forced my way through if I were willing to shift and fight, but didn't bother. It wasn't worth brawling in the bedroom to avoid speaking to him. Besides, I didn't to hurt him. Not in earnest. Pop him one in the nose, yeah, but I wasn't in the eviscerating mood.

"I don't want to have the conversation either, but we need to have it anyway. We're going to be living in proximity to each other whether we like it or not. We'll never be able to completely avoid each other. You're going to see Andria and Honoria regularly."

It took everything I had not to flinch at the reminder. I wasn't about to give Richard the satisfaction of seeing how much he'd hurt me. So I focused on the only portion of that statement that didn't piss me off.

"Why did you name her Honoria? I thought you hated Jeanette. Did you do it to hurt her? Remind her that you have what she doesn't?"

Richard stared at me for a second, disbelief etched into every line of his face. Then he shook his head, the foaming waves of his hair falling forward to shield his eyes.

"Jesus, Anita. You think I'd choose my daughter's name to mock her dead kids? Do you really think I'm that much of a monster? I've dreamed of Honnorée and Raoul too. I know exactly what it felt like to find her babies dead. Let me tell you, that dream does not help a sleep-deprived parent of a little girl who is already worried about SIDS."

"Then why name her after Jeanette's baby?" I demanded.

"Because I actually befriended Jeanette while you were away. If you'd be willing to bury the fucking hatchet with me, we might be able to be friends too. Because I hate to say it, but friends were all we should have ever been. I love you, Anita. I'm always going to love you in some way. But it doesn't have to be as the woman I lost. If I marry your sister, that makes me your brother-in-law. If you'd be willing to meet me in the fucking middle for once, we could actually, you know, have some kind of relationship that doesn't involve hurting each other. We used to have fun, remember? We used to like each other. Can't we have that again?"

That stunned me into silence. Of all the things he could have said, I hadn't been expecting that. The last time we'd spoken, he'd still been mutely frustrated with me, angry about the way things ended. If he'd asked me six months ago, I would have been willing to be his friend. But sleeping with Andria had changed things for me. It wasn't just that they'd slept together. That I could have forgiven, eventually. It was the way he'd reacted in the moments after the pregnancy had been revealed that was telling. He hadn't apologized. He'd wielded it like a weapon, meaning to hurt me. Anyone who claimed to love you but went for your jugular any chance they got was a damned liar.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, and it keeps no record of wrongs.

Richard had never loved me. Not really. We'd used each other to avoid issues we should have addressed in therapy. Curtis was the one who taught me what love was. Jeanette had shown me the bounds of what love was capable of. Richard hurt me on purpose. It wasn't love, it was desperation. Realizing that had been a keen ache all its own.

But he was right. The triumvirate bound us together whether I liked it or not. We'd both taken the fourth mark, solidifying the bond, uniting the three of us together for eternity. That was a long time to spend with someone who hated your guts. We'd have to kiss and makeup at some point, or forever was going to be unbearable. I clutched the towel tighter to my front and couldn't meet his eyes.

"Not yet. I'm still so fucking angry with you. I can't...I just can't. Not right now. I have to take care of myself before I can take care of us. I'll babysit your kid if you want to go out with Andria, but I will not act like one big happy family with you. You have not earned that from me."

Richard's head tilted so I could get a better look at his face. He was studying me as if he could read something vital from my expression. His eyes were soft and a little disappointed, but he nodded.

"Yeah, that's fair. But you do want to meet Honoria?"

"I figure Jeanette is going to want baby time, so yeah, I'll meet her eventually. I'm not going to hold a baby responsible for the sins of its parents."

"Are you ever going to forgive me?"

"I'll consider it if you ever apologize."

"I have-"

"You apologized to Jeanette, but you've never apologized to me. The last time we talked about this you threw it in my face. The two words you were offering me were 'fuck' and 'you' back then. Try the ones I want to hear."

"I'm sorry," Richard said, his voice soft. "I mean it, Anita. And I'm sorry if I didn't say it before. Because I am. I should have been there to support you as a friend, and I fucked it up. I made everything worse. You didn't feel like you could come to me with what happened, and that's my fault. I should have been a shoulder to cry on, a pair of arms to catch you, and I wasn't. I'm so, so fucking sorry."

My eyes burned, and I turned my face away before he could see the first tear fall. I hated crying, especially in front of Richard. I felt like I'd done enough crying in the last six months to drown a small country. I'd wanted to hear this from him last year. Why the hell couldn't he have been this sort of man when I needed him to be?

"I need time," I said, voice coming out strangled. I could barely breathe around the lump in my throat. "I can't do this right now."

"I get it. But we have to get on the same page by September. We can't afford to go into Belle's territory as anything less than a united front."

I nodded stiffly. "Before September. Now can you get out of my way? I need to change."

He sighed. "Sorry, but no. One of my wolves just reported a disturbance at Sublime. He was going to attend a play party there, but when he arrived there were cops in the parking lot. Something happened inside and he's asking if you have any details. I'm shocked that Zerbrowski hasn't called you about it yet."

"I don't have my cell phone on me. I think it's still at the hospital. I need to get dressed and go back to grab it."

Richard dug in the pockets of his jeans and produced a pair of car keys. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Want a ride?"

Chapter Text

Richard stiffened, hands flexing around the wheel unconsciously. It reminded me of a kneading cat, assuring themselves that their owner was still there. Odd, given that he was a wolf, but I suppose you had to find comfort somewhere. His eyes were slightly wider than usual when he guided us into a parking spot a block from Sublime. He'd traded in his pickup for a minivan complete with a car seat and 'baby on board' sign suction-cupped to the back window. The breeze wafting through the cracked windows smelled like exhaust to me. Judging by his expression, he was picking up on something different.

"What is it?"

"Blood," he said, swallowing convulsively. A hint of wolf amber swam to the surface of his iris as he released a measured breath.

Funny how one word could be so chilling. For Richard to be scenting blood so strongly it made his beast rise, there was more than the safe, sane, and consensual BDSM club would allow to be spilled. Even Risk Aware Consensual Kink had its limits. What was I walking into?

"Stay in the car," I said, adjusting the Browning in its holster. Having the trusty Hi-Power tucked almost painfully against my ribs was absurdly comforting in light of Richard's reaction. "I don't want to field Zerbrowski's questions if he sees us approach the scene together."

"I was planning to," he said. "If the scene is as bad as I think it is, they won't want a known werewolf around. Might make some of RPIT jumpy, and we don't want history to repeat itself."

I flinched at the reminder. The year before Richard had been forcibly outed to the world as a shapeshifter. One of the junior cops who'd been responding to the disturbance hadn't reacted well and had tried to shoot through me to reach Richard. He'd hit Dolph instead, puncturing the thoracic aorta. He'd bled out in minutes.

"Right."

Richard cursed under his breath. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I just..."

"Being out of the closet makes you a target. It could even make you a suspect for an overzealous rookie cop. You don't have time to be in a jail cell, and I don't have the time to bail you out. Going with me will just make my job harder. I get that."

"I want to help," he muttered. "I hate feeling useless."

"Driving me is help enough. I didn't have my license on me before we dropped by the hospital, and it feels a hell of a lot less pretentious to have you drive than let Jeanette's people do it. You know she has an entire list of day and nighttime limo drivers on her frequently contacted list?"

The faintest of smiles curled his lips and he rolled his eyes. I wasn't the only one who thought Jeanette's expenditures could be utterly ridiculous. Before Jeanette, the closest either of us had been to a limo was during prom. The moment of solidarity was nice...until I caught myself smiling at him.

"Anita-" he began.

I held up a hand. "I don't want to talk about it yet, Richard. Give me time. And...thank you for the ride. I appreciate it."

Richard closed his mouth, swallowing whatever he'd been about to say. He inclined his head tightly. "Be careful."

"As a virgin on her wedding night," I said. It was something of a joke between us, but with the smell of blood on the air and the wail of sirens a block up, it fell flat.

"I mean it."

"I know you do. Thanks."

Richard nodded. He seemed to sense just how fragile the peace between us was and knew better than to pop the shiny rainbow bubble with a sharp word. He waited for me to cross the street before he pulled out of his parking space and merged onto another street, prepared to circle the block until I was through.

The police barricades spanned most of the block, much to the frustration of the nearby shops. Traffic moved sluggishly around the site of the disturbance, rubberneckers and rerouted cars clogging the ways in and out. The sidewalks were packed full too, with more thrill-seekers trying to get a good look at what had happened. I was almost jabbed in the face by someone trying to see over the heads of the crowd. Waving my consultant's badge at them barely earned me an inch of space. By the time I'd been elbowed and stepped on a dozen times over. It was almost a relief to see a grim-faced Zerbrowski striding across the street, motioning for the uniformed officers guarding the scene to let me through.

I ducked under the yellow crime scene tape at almost the same instant he reached me. There was a flinching around his eyes that made my skin prickle. Zerbrowski was a veteran cop and a member of the Spook Squad. He didn't scare easily. What the hell was I about to walk into?

"There you are," he said, letting out a sigh of relief. "I was about to send someone out to your house. I thought you might have checked out against medical advice and crashed at home. I hate to drag you out after what happened but-"

"But you need me," I said with a sigh. "Yeah, I get it. And you wouldn't have found me at home. I was staying over at Jeanette's place. My phone died."

It was another entry on the long, depressing lies I had to tell my fellow officers. I trusted Zerbrowski, to a point. It was the people that he answered to that I couldn't trust with the particulars of my dangerous predicament. I couldn't tell Zerbrowski about the hospital incident. Not yet, anyway. Micah hadn't been in control of his actions during the assault. It didn't make the experience one iota less terrifying, but it did give me pause. Attempted rape was an ugly accusation and jury trials weren't partial to shapeshifters. I didn't want him under a warrant of execution until I was sure he deserved it.

"Ah," Zerbrowski said, as though that explained everything.

I didn't buy the nonchalance. Enough people had seen me flee the hospital to raise questions. He was shelving his concerns until we had time to talk. Whatever was inside took priority over my odd behavior. With any luck, he'd write off my flight from the hospital as an episode of PTSD.

"How many people are dead? And please don't pull a Dolph on me. I don't need every detail, but after the week I've had I am not willing to go into this crime scene blind."

"Fair enough," he said with a sigh. "We believe there are twenty-six dead, thirteen missing, and two critically injured. The latter have been transported to the clinic for treatment, but your Doc Lilian didn't sound optimistic."

My breath came out as a strangled sound of protest. It didn't seem possible. I'd done a scene in Sublime the year before and still remembered the sauna-like metaphysical heat the group of shifter kinksters put off. Everyone who played in Narcissa's club was already a supernatural citizen, or who accepted the risk of becoming one. The club forbade blood play between vanilla humans and therians, but accidents occasionally happened.

"How?" I whispered.

Zerbrowski gave me a knowing look. "So it's true?"

"Is what true?"

"That this place caters to the...uh...furry, side of the street?"

"It's partial to the supernatural community, yeah, but humans come here too. BDSM isn't just about sex."

Zerbrowski's lips curled into the ghostly possibility of a smile. "And how would you know that, Anita?"

Heat crept into my cheeks. Only a few hours before I'd been in a kinky threesome with Meng Die. And before that, I'd been caned by the owner of this establishment. I didn't think I could explain the difference between dominance and submission in a sexual versus a non-sexual context. There was no way he'd understand that pain could be a clarifying experience.

"Some of the wereleopards are in the scene."

Zerbrowski didn't look completely convinced, but he didn't argue with me. Thank God.

"But getting back to the original point, this place does do the majority of its business with the spooky side, right?"

"Yeah, for the most part. Vampires and shifters need specialized equipment if they want to participate in kink."

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not."

He sighed. "Tell me anyway. Maybe it will explain a few things."

"A supernatural bondage club would need specialized tools for the same reason therian gyms need to special order their equipment. You're dealing with things that are stronger and faster than human normal, which means you need to use sturdier tools."

"Hard to tie someone up if they can shred rope like tissue paper," he agreed.

"Exactly right. So they can't go just anywhere to play. The equipment is pricey and there aren't enough therian kinksters in most cities to warrant the expense for just a few members."

"But the equipment is strong enough to hold most therians and vampires. So if the attacker managed to trick a wereanimal into restraints, there's a chance a human could have done this."

I frowned. "I mean it's technically possible but I doubt the perp is human. Kinksters have an insular community and people get to know each other. You don't put yourself in restraints with a new partner without some serious negotiation, and the establishment is good at sorting out people who apply for membership. Narcissa would catch a bad apple before it fell from the tree, let alone arrived in her barrel."

Zerbrowski pulled a face. "I was afraid you'd say that. I was hoping things could be simple, for once. This is going to be a media nightmare no matter how you slice it, but 'radical hate groups invade BDSM club and kill dozens' sounds less frightening than 'therian gang war ongoing, innocents caught in the crossfire.'"

"Do you think the weresnakes had anything to do with this?"

"Oh, I'm almost certain of it. I'm no preternatural biologist, but I was raised in south Missouri. I know a snake trail when I see it. Especially if it's cutting a swath through puddles of blood."

I shuddered. There was enough blood spilled to form puddles. God, what was I about to walk into?

"If you knew there were snake men on the scene, why did you ask if it could be Humans First?"

Zerbrowski's steps stuttered to a stop a few feet from the entrance. A uniformed police officer was leaning against the double doors carefully not looking at anything. He was a Hispanic man of medium height and weight and looked distinctly pale beneath the usual golden glow of his skin. Sweat was dewing on his forehead and he looked like he might be sick. Also not a good sign.

When I glanced sideways at Zerbrowski he was carefully examining a crack in the pavement instead of looking at me. My stomach performed a nervous somersault.

"Zerbrowski?" I asked.

"It's bad," Zerbrowski whispered. "Really, really bad. The last time I saw anything like this I was watching a Hellraiser film. They didn't just kill them, Antia. They posed them. Made a goddamn art piece out of it. Normal human beings might kill each other, but they don't play with the carcasses. This is some Jeffery Dahamer shit. I really wanted to believe that Humans First struck some kind of unholy alliance and took aim at the local community. To think that there are a group of wereanimals on the loose capable of this..."

Zerbrowski hugged himself, covering a shiver of disquiet. He still wasn't looking at me.

"I'm sorry, Anita," he continued. "There are probably people you know in there."

"Probably, but running won't do them any good. I need to see if you want help catching their killer."

"I know. I just thought I should warn you."

I didn't want to go inside. I didn't want to see the mangled remains of people I knew on the club floor or hanging like decorations from the rafters. My imagination could shade in the dark details of the picture without getting a full-color demonstration. Turning around would probably be the best thing I could do for my mental health. God knew I didn't have the emotional bandwidth to handle additional tragedy. But turning my back on the club was tantamount to spitting in the face of my allies. If more people were murdered because I hadn't had the intestinal fortitude to look at these victims, those deaths would be on my head.

So I took a deep breath and tried to add a little steel to my spine. It didn't show up in my voice, which came out soft and a little scared. I only had so much steel to spare at the moment.

"Okay. Warning received. Let's go in."

Chapter Text

The first body we encountered was suspended several feet above the floor with sturdy cable. It glittered weirdly in the halogen beams of the lights detectives and crime scene techs had set up around the room. The slender blonde girl didn't look much over twenty, but appearances could be deceiving. The therian retrovirus made cell replication all but perfect, visibly reducing the signs and speed of aging. I'd recently learned that Rafael was a lot older than the thirty-something he appeared to be on the outside. But her age didn't really matter anymore. She'd never be getting any older.

I think it was the stillness that put most people off corpses. Yeah, the smell was often a factor too, but humans are used to bad scents. Garbage. Sewage. Roadkill. Everything broke down eventually. Most things don't look like us while they do it. In most circumstances, when you met other people they were animate. There was a sense of vitality and motion to them, even at rest. When you die, your body is completely still for the first time since it came into being. It was unnatural and sent alarm bells blaring in our hindbrains. Danger. When that rag-doll posture is paired with a lot of blood, the instinct is to retreat. I forced myself to stare at the girl until I could make sense of the details.

"Do you have IDs for any of them?" I asked, starting at the suspension points on the ceiling first. I was going to take in the rest of the victims...eventually. Right now I was busy noticing the thick band of red under her nails. She'd fought hard to get that much skin and blood from her attacker. Good for her.

"Most of them. An off-duty employee named Gwen Hayes was able to come in and identify a lot of them about ten minutes before you arrived. But it's a big place with varied and often private clientele. She was only able to give us the names of those she'd dominated personally."

Gwen wasn't actually a dominatrix, but I wasn't about to tell Zerbrowski that. She'd been a therapist before getting outed as a shapeshifter. She'd lost her license, her office, and had almost lost her house in one fell swoop. Now she worked for Narcissa offering covert therapy in the upper rooms of the club. She was also the wife of Jamil's second-in-command, Sylvie. We'd never been friendly, but it still loosened the knot in my gut to know she wasn't being displayed like a macabre art piece.

I gestured at the suspended corpse. "What's her name?"

Zerbrowski glanced at the girl's face, paled, and then consulted the notebook he held loosely in one hand. "Lexie Young, twenty-four. Would have been twenty-five in two weeks. A werehyena. According to Mrs. Hayes, she was a psychology major working here for a reduced membership fee. She monitored scenes for safety. She was into light kink. Spankings and name-calling mostly. She would never have consented to..." he gestured broadly. "This."

The steel I'd summoned a few minutes ago was wavering, corroded away by the overpowering smell of blood. It was like the standing water in a partially flooded basement only a lot...redder. In quantities like this, the blood smelled like raw hamburger. With several of the victims suspended, it felt like I was standing in an ersatz butcher shop. Parts were lying on the ground that had no business being outside a body. It lent the scene a hideously intimate quality, like I'd stepped in on the aftermath of an autopsy before the coroner could put things to rights again. And all that was summoned by just a few sights and smells. What sick tableau was going to stick in my brain tonight when I actually got a look at the victims?

I forced myself to look, and almost instantly regretted it. The victim had been spreadeagled on what could only be termed the sex swing. Blood and burned tissue had sloughed off under the silver alloy cuffs that held her in place, leaving glistening muscle visible beneath. She'd struggled against the restraints, to no avail. They'd cut her clothes off her after getting her in the swing. A few pieces still clung under the manacles or in the swing, dangling out like colored streamers. The rest had formed a pile on the floor and promptly soaked up the blood that collected beneath her. It was impossible to guess how much of the blood on her legs was from the torture, and how much had come from the other things I'd suspected they'd done to her. I probably didn't want to know. Silver needles protruded from her breasts, the metal burning neat little holes in her skin upon contact. Bruises had formed on her throat, her arms, and her hips. The patchwork looked deliberate, done for aesthetics rather than a need to control her. They'd eventually cut her throat just above the breastbone when they were through with her, letting the crimson stuff sheet down over her bare body.

"Jesus," I muttered.

"Yeah," Zerbrowski said. "And she's one of the least graphic ones."

Dear God, please don't let that be true. I'd seen a lot of shit, but this investigation was pushing me into an area of depraved I'd yet to experience. The last time I'd seen anything close was when I'd been on the trail of the Ostend Ripper, a serial killer with a penchant for rape and torture. I'd watch him perform his grisly ritual on his own biological sister. If anything in this room could top that, I didn't want to see it.

But I did. I forced myself to examine every single victim, filing away anything that could be useful. Most of the victims were female, but there were a handful of men chained to the bondage furniture or hanging from the ceiling. One man had been castrated twice, his captor cutting off the appendage a second time when the therian managed to regrow it. The men hadn't escaped violation, either. Rape had been on the menu for every single victim, regardless of their sex. The victims who'd been completely flayed bothered me less than the ones who'd only had half their bodies disfigured. I'd seen flayed bodies before, and they looked less recognizably human than the ones who still had parts of their skin intact.

I thought I'd throw up when I came across a middle-aged woman who'd had the skin from her knees downward peeled down to her ankles like she was doffing a fleshy stocking at the end of a long day. They'd done the same thing from elbow to wrist, scrunching the skin down to the joint like she wore ill-fitting opera gloves. Her hair was so slicked with gore it was impossible to tell what color it had been.

But the worst was waiting for me at the very end of the Clive Barker-esque tour of the crime scene. No, it wasn't the most graphic of the torture tableaus our perp had arranged, but it was the most personally gut-wrenching. I made a small sound in my throat when I recognized the last body and turned away. I didn't want to let the details sink in just yet. I wasn't ready. The seismic mental shift it took to acknowledge she was gone was painful enough without adding in those details.

"Diana Bernardi," Zerbrowski said. "A defense attorney with the offices of Baxter and Cline. Did a lot of pro-bono work. I actually met her once when she came to defend a suspect. Nice woman. I hate that it ended this way for her."

Diana. Better known to most people in the supernatural set as Echo, Narcissa's devoted submissive. And possibly the love of their life. I rarely saw the two separated. They'd trapped her head and hands in a modified pillory, forcing her to bend double in front of the throne-like chair in the center of a raised dais. It wasn't occupied with the corpse of Narcissa as I'd half-feared, but the positioning had chilling implications. She'd been forced to watch whatever hell they put Echo through before finally killing her.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "I can't. Just...give me the details you've already got."

Zerbrowski's eyes were soft and pitying. "You knew her too."

"Yeah," I whispered, and the sound was so raw it felt like it must have scraped something coming out of me. "I knew her too. I can't...I can't size her up. I think I know what happened. They forced Narcissa to watch it. Probably tried to get her to give up control of her group by torturing her people. I noticed most of the victims are werehyenas."

"I noticed that too. And the men who went missing at your party were also leaders, right?"

"Yes."

"So someone is trying to take over St. Louis animal groups. But why? What does that accomplish? They can't rule them all."

"Unless..." I began, thinking it through. "Unless they could. Gil mentioned someone named Chimera. What if that isn't just a melodramatic sobriquet? What if it's literal? He's a panwere."

"Like you?"

In point of fact, I was not a panwere. What I had was an odd fusion of faerie power and a skinwalker's potential abilities. I had a spiritual copy of whatever animals attacked me, but to express them on the outside I needed a skin from the real thing. Edward had been encouraging me to get infected by multiple beasts and send him a shopping list for the skins I needed. I'd told him where he could shove the mercenary attitude.

"Like me. But he has more forms than I do."

"How do you figure?"

"He's attacked the werelions, wererats, wereleopards, werewolves, and now the werehyenas. And if the snakes are his foot soldiers he probably can shift into a squatmatathrope as well. I only have wolf and leopard."

And a nixe and lamia form, but he didn't need to know that. I'd been acting under less than savory circumstances when I'd acquired both.

Zerbrowski let out a shaking breath and adjusted his glasses. It was a nervous tic I rarely saw these days. He'd grown into his role over time and didn't get flustered. I wondered if he felt as dizzy and sick as I did.

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse. It's not the turf war I was expecting, but it's still bad. Can we count on the support of the groups in St. Louis if it comes down to a confrontation with this guy?"

"Assuming he doesn't get the drop on us, yeah."

It was scary just how possible that seemed now. The leaders of half the city's animal groups were missing, presumed dead. Without leadership, their animal groups were easy pickings for a would-be conqueror. This Chimera guy had gotten the jump on Asher's people, and he'd barely escaped with his unlife to warn us. I needed more information before I could pass on the information about Asher's Kiss to Doucette. At this point, he'd be walking in blind, and this bastard played for keeps. I wasn't angry or cruel enough to send his people in to die. Further action would probably have to wait until tonight, and that fact burned. I wanted to be out there. I wanted to kill whoever had done this. I wanted to avenge Echo's death.

"How'd she...?" I began, but couldn't finish the question. My cast-iron stomach had fled for the hills, and I was feeling queasy. I couldn't look at the gruesome details without throwing up. I'd kissed Echo. I liked her. It seemed wrong that someone so beautiful, so vibrant, so full of life was slumped naked and lifeless only a few feet away from me.

"Die?" he guessed.

"Yes."

Zerbrowski sighed. "Don't do this to yourself, Anita. I knew better than to bring you in here to look at the bodies. It was bad enough I had to see it. I shouldn't have exposed you."

"Don't be coy now," I said, and could taste the bitterness in the words. "I've pretty much seen everything else."

He flinched. "It's bad, Anita."

"It's horrific, but I still need to know."

Zerbrowski stalled, shuffling through the pages of his notebook as though he'd lost his place. I waited, throat tight, eyes burning with the effort it took not to cry. I wasn't going to go to pieces in front of the detectives and beat cops.

"Evisceration," he said at last. "When they were through with the torture and God knows what else, they cut her open and let the organs spill out. They forced the wound to stay open with some kind of silver contraption. The medical examiner said she was probably alive like that for a few hours before blood loss or shock finally killed her."

Hours. They'd made Narcissa watch Echo die over the course of a few hours. They'd cut her off from the vampire who could have helped her and then tortured the woman she loved to death right in front of her. This was a lot more personal than any of the other abductions or killings. Someone had an ax to grind with the Oba of the St. Louis werehyena. I just couldn't think of who she'd pissed off. The last time she'd been in a serious fight with someone she'd been battling Kinsey, the animal to call of one of our vamps. We'd killed them both, so this couldn't be their vengeance but...

My eyes widened. Padma. Padma had left St. Louis last August without his son or any of his lackeys. We'd humiliated him and forced him to abandon his son to Warrick's incendiary mercies. And if this Chimera guy was a wereanimal, he could theoretically be controlled by a Council-level vampire. It didn't seem like a stretch to think that Belle and Padma could be working together to eliminate us. We'd snubbed them both. The problem was, I couldn't reveal details to Zerbrowski without risking his life and career. We kept vanilla humans out of the politics as much as possible for a reason. I needed to speak to Jeanette when she woke for the night and see if my theory held any water.

The smell in the room was growing worse and my ears were beginning to ring. I swayed on my feet and nearly fell face-first onto the blood-slicked floor.

"You going to be okay?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I think I'm gonna..."

I ran. I ran as fast as my bootied feet would take me and still barely made it out in time. I burst out onto the front steps and was noisily sick.

Two council members. Dozens of dead and missing wereanimals. A badly injured Asher.

"And a partridge in a fucking blood-soaked pear tree," I muttered under my breath.

Chapter Text

"Does he have to look like that?" Jamil asked, gaze darting to the shadowy corner of the living room. All the windows in the room were closed, plunging its inhabitant into darkness.

He'd done an admirable job of covering it, but I could tell he was a little green underneath the would-be calm facade. I couldn't even blame him for it. The last time he'd been exposed to a corruptor he'd begun rotting from the inside out. If I hadn't been there to help him purge the necrotizing flesh with magic, he'd have been a meal for Morte D'Amour.

The thought made me cringe. There wasn't a label for what Jamil and I were to each other. Lovers was probably the closest I'd get. We had mind-blowing sex at least twice a week, but we weren't as serious as some of my other relationships. He wasn't my boyfriend, but he was definitely more than a friend. Jeanette would probably have teased me about my incessant need to slap labels on my relationships. I just knew that Jamil was important. Not just because he was my wolf to call and a third of my triumvirate of power. Because of who he was. Because the thought of him rotting in the ground made me want to howl and smash things into powder.

When I slid my hand into Jamil's he gave it an absent squeeze, as if the offer of comfort was the most natural thing in the world. Things with Jamil were...well, easy and I didn't want to fuck it up by picking at things until they broke.

In the darkness, something squelched. My less-than-stellar human vision couldn't pick out the finer details, but from the thick sound of Jamil's swallow, he wasn't having the same problem. I could guess what I'd see. A rotting corpse oozing green sludge, or something equally as grotesque. The corruptor line that spawned from the Lover of Death was damn near indestructible, even able to go out in sunlight if the occasion called for it. Sunlight showed them for what they were, though. Necrotic flesh and oozing fluids. Warrick was a sweetheart, as far as vampires went, and I was silently grateful I hadn't gotten an eyeful of him at the moment.

"Unfortunately, yes," Georgia said, laying her head gingerly on her crossed arms. Dark circles were smudged like charcoal beneath her eyes, so pronounced that they looked painful. The nightmares must have been getting worse for her too. "The vampires of Morte D'Amour look like this during daylight. It's just fortunate that there's a member of Jeanette's Kiss that can communicate when the sun is out."

"Is it...uncomfortable?" Jamil asked.

"No, my Lord protects me, and my Angel takes all pains of the flesh away with her touch."

It was hard to tell at this angle, but I thought her cheeks had gone pink. She ducked her chin when I echoed, "Angel? Does someone have a pet name?"

"I've tried to tell him not to use that, but he doesn't listen. He seems to think that I am some...what would you say? Some big damn hero?"

"You are," I said.

Georgia lifted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Not you too. I'm tired and I don't have it in me to be patronized today."

"I mean only a big damn hero whips out an attack elephant to stop the bad guys. The last guy who got famous for weaponized pachyderms was bitch slapping the Romans," I said. "And you're a more powerful necromancer than I am."

"No," she said quietly. "I'm not. Your abilities have been growing steadily while mine have plateaued. You were going to catch up to me eventually, but Jeanette's power has expedited things. I watched you animate before New Mexico, and it was nothing to how you animate now."

I frowned. "I haven't noticed a difference."

"Of course you haven't. The improvements have been gradual. It's just more obvious to me after your long absence. I think it was breaking the seal that did it."

I sat with that thought, trying to parse exactly what I felt about that. On the one hand, it explained why the Mother of All Darkness was targeting me now. She'd set her sights on the most powerful vessel she could get. The person currently occupying it was of little consequence, since she'd be obliterating their consciousness when she took over. I didn't enjoy the thought a primordial goddess of the night was coming for my meat suit. On the other hand, it meant said goddess wasn't harassing my friend.

I finally settled on a blase, "Well, that's nifty."

Jamil choked on a laugh. "Nifty. That's one way to put it."

"Do you mind telling us why you asked us to come here?" she asked. "Bert overbooked me, so I'm currently running on three hours of sleep."

I winced in sympathy. I'd been in her shoes before. Bert would have been perfectly at home in the Gilded Age, where unprecedented wealth put you above the law. I knew he chafed against restraints like workers' rights and common courtesy. He'd turn Animator's Inc. into the company store if federal law allowed it.

"I think I might have an idea of who our mysterious attacker is."

That succeeded in attracting their attention. Georgia sat up a little straighter, and Jamil turned to give me very intense eye contact. Though I couldn't see much beyond a blurry outline of Warrick (thank God) I had the sense that his interest had sharpened.

"You do?" Jamil asked, and his tone was almost accusatory. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Because I just left the last crime scene a few hours ago. It was bad enough I had to shower afterward. I don't like trailing the blood of people I know onto my carpets. The brutality on display isn't just an intimidation tactic. I'm pretty sure that it's personal. Narcissa was hit harder than anyone, and they made sure to torture her people in front of her before dragging her off. There are only a few people I can think of that would hate her that much."

It took him a moment to get it, and once he had, the faintly green tinge returned. Jamil might have looked like an empty-headed jock to anyone who didn't know him, but there was a keen intellect hiding behind those killer hazel eyes. It didn't take him long to put the pieces together and come up with the same answer I had.

"It's someone on the Council. She helped during our standoff with the Vampire Council last August."

"I think it's actually two people on the Council. Padma and Belle Morte. I'm not sure if they planned it together or if this is just shit timing, but if I'm right there's a representative for both in town, and they're trying to create division in Jeanette's ranks. Padma has sent this Chimera guy in to prey on her supporters while Belle's agent goes for Jeanette indirectly through me. And if that weren't enough, I'm sure when they're through pitting the wereanimals against each other they'd implicate the St. Louis Kiss."

I told them everything I'd learned up to the point, starting with the identity of my mystery stalker and the attempted rape in the hospital. I glossed over the details of how I'd gotten the fourth mark, heat stinging its way up the back of my neck at the memory of just how erotic it had been. Jamil would sense the upswing in my libido and guess the details, but there was no way I was recounting the magical threesome to my demisexual friend.

I rounded out the explanation with the cliff notes version of what I'd seen in the most recent scene. I wasn't supposed to be sharing details of an ongoing investigation with civilians, but in this case, I didn't have many choices. I couldn't let Zerbrowski in on this one. If he went up against the Vampire Council, even in ignorance, the best outcome he could hope for was a swift death. If he was unlucky, they could make his life hell for a literal eternity.

When I'd finished there was a beat of silence. Then Jamil growled, a warning note that quivered in the air and made my rational mind want to flee in terror.

"Callahan tried to rape you?" he demanded. "Why didn't you tell me? And why the fuck didn't you tell me someone had challenged you in the first place?"

I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. "It was pard business, which meant only I could take care of it. If I let you bulldoze your way into pard politics then I'm essentially making them a vassal nation to your pack. That was Marcus' dream, not yours. Unless I'm wrong about that?"

Jamil's stare was hot enough to scorch. "You know damn well I'm not like that."

"Then treat me like a big girl and another group leader who can handle herself in a tight spot. I trust you with a lot of aspects of my life, Jamil, but this is one you can't touch."

Jamil tore his gaze away, grinding his teeth in frustration. I was right and we both knew it. Georgia made a soft sound of understanding and gave me very wide eyes.

"You brought me here because you're worried I might be targeted," she said quietly.

"Yeah. See above for your big damn hero moment. You almost delivered a literal curmb stomp to one of the youngest members of the Council. You called out his claims of godhood in front of all his enemies, and then you cost him his son. I'm stunned that he hasn't sent this Chimera figure to your door before now."

"I will melt the flesh off this patchwork monster if he comes within even a mile of my Angel."

Warrick's voice floated out of the darkness, eerily sibilant after the meekness of Georgia's silent horror. He said it calmly, with no hesitation or malice, which was a hell of a lot scarier than if he'd shouted. It was a statement of purpose, as implacable as if the order had been handed down by God himself.

He could do it. I'd seen his power in action. Chimera would only have an instant to suffer before the heat of Warrick's power extinguished his life like a candle snuffer. No wonder Padma was using Chimera as a catspaw. He was terrified of meeting the same fate.

I realized with mounting dread that we'd made ourselves juicy targets for the biggest actors in the supernatural scene. Powerful people never reacted well to being scared. We'd managed to kill or defeat the proxies sent by the Council. Georgia had set an African Bush elephant on one of their peers. I'd cast out the consciousness of the Lover of fucking Death by creating a second, unheard-of triumvirate of power. Warrick had killed Padma's only son. We hadn't just beaten them at their own game, we'd forced them to take a painful loss.

Jeanette was getting too powerful for their liking. This wasn't just about settling a few personal scores. It was about putting us back in our place. We frightened them, and that gave me an odd sense of hope for the future. If those old vultures were wetting their collective pants over us, we had to be better off than I thought.

"Keep the fire in check for now, Sparky," I drawled. "I want every leader left brought back to the Circus of the Damned. We'll all be living in the Underground until this Chimera guy is dealt with. Malcolm and his people too, if they'll come. Bring Georgia, and someone should get a heads-up to Paris and Cherry. They could be targeted again."

"Paris is fine," Jamil said. "I kept in contact after what happened at the Circus. She's safe with the Master of Las Vegas. She's a mob mistress now. She has to share Max with Chang Bibi, but she's doing well for herself. And you better believe she's being guarded by capable muscle. We don't need to worry about her. Cherry is at work at the moment. I called the Burgess-Price building last night and she answered, so she's still living."

I reached up to run my fingers through Jamil's hair. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed when I traced my nails over his scalp. The hair was getting longer, but it was still far from the box braids he'd sported when we first met. Belle's torturer, a little Barbie-like monster named Musette, had scalped him last August. The short hair bothered me. Not just because I preferred longer styles, but because it was a reminder of how much suffering I hadn't saved him from. If I'd been at the Circus when the Council turned up, I could have prevented the rape of Paris and Cherry. I could have stopped that bitch from carving up my lover. I could have...

Well, I could have died for raising a hand to them, so it was better I hadn't been present. Still, the reminder haunted me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"For what?"

"For caring about the little people. So many leaders don't bother with them. They're just the nameless, faceless base of their power and nothing more."

"I don't have a pack without my people."

I leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I know. And that sort of thinking is why you're one of my favorites."

His smile was a bemused twist of lips. He looked amused by what obviously sounded like word salad to him. It was the happiest I'd seen him in days. I wanted to kiss him properly, but I wasn't going to tempt fate. There was no guarantee we'd stop there if we got going.

"Thanks?"

I took a deep breath and fought the desire to blush. It was time to change the subject before things got maudlin.

"We're going to make everyone as safe as we can before we go on the offensive. I want Warrick to deal with this Requiem guy. He's one of Belle's favorites and he has a power similar to the ardeur. He was sent to steal me from Jeanette. I'm trusting that to you, Georgia. I think taking down this Chimera guy will need my skill set, not yours."

Georgia swallowed thickly. She was hell on wheels when it came to research, but she wasn't much use during a pitched physical struggle. Her ASD meant she experienced it all in excruciating sound and color. For some reason, she felt guilty about that, as though her failure to overcome biological limitations made her less than. I wouldn't have been keen on jumping onto a noisy battlefield in her position. No one wanted to experience horror in IMAX 3-D.

"We can do that. Is there anything else we can do to help?"

"Yeah, there is actually," I said, an idea congealing in my mind. The phantom of Dolph was right about one thing. Jade alone couldn't break every seal. She needed help, and I might have found the perfect volunteer.

So I told them about Jade, excluding the private moments. I kept darting nervous glances around the house as though a member of the Harlequin was going to melt out of the walls behind me. I didn't like mentioning Jade in mixed company. There were ears for hire everywhere.

By the time I'd finished, her eyes were bright. For the first time since I'd met her, she was yearning toward the supernatural problem instead of away. All it took was the potential application of forensic anthropology. Face down a ballroom full of fighting shifters? Nah. Exploring booby-trapped ruins in a desperate power arms race with the primordial goddess of the night? She was thrilled. Yeah, her and Indiana Jones. I was going to have to buy her a whip.

"I'll do it."

"You'll probably be attacked by Marmee Noir once her guards figure out what you three are up to."

Georgia shrugged. "They're going to come for me either way. At least this way I feel like I've earned it."

Hard to fault her logic. I reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Her hands felt clammy, but they didn't tremble in mine.

"You sure?"

"Very."

I smiled and ruffled her hair, ignoring her token protest.

"Look who's the big damn hero now," I teased.

Chapter Text

Wretched was the first word that sprang to mind when I laid eyes on Amber Sanford. Gone was the poised, confident lioness I'd met in my office. This woman was the picture of abject misery, body bowed with preemptive grief. Her hair fell around her face in lank tangles. She'd forgone makeup, leaving every line on her face visible. The bruise-like circles beneath their eyes were so deep that they collected shadows. She hadn't touched the coffee she'd ordered Arnet to make for her. She just kept staring down into the cup as though it held the answer to all the world's questions.

She was seated at the table in the Circus Underground's makeshift break room, away from the prying eyes of the other shifters. It wouldn't do to show weakness at this critical time. Even heartbroken Amber was still politically savvy. She knew when not to step into a tense situation. It made her a hell of a lot better at the rigamarole than I was.

Arnet and Orlando King hovered near her like distressed guardian angels, offering whatever they thought would placate her. It didn't seem to be helping much. Amber remained dejected, despite their efforts.

"Why did you drag her to the Circus?" Orlando asked reproachfully. "She's not well. She'd be better off at home."

"I'd rather see her unwell than dead," I said.

Arnet leaned forward, eyes narrowing to slits. "You figured out who the culprit is, didn't you? Are they targeting the Pride specifically?"

This was where things got tricky. I couldn't tell them my full theory while we stayed at the Circus. I trusted Arnet not to spill my secrets to the first spy who asked, but she was still fairly new at this game. I wasn't confident she'd recognize a traitor in our midst until it was too late. The less anyone outside of my circle knew about this, the better. Jeanette was sure that at least one of her vampires was a spy for Belle Morte. At least a few more would be the eyes and ears of the Harlequin that had no doubt infiltrated our ranks. So I told her a half-truth.

"It's a possibility. We know that the person behind all the attacks has a vested interest in pitting us against each other. We believe the divide-and-conquer strategy is how he manages to usurp these animal groups. He's probably a panwere since he's targeting more than one species. I think it's safe to assume he holds a strain of whichever groups he's currently attacking."

"So Joseph is probably dead," Amber whispered, her voice as hollow as the echo from a tomb. "That's how you move to the top of a hierarchy, after all. You take out the leader and install a new regime."

She wasn't wrong, but that nihilistic line of thinking would drive us all to drink.

"Let's just assume he's alive until we have proof to the contrary."

The hopeful sentiment felt alien on my tongue. I wasn't used to being the morale officer of the group. That usually went to the eager-to-please Nathaniel. My delivery might have sounded stilted as a result.

Amber dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her Angora sweater. She didn't contradict me but the weight of her silence spoke volumes. She was already a woman in mourning.

Orlando patted her shoulder awkwardly and resumed the stoic silence he'd displayed on the ride over. Every once in a while I'd catch him mapping his surroundings with the keen eyes of a predator. He took note of entrances, exits, and branching hallways in the sort of detail I usually only saw in ex-military types. He had to be one hell of a guard. Arnet had actual police training and she wasn't half as alert as this guy.

"We'll find him," Arnet said. "Anita said she'd help us and I trust her to follow through."

I took a sip from my mug to conceal the surprise that flickered across my face. Yes, Arnet and I had mostly buried the hatchet these days, but we weren't bosom pals. We respected the other's skill set and eyed each other with wary mistrust most of the time. When had I crossed the threshold from unlikely ally to someone she put a grudging amount of faith in?

"She's right," I said when I found my voice again. "I'm going to find this guy and shove my foot so far up his ass that they'll find tread marks on his uvula. I'll do my best to bring him back to you."

Orlando's face did something odd when Arnet let out a strained laugh in reply. His lips curled up in apparent amusement. Unless you were paying attention, you wouldn't have caught the spasmodic twitch beneath his eye that gave away the truth. Something I'd said had pissed him off. No, pissed was putting it mildly. The rage that billowed off of him was so intense that it made my stomach clench in primitive, instinctive hunger. I could take that furious heat into myself and stoke my power that much higher. It wouldn't even need intimacy, like the ardeur. Just a touch and all that energy was mine for the taking.

I turned away from Orlando with effort. I wasn't sure what the expression on my face was, but it wasn't something I wanted Amber to see. I'd failed her husband. Preying on a friend of the family was a very poor way to rectify the situation.

"Don't try," Orlando said. "Just do your damn job and save him."

"I'll do everything in my power. That's all I can promise. Elinore will get everyone settled in their rooms. I'll call and inform you if I have any further updates."

"Wait, you're just going to leave?" Amber sniffled when I turned for the door.

"If you want me to find him, I need to go. I have to meet Meng-Die, Jeanette, and Larry at the clinic. Asher turned up half-dead last night, barely escaping his city with his life. Lilian has been looking after him during the daylight hours. The sun should be going down soon and he should have recovered enough to give us a description of the man they're calling Chimera. We can distribute a police sketch and get a positive ID for this son of a bitch."

"Asher? You knew someone who'd come forward about the crimes and didn't tell any of us? You didn't think that speck of hope could have done people some good?" Orlando asked and gave Amber a significant look.

"I'm not a mind-reader, King. Asher wasn't in any shape to tell us much. I don't know just how helpful his testimony will be. I'm all for giving people hope, but I'd like to make sure it's not premature. I'll contact you if something relevant comes up. Until then sit tight."

"Thank you," Amber said thickly.

I craned my neck and gave Orlando King a warning look. "Take care of her."

A bright, incongruent smile lit his face for a moment. His eyes twinkled, tickled pink by something I'd said. I wasn't sure what he found so damn funny.

"I plan to, Miss Blake."

Chapter Text

"Don't stare at him when he wakes up. He hates that."

Larry startled, turning away from Asher's prone body as though he'd been caught in a mortifying faux pas.

"I wasn't starting," Larry began.

"Yes, you were."

Larry's shoulders slumped. "Okay, yeah I was, but not for the reasons you think."

I didn't think the reasons would matter to Asher. He had a complex about his looks, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Disfigurement took a toll on the psyche all by itself. When compounded by several lifetimes steeped in Belle's ideas about the worth of beauty it was enough to fuel a small army of neuroses.

The burns that Valentine gave me weren't as deep or widespread and they had still fucked with my head. And I only had a quarter century of social programming to unpack. He had over seven hundred. Julian's acceptance had helped but he was far from cured.

I grimaced. I'd been trying very hard not to think about Julian since Asher's grim pronouncement. My imagination would helpfully supply mental illustrations of possible torture methods, and I couldn't afford the panic attack that would follow.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who you asked, this day had been hellish enough to keep my mind off the worst-case scenario. We were winding down toward the evening and no new catastrophe had presented itself, and the tension pulled my muscles as taut as harp strings. Julian couldn't die without my permission but he could be tortured into insanity.

"Fine, I'll bite. Why were you staring ?" I asked, taking a slurp of the bitter instant coffee that I'd snatched from the break room. I wasn't really thirsty, but it gave me something to do with my hands other than fondling the Browning.

Larry scuffed his shoe on the tile. Between the red hair and aww-shucks demeanor he reminded me of an overgrown Raggedy Andy.

"It's probably stupid."

"Tell me anyway."

Anything to keep my mind off the grotesque scene at Sublime. It was only too easy to slot members of Asher's Kiss in the places of the dead shifters.

Larry chewed his lip. "Do you remember the featured article in the October issue of The Animator?"

"I was working in Santa Fe part-time in October."

It was only half true. Everything else I'd been up to at that time was confidential. Van Cleef's network, like most shady underworld organizations, had a strict no-snitching policy. Larry knew more about the scary side of my life than most, but he wasn't ready for the enormity of what I'd been suckered into. God willing, he'd never have to know.

"Oh, um, alright," Larry said, thrown off guard. "I guess it didn't switch over to the new address. "

"I guess not," I agreed, ready to put the subject of New Mexico to rest.

"Well, there's an Animator out of Austin, Texas who's working with scientists to create a new field of medicine. We assume the vampire body works a lot like ours, but it doesn't. Medicine hasn't caught up with Addison v. Clark yet. They were testing the efficacy of skin grafts on faith-based wounds. It didn't completely take. But I think the theory they outline had merit, but the volunteer animator wasn't powerful enough."

I blinked slowly. "Are you saying you think I could cure Asher?"

"Cure, no. Diminish, yes. I think you could smooth most of the damage on the face, and reduce the stuff on his chest."

"Send me the article."

I couldn't let myself get too excited about the possibility of reshaping Asher's face. We had to survive Padma, Belle, and this Chimera guy first.

"Sure," he agreed easily. Then his brow puckered, and he frowned. "This is going to be another one of those cases that I'm going to have to forget to file paperwork on, isn't it?"

I ducked my head. I didn't want him to see how much the reminder hurt. I'd never intended to become a dirty cop. Then again, who did? Every villain had a backstory. A very rational list of why what they'd done was moral, if you squinted hard. I'd become the Executioner to help people and paved a road to hell with my best intentions. And now I was dragging good agents into the car with me, pouring on the gas as we hurtled toward the inferno.

"Probably."

"Shit," he said, putting real feeling behind the word. He ran a hand through his hair. It was so tousled by now that he looked like an irate hedgehog. "I hate lying to Zerbrowski."

So did I. I hated the idea that the open cases haunted his nightmares. He deserved to know that the skinwalker we'd hunted was never coming back. He deserved to know what had happened to Dominga and Harold Gaynor. He deserved to know the truth about Warrick and Yvette. And I couldn't tell him without painting a target on his back.

Larry sipped his coffee a little too loud to fill the dour silence. I did the same. If I strained I could hear Doc Lilian speaking with Jeanette and Meng Die in her office. We'd been left to stand vigil at Asher's bedside. He was still bruised, but at least he no longer looked like a corpse.

"Anita..." Larry began.

"Don't," I said. "Don't try to make me feel better about this. We're keeping things from the police and the public. It's a sucky thing to do. It should feel bad."

"I think you take too much blame as it is. You own things that aren't even yours to own. It is what it is. Let it go before you drive yourself nuts."

I tried to make a noncommittal sound, but it came out as more of a snort. "You say that like I wasn't nuts already."

That earned me a laugh. Larry opened his mouth like he might reply, but closed it when Doc Lilian swept in, trailed closely by the pair of vampires. Jeanette looked want, face drawn with worry. Meng Die looked somber, rather than superior, which was something of an improvement over her usual demeanor. I didn't overlook their linked hands but decided to shelve it as unimportant for now. I could perform an emotional autopsy of the scene when our asses were out of the fire.

"What's the verdict?" I asked.

Doc Lilian fiddled with one of the machines at Asher's bedside. "I'm willing to give him good odds on physically surviving this, but his psyche might be another thing entirely. He's slipping in and out of lucidity. I had to sedate him after he tried to bite three of my staff."

My stomach performed a nauseating roll. It was a miracle that I hadn't killed him as I fed. "Do you have any idea what causes it?"

"Belle Morte," Jeanette spat. "It was her doing."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"As I can be. I found Musettes's scent on his clothing."

"And the wound pattern was similar to one of her routine torture methods," Meng Die added.

Her expression was tight with the effort it took to keep her tone matter of fact. I knew in that instant that Meng Die had run afoul of Belle at some point. Funny, but I'd always pictured her as a villain, never as someone who'd likely been victimized.

"So what do we think happened?" I asked.

"I can't be sure," Doc Lilian said. "He wasn't speaking English or Spanish most of the time, so I could only make out a few words now and then. Until I started this job Moulin Rouge was my only exposure to the French Language. As you can imagine 'voulez vous coucher avec moi' doesn't come up much in private practice."

No one laughed. Tough room. Doc Lilian took it in stride and continued, "He's nearly physically healed, but I'm easing up on the sedation slowly. Whatever mental suffering he endured seems to be somehow impacting the healing he's doing. Even with all the damage, he shouldn't have taken this long to recover. The brain has a part in healing. I've seen depressed humans heal slower than neurotypical ones. I'm hoping that he's recovered enough to hold onto reason. I have to transfuse specially bagged blood laced with the stuff, and as you can imagine, I don't have a stockpile of it. Most people won't donate to save their fellow human beings, let alone be shot up with chemicals to donate to a vampire."

I could think of a lot of things that would send Asher into a severe psychotic break, and none of them were pleasant. Jeanette looked faintly ill, chewing on the prospect as well. It tasted rotten.

"Is there anything metaphysical that could be affecting the healing?" Larry asked.

Doc Lilian raised a brow. "Do you think some psychic is interfering?"

"Not necessarily a psychic," Larry said. "I was thinking maybe another vampire could have done it. A long time ago Anita told Dolph that the department psychics above a certain power level needed to be cautious with dealing vampires over a few centuries old. Anita said that vampires could turn someone's aura against them, causing them physical harm. That it was something vampires normally did to each other, but could technically do to any human powerful enough."

Jeanette reached out absently and pushed a curl away from my throat. Her fingers grazed the puckered scar above my collarbone before dropping away. She did that sometimes, tracing the keeled scale pattern that bisected my throat with horrified fascination. We both knew that powerful vampires could use that trick on me. Belle Morte had cut my throat from halfway across the globe. She hadn't even done it to punish Jeanette. She'd been pissed at Melanie at the time and acting in a childish fit of pique. She'd nearly killed me over a tantrum.

Doc Lilian considered that. "You think that it's...what? Some kind of psychic block preventing full recovery?"

Larry shrugged. "I couldn't say without more investigation. Science is still trying to catch up to non-human psychic abilities. I know there was this one guy in Montana who convinced a town of two hundred he was the second coming of Jesus Christ. The demon he'd contacted could keep his body going despite the blood constantly gushing from the stigmata. There was very little sign of infection, but his mental faculties were just plain gone. He wouldn't answer anything but the demon's name."

"And what happened after they found someone to exorcise him?"

Larry's face fell. "He...uh...well, he suffered a massive hemorrhage and died shortly after."

"So I'm going to need to scan him for psychic bombs and hope one of them doesn't go kablooey and kill him the second I set foot in the metaphorical door?" I asked.

"No pressure," he said, offering me an anemic smile.

"I should be the one to examine him," Jeanette said. "He is the Master of a City under my purview, it's my duty-"

"You're not touching him," I said curtly. "Belle sent her Girl Friday to Missouri for a reason. This is about you. The targets she's gone after are designed to hurt you. Letting you anywhere near him is tempting fate."

"But-"

"No buts," I said. "You're already pushing it by being in the room. Ideally, you'd be out of the building before someone tries to search him for any metaphysical booby traps."

"You are my servant. What makes you think your involvement is any safer?"

I cracked my knuckles, striding toward the bed. "It's not, but I'm the only one within a few states who has any prayer of pulling him back from this. You need serious ability with the dead to even resist being sucked in by vampire mind powers, let alone to turn them back on the vampire using them. I trust you to keep the rest of our people alive if something happens to me."

Larry looked alarmed. "You really think she'll kill you? Isn't this Belle Morte lady kind of a public figure? Jeanette is pretty famous. If it gets out she could be in serious trouble."

I almost laughed. The thought of Belle Morte taking responsibility for even one of the nasty, vindictive things she'd do in defense of her pride would be the real miracle. Larry had been with me during some of the more memorable run-ins with the dark side of my job, but he still wasn't in the know. It was easy to forget that he'd never encountered the Belle we were so familiar with.

"Let's just say I'd rather be prepared in case she's that unreasonable," I lied. "Would you mind making sure Jeanette doesn't try to get back in the room? I really don't want her in here."

Jeanette made a noise of protest but didn't struggle when Meng Die turned on a heel and stalked out, guiding her from the room with their joined hands. It reminded me comically of a stone-faced mother leading away a resistant toddler.

"I think Doc Lilian should do it. I think I'm of better use if I lend my power to you for this. You can act as a focus, right? I'd be extra juice, just in case you need it."

I chewed my lip. My gut instinct was to send him out of the room with Jeanette and forbid him from coming back until it was over. We were only a few years apart in age but in so many ways he was innocent of my world. If I dragged him into a mindscape crafted by Belle Morte, he'd realize how far down the rabbit hole went. He was happier living on the surface with his shiny new marriage and kid on the way. But going in with only the power I had on hand was a risk. I couldn't be sure I could outmuscle her in the psychic sense, even with Asher's mind cooperating in the effort to expel her.

I needed his help, and I hated that.

"Fine," I said after a second. "You can help. But if I tell you to bail, you bail. Got it?"

"Got it."

I knew that was a lie. Larry couldn't back down from what he was right any more than he could stop his own heart.

Larry offered me his hand. Power crackled between us, an animating spark fizzling into being when our auras brushed together. It was a lot like scuffing your socks across the carpet to build up a charge. We were more powerful together than we were apart. If John or Georgia were here I'd have felt more sanguine about it. I knew they'd actually listen to me and break away when things got too dangerous.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be."

Chapter Text

Larry's grip on my wrist was the only thing that kept me from tumbling over a marble balcony to land on the sprawling mosaic floors below. It was hard to tell what the art was depicting from this angle. The blood rushing to my head didn't help much either.

The blood is not actually rushing to your head dummy. You're standing next to Asher's bed in St. Louis, not wherever the hell this place is.

But reason and logic were laughable concepts in the face of Belle Morte's power. I knew what I was experiencing was fake, but it didn't make the material reality of it feel any less real to my imagination. Scientists hypothesized that vampire powers bypassed the prefrontal cortex to reach the parts of the brain that controlled...well, pretty much everything else. If this was anything to go by, I'd say they were bang on the money.

"Son of a-" Larry swore as he was dragged forward, almost following me over the side. He reached out for something, anything to anchor himself with, and only found a thin chrome railing to cling to. His balance wavered, but he managed to catch himself before he went over the railing as well.

I clutched his hand for dear life, fighting not to squeal in surprise. I'd known I was wading into enemy territory, but I hadn't expected the assassination attempts to begin from the very start. You would have thought the seductress of mankind could work up to that kind of explosive climax instead of going for a quickie. Maybe she didn't think I merited that kind of attention. I was going to prove her wrong.

I got a better grip on Larry's arm and swung for the glossy black wall opposite me. My heels didn't have much purchase on its surface.

"Heels?" I wondered aloud. Then, "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

I glanced down and, sure enough, found someone had decided to play Barbie. I supposed I now understood where Jeanette got her theatrical tendencies. Belle Morte couldn't have just pitched me into danger and been done with it. No, she had to put me in freaking lingerie when she did it. Live fast and become a pretty corpse. That was her philosophy.

"What the hell is this material?" Larry asked, eyeing the silky sleeve of the lingerie, rather than getting an eyeful of my cleavage. That was Larry, respectful of his commitment to his wife, even in someone else's daydream. I was grateful for the consideration too. I hadn't shown this much skin to anyone I wasn't sleeping with in a while.

"Silk or satin, maybe," I grumbled. "Jeanette could tell you. All I know is that it's slippery as hell. Shove the sleeve up, will you? If I move too much, you're going to lose your grip."

It took a tense minute of struggle to shove the material up around my elbow and begin shimmying my way up the balcony. Larry almost lost his balance twice and was breathing hard by the time my ass impacted solid ground. I crouched on the ground, arms around my stocking-clad knees, cursing Belle Morte to the deepest depths of hell.

Larry glanced around him warily, eying the soaring ceilings and the dark walls etched here and there with abstract gold leaf inlays. Most of his attention was focused on the ground far below. Color rose high in his cheeks, and he looked like a guilty schoolboy every time he failed to look away in time. I followed his gaze and understood exactly what was so engrossing.

The modern world thought it knew debauchery. You could get endless streams of pornography free of charge on the privacy of your phone. But comparing the furtive struggle to get off crouched in a dark room on your own to what we were witnessing was a lot like comparing a beginner's first shay attempt at pottery to Michelangelo's David. Belle Morte turned sex into an exquisite art piece. Some of the tableaus were macabre, but there was a kind of dark fascination to them that drew the eye.

"Where are we?" Larry asked voice strained with the effort it took not to react. I realized belatedly Belle had stripped him down to his boxers, which officially made the pair of us the most modest people in the room. "And what are we watching?"

"One of Belle's properties," I said. "I'm not sure which one, though. Jeanette says she has at least one residence in every major metropolitan area in the world. It could be a mishmash of all of them for all I know. As for that," I gestured broadly at the mass of writhing bodies. "That's what she does. Her reputation for skankiness has not been exaggerated. If anything, they were playing things down."

"Uh-huh," he said faintly.

It took me another minute to tear my gaze away from the woman at the center of the room. It would have been easy to mistake her for Jeanette at first glance. Her hair gleamed like raven's feathers in the diffuse light of the chandelier and trailed to her mid-back in ringlets. She had more lush proportions, breasts full and bouncy and in perfect proportion with the curve of her waist. She'd slung her long, graceful legs over Asher's waist and was riding him in a frantic rhythm, head thrown back in ecstasy. So that was how she was maintaining this block, despite his blood oath to Jeanette. It was a literal mind fuck.

It was also rape, no matter how many times she'd made him finish inside her. Asher cringed at the very thought of answering to her when we last met. He wouldn't be doing this of his own will. Musette probably performed the physical act, but the culprit was the same. She'd forced herself on someone I cared about.

"We need to get down there," I said.

Larry turned toward me, eyes wide. "You've got to be kidding me! Do you feel what's coming off that crowd down there?"

Yeah, I did. It made the ardeur writhe with desire, despite having been recently fed. I could stay in this room and drink my fill of lust without ever touching another human being. Getting involved would be a feeding so deep that I might never surface from it. I could drown in hands and bodies and just let myself feel for a while.

And while I was being passed around like a bong at a frat party, Belle Morte would cement her hold on Asher and probably kill me into the bargain. The fourth mark sealed her out of my head permanently, but he was blood of her blood and had no tie to me whatsoever. But if I got close enough, I could act as a conduit to Jeanette, with whom he had a superseding bond.

It wasn't a great plan, but it was the only thing I had. The only other option was to do nothing and let Belle keep Asher to herself. I wouldn't have opted for that even if Asher and I had remained enemies. There were some things you didn't do, even to the people you hated, and giving him over to Belle's 'justice' was one of them.

"The lust is how she's controlling him. It's bred into her line, even if they don't have the gifts to manipulate it themselves. He had to find another powerful vampire of her line to have a chance of breaking her hold on him."

That was why he'd come to us, I realized. To Jeanette or I, who could anchor him with our ardeur. Except I hadn't done it. I hadn't been in my right mind and wouldn't have been sure how to break him free, even if I had been. He'd passed out before he could ask for our help. The only reason she hadn't literally fucked him to death from a distance was the energy we'd fed him in the bathtub.

It also made me love him, just a little. He could have had me without asking for permission. I wouldn't have faulted him for it. He needed me to do it. But he'd still asked. Still checked with me to see if it was okay. Despite any rough playacting we did in a dungeon, he cared about my consent.

"We have to get him out from under her, or this has all been for nothing. Just ignore what you're seeing. She's a succubus, which means neither of us are seeing her true form right now. Let me guess, the woman on top of Asher looks like Tammy to you."

Larry cast a guilty look at me. "How'd you know?"

"Because I see Jeanette, for the most part, with little parts of other people I love incorporated into the illusion. It's whatever you find most alluring. I'm not seeing your wife naked, trust me."

He let out a huff of breath and averted his eyes. He was almost as red as his hair now. "Oh, good."

"Don't get me wrong, I know Tammy probably looks good naked, but she's not my type."

Larry scrubbed his face and groaned. "I thought this mission was going to be more James Bond, less Game of Thrones. How many people are between us and them, do you think?"

"Hundreds," I said without needing to crane my neck.

"You think?"

"Jeanette says that every single property she owns has a skeleton crew of at least a hundred people, human and vampire, on staff. A few hundred more human beings are kept on hand for food, not to mention any animal groups in the territory that owe her allegiance. They'll hand over anyone she takes a fancy to. And if this is her territory in New York, there could easily be a thousand avatars of the people there."

"How do you know all this?" he asked.

Because Jeanette had painted nightmarish pictures of what went on during her time with Belle. There were nights when her memories were so strong they bled into my sleep. She began telling me the stories while I was awake so I didn't experience them firsthand in dreams. I'd been the point of view character in my own rape, so I didn't need to relieve the many instances she'd been through it too.

"Jeanette."

"Ah." He glanced back at Belle and swallowed thickly. His eyes were too wide, the black spreading out to eclipse the blue of his iris. He was fading fast. If I wasn't careful, he'd get snared by the come-hither and I'd have two people to rescue.

"You can go back if this is too much," I said.

He shook his head. "I'm here to help you. Just...um...don't tell Tammy what I'm seeing here, okay? I don't usually go in for those kinds of films and this makes a regular porno look more like a kiddy school play."

I knew exactly what he meant. Belle Morte was the closest any of the Council came to being a pure concept. She was lust personified, desire cloaked in intrigue, and drenched in power. Any one of the sexual acts on display deserved its own spread in a magazine. Even porn addicts would accuse this scene of obscenity.

It took longer than I wanted to will an image of my Browning into my hand. Changing the material reality of another psychic's illusion was a lot like trying to construct a homemade weapon out of parts I had on hand in the real world. Meaning it was smaller than I liked, and I knew that I only had one round in the chamber. I had to make the shot count.

The steps were difficult to navigate. Servants had paired off in twos and threes and arranged themselves in various positions, heedless of comfort. We passed a woman bent over the banister, wailing as she was pounded mercilessly from behind. With the way her legs were shaking, I was guessing she was in the grips of a brain-melting orgasm. Most people we passed were. The range of O faces I saw would have been funny in any other circumstance, but I understood the significance even if Larry didn't. Asher might not have been here in the flesh, but this orgy was going on somewhere in the world. Belle was using it to hold Asher hostage, snaring his mind until he either rejoined her Kiss or she killed him.

No one reacted as we passed by. A few of them seemed to sense us, but most were too occupied with whatever they were doing to pay much attention. We managed to get through the crowd without being molested, which I counted as a minor miracle.

So of course, the situation turned on a dime the second that I thought I'd grasped what was going on. I was only a few feet away from Belle when she twisted like a snake, dismounting from Asher in a move I could barely track. The next instant my back hit the ground and her weight settled onto me. My clothes simply melted off, leaving me naked and vulnerable under her weight.

When I could finally breathe again, Belle Morte herself had straddled my waist and was grinding against me with maddening slowness. A sensual smile curved her lips when she leaned down to kiss me. Her breath smelled like rotting roses and blood, foul enough that it scrambled my thoughts. Just like last time, her voice was a jumbled chorus line, and my brain picked an accent at random and assigned it to her to avoid confusion. This time she had a throaty French accent, her voice too high to sound like Jeanette.

"Hello, ma petite," she purred. She managed to make the pet name sound insulting in her babyish voice. "I've been hoping we could be this close for some time now."

"Get the fuck off of me," I hissed. "This is breaking every fucking law the Council laid down."

"Only if I try to take you," she said, reaching between us. I bucked in surprise when she cupped my sex. "This is Asher's mind, and he is my creature."

"He's blood oathed to Jeanette."

Belle's gorgeous face twisted with pique and she dug the nails of one hand into my hip, drawing beads of blood. With her hands on me, I wasn't sure if the wounds were pleasant or painful.

"An oath she had no place taking," Belle said, circling my clit with the pad of her thumb idly, sending an arc of pure pleasure through my veins. I held off a noisy climax by the skin of my teeth. I was not going to collapse in a moaning heap at Asher's bedside and tell Jeanette I'd failed to save him. "He is mine. Only another sourdre de sang has the discretion to take in strays from other lines. He is mine until I tire of him. And there's nothing you can do about it, Anita Blake."

Larry came out of nowhere. One moment he was hiding out of sight, watching me struggle under the press of Belle's body. The next he was charging for her, hoisting a poker above his head like a mace, ready to bring it down on her head.

For a delusional second, I thought he'd pull it off. I thought the plucky little hero would get the drop on the villain for once and brain her one with a length of solid steel. But life wasn't a storybook and I wasn't that lucky. Belle saw him coming and acted accordingly.

She leaned over me, wrenching the Browning from my grasp with ease. She raised it, aimed, and gave Larry one brief, beatific smile before she shot him in the chest at point-blank range.

Chapter Text

I jerked awake to the sound of screams.

At first, all I could make out was the pitch of the voices, not who they belonged to. At least three different women were talking, but the intonation was the same no matter which voice was speaking. Numb shock, followed by blind panic. I'd felt that sliding scale of emotion more than once in my life. It came with the territory when you worked closely with the police. I'd seen men and women I worked with die right in front of my eyes. Friends had died in my arms.

And every time, it sounded exactly like this.

"--where's the source of this wound?" Cherry asked, cursing when a shape flopped weakly in her arms, a cry wrenched from its lips by the motion. "What the hell is going on?"

A fine frisson of fear ran over my skin, and the floating detachment I'd been clinging to slipped a little. It was never a good sign when the medical professionals had no idea what was wrong with you.

"Is Anita alright?" Jeanette asked. There was a brief scuffle and then Doc Lilian spoke. Her voice was startlingly loud, and I dimly realized her firm hands were stabilizing my spine.

"Let her come closer, Meng Die. Anita appears to be fine. I'd say she collapsed from feedback. She's fine otherwise. Mind telling me what the hell happened there? We all felt a surge of power and then-"

"Then Kirland collapsed and started hemorrhaging," Cherry said voice rising in time with her panic. "Seriously, where the fuck did the source of the wound come from? If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd been shot. The wound looks like a GSW to the chest, but we would have heard a gunshot. He just dropped. What the hell happened?"

My stomach rolled. I had just enough time to flip onto my stomach before my lunch came back up. Doc Lilian held my hair out of my face, waiting patiently until the desire to be sick devolved into pathetic, gasping dry heaves. Jeanette was speaking, but I couldn't hear what she said over the roaring in my ears.

She'd used the weapon I willed into existence to shoot my friend. It had been my will that had supplied the ammunition. Belle Morte had taken my gun and calmly killed my friend. His body just hadn't gotten the memo yet.

"No," I groaned, cringing away from the hands on my hair and back. I scuttled backward on my hands and knees and bumped into a sprawled shape. When I could force my eyes to focus, a fresh scream built in my throat.

It would have looked like a macabre art piece if I hadn't known the person in the middle of it all. Blood looked nicely dramatic contrasted with the sterile hospital white. Larry looked smaller than his already diminutive 5'3. He looked so damn young. He seemed bewildered by the pain, and I took his grasping hand in mine.

No one deserved to die alone.

"God-fucking-damn it," I whispered. "No. No, I am not fucking doing this again. You are not going to die."

I wasn't taking no for an answer this time. We were in a hospital with all the supplies necessary to treat a gunshot wound. It didn't matter that the wound had been inflicted with metaphysics, the combined force of Belle Morte's aura and the weapon I'd created meant it was as good as a real bullet. Lilian could get him into surgery in mere minutes. It wasn't a guarantee, but it would give me time. I could get enough red clay to the clinic in time to return him to his body. He wouldn't even reach rigor before he came back.

"Tammy," Larry gasped. "Oh G-God...T-Tammy. Tell Tammy-"

Blood bubbled over his lips, and his entreaty dwindled into a gurgle. My heart lurched into a gallop, pounding so hard against my ribs it hurt. Coughing blood meant Belle had hit a lung. Fuck!

"Do something!" I screamed.

I wasn't even sure who I was screaming at. Doc Lilian? She and Cherry were already moving as quickly as they could. Jeanette? She couldn't do anything for him that I couldn't, except to try to turn him. She was probably powerful enough to turn him with just one bite. But if she failed, she'd have essentially killed him, and it could earn her a death sentence. My eyes wheeled around the room, searching for any solution that wouldn't result in burying another friend.

Larry coughed wetly. His body was floppy, like a dead frog zapped with electricity. The movements were erratic and uncoordinated. His face had gotten impossibly paler, his lips turning blue as he struggled to suck in air.

The blood spreading across the floor soaked into my jeans. It was scalding. No one ever tells you how warm blood seems outside the body. I knew what came next. I'd already lived through this scene before, and I wasn't fucking willing to accept a sequel.

Dolph's lips twitched, but I'd never be sure if it'd been a smile or another apology. His face went slack, eyes sliding out of focus. His breath came out on a rattling exhale, and he went very still under my hands.

No. Larry would not die. I would not fucking allow it.

My searching gaze finally landed on the answer. Meng Die stood back from the unfolding tragedy, ready to step in if Jeanette ordered to. She looked mildly concerned, but she wasn't crowding Doc Lilian's elbows, which I was grateful for. The words came to me without conscious permission.

"You need a human servant."

Meng Die stilled for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. "That's no business of yours."

"He's the third most powerful animator in our firm. With your help, he'd be on par with my abilities before I became Jeanette's servant. And he's an FBSA agent."

In some dim corner of my brain, something stirred, protesting weakly. Why was I trying to sell him to her like a used car?

Because he'd still be here. She'd own him, but he'd be alive. I couldn't let him die. Not like this. I couldn't go through that again. I couldn't let my mess get another friend killed.

"Anita..." Jeanette began.

"Please," I said, leaning toward Meng Die. "Please. He can't die like this."

Meng Die glanced down at Larry, expression speculative. After a moment she met my eyes and inclined her head once.

"You'll owe me for this, Blake. Just know that you get to deal with the fallout, not me. I'll need to do all four to heal a wound like that."

"Do it," I said.

"Anita," Jeanette said more loudly.

I ignored her. I watched with rapt attention as Meng Die dropped to her knees beside Larry and elbowed Cherry out of the way. Doc Lilian didn't fight her when she lifted him into her lap. It wouldn't stop her and it would only hurt Larry to try. He groaned weakly when she leaned over him, hands on either side of his face.

I was a coward. I didn't watch it happen. I couldn't. I couldn't even force myself to look until his breathing evened out. The desire to be sick returned in full force after Doc Lilian pronounced him mostly healed. I managed to get into the hallway this time before I threw up.

Oh God. Oh dear fucking God. What had I just done?

Chapter Text

"Before you say anything, yes, I'm aware that I'm a hypocrite of the highest order. You can laugh at me. I deserve that."

I expected her to gloat. It was a rare thing to get this much ammunition to lob against me in a fight. I was usually better about sticking to my principles than this. But when I'd seen Larry on the ground I'd just...snapped. It hadn't just been Larry on the floor dying. It was Dolph, too. Maybe some fevered part of me thought I could somehow save them both with one last futile gesture. And I'd condemned Larry to this.

I was a monster. He was never going to forgive me. I'd bitched for months that Jeanette hadn't asked for consent when she'd placed the first two marks. It hadn't been her place, even if she had been trying to save my life. It was my life, my choice, and she'd written it off. And now I'd written Larry off. Irony really was a cruel bitch.

To my surprise, she just sighed and reached a hand out to stop me. I'd paced the small circuit around Asher's bed more times than I could count. She reeled me in despite my protest and planted me firmly in her lap. She rested her chin on my hair and hugged me close like a beloved teddy bear.

"You are in pain, ma petite. I could never laugh at that."

I let out a shaky breath. It ruffled one of her curls, and I buried my face in her shoulder, hiding the sheen of my frustrated tears.

"I really need someone to yell at me right now," I whispered. "Could you play along, please?"

She sighed. "Very well, if you insist on being scolded, I wish you wouldn't have acted so impulsively. There were possible solutions that weren't as drastic."

But none that would one hundred percent guaranteed his survival. All other avenues risked death, which was unacceptable.

But would Larry think so? Would his very Christian wife believe he still had a soul after this? Plenty of denominations believed that human servants were just as damned as their vampire masters. I might have doomed his marriage. I'd definitely trapped him in an unbreakable and eternal bond with a stranger and hadn't consulted him about it.

God, I was such a fucking hypocrite.

Asher coughed weakly. He'd started to come around not long after Larry was healed. The effort it took to attempt murder from halfway across the world had loosened her grip on Asher. Jeanette was able to anchor him firmly under her aegis once more. His broken whisper sounded too loud in the stillness of the room.

"Requiem."

I leaned away from Jeanette to get a better look at him. He was pale and sickly but still alive. Well, undead.

"What about him?"

"Ambush," Asher gritted out. "Came with Musette. Didn't realize she was in town until it was too late. Brought a fucking army with him. Snakes and leopards mostly."

I rolled my sleeve up my arm wordlessly and offered my wrist to Asher. Lilian had been forced to give me a mild sedative until I came out of the PTSD attack. I'd only been half-lucid, somehow convinced that if I saved Larry I could somehow save Dolph too. Now that reason had returned, I wanted to blip out of existence to escape the shame of what I'd done.

Asher pushed the wrist away with a shake of his head. "Need to be lucid. Can't afford to sleep until you have the details. Don't tempt me, Anita. Please."

I dropped my arm limply to the bed, taking his hand instead. He was right, of course. I still wasn't thinking clearly. He was the only person alive who could tell me about this Chimera guy. If I could get a police sketch artist here in a few hours, I might be able to get a description circulating. I'd have to come up with a whopper of a lie to tell Zerbrowski to explain all of this, but I was pretty sure he'd overlook it. At this point, any break in the case would be welcome, regardless of how shady he found the source.

"When did Requiem arrive?" Jeanette prompted.

"Two weeks ago. He came with a travel visa. Belle sent him under the pretense of having a job for him to do in the area. He calls leopards now. I didn't know that when I let him in. His servant, Micah Callahan was one of Chimera's men. I learned later his group was overpowered by Chimera during his early rise to power, and he was gifted to Requiem by his alpha. From what I can tell, Callahan hates them both, but he's powerless to stop either of them."

That made a sick amount of sense. Micah hadn't wanted to hurt me. He even seemed to enjoy our banter. He wouldn't have climbed on top of my hospital bed and forced himself onto me of his own will. The tears had been proof enough of that. I didn't want to shoot a man who'd been forced into a bond against his will.

Just like I'd done to Larry. Fuck.

I stood up, letting Asher's hand back onto the sheets. I needed to get out of this room. I had to get some air, clear my head, to think. There was a plan lurking around here somewhere. I just had to find it. I was only half-listening when Asher described what Chimera had done to his people. The details would only make me angry. Asher couldn't give us a name. He only knew the nickname and broad details about his appearance.

But I had the number of someone who knew a hell of a lot more.

"I'll be back," I muttered. "I need to do something."

I found the number folded in half and stuffed into one of the many pockets in my wallet. I smoothed it out and studied it. Merle had scrawled Micah's number onto the back of one of the jeweler's cards a while back. The handwriting was smudged now, but still legible.

"Where are you going?" Jeanette asked.

"To the waiting room. I need to make a call. I'll be right back."

The phone rang a few times before Micah picked up. There was a rustle on the other end of the line and then Micah's voice said, "Micah Callahan speaking."

"This is Anita Blake," I said. "Let's make a deal."

Chapter Text

"Yes, Merle. Stay where you are for right now," Micah said. "I don't need you back here for another hour."

Ah, so he wasn't alone. He had to be in a house full of vampires to be willing to speak in code. A vampire's hearing was only thirty percent better than human normal. They'd be able to hear him through the walls, but unless I was shouting at him, they wouldn't be able to pick out my voice on the other end. It made this negotiation difficult, but not impossible. If he'd been in proximity to another therianthrope he wouldn't have bothered.

"Can't talk, huh?"

"Something like that," he muttered. "Just get to the point, Merle. Why are you calling? Has something happened?"

"Chimera's escapee finally woke up, and Asher is telling us everything. It gave me some interesting insights about the attack at the hospital. How long have you been Reqiuem's servant?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "Just use your best judgment on that. Three will do."

"Three weeks?" I guessed.

"No."

"Three months?"

"Yes."

"He chose you because of the dick thing, right? He wanted to hurt me, and through me, Jeanette. He knew if it was rape you could do some serious damage."

"Yes," Micah said, an edge of growl to his voice. "That's exactly right."

I shuddered. What a pointless and bleak reason to have your life forever altered. At least I understood Jeanette and Meng Die's motivations for taking a servant. Vampire politics were brutal, and you needed the strongest partner you could find to survive. This...this was just awful. Chosen so that he could inflict maximum pain and suffering on the women that Requiem wanted him to rape.

"What would you say if I told you that I could kill Requiuem and keep you from going down with him?"

"That would be quite the trick," Micah said. Something creaked in the background. I could picture him sitting down, phone tucked against his shoulder for further privacy. "How do you plan to pull that off?"

"Jeanette can call multiple beasts and she hasn't bound a wereleopard yet." I was taking a risk, revealing this secret to him, but I had a feeling it would pay off. "It's not ideal. I can't give you absolute freedom, but I can make sure that Requiem's death doesn't end you as well. Jeanette is fair. She'd work with you."

"That shouldn't be possible."

"But it is. She's got a black tiger and a wolf to call already. If you're willing to turn on Chimera and Requiem, she'll take you on."

"And what should I tell the boss about this, huh?" he asked, tension creeping into his voice. I had a feeling that someone had poked their head in, watching him suspiciously. I needed to wrap this up.

"Tell them that I challenged you to a dominance fight after that stunt in the hospital. Tell them you're going to meet me at the Circus to win the leopards from me once and for all. Once you're there, we can make a plan."

"Not the Circus," he snapped, voice strained. "The Circus of the Damned is off limits."

"Why? Because it's Jeanette's base."

"No. Because he's there."

Fear clenched my stomach in an icy fist. My fingers tingled and then went numb. Words queued up inside my head but I couldn't find my lips to voice them. He's there. The words meant something, but my brain was struggling to reject it. When an incoming call beeped in my ear, I asked to put Micah on hold and took it without waiting for his answer.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded weary but a lot more sober than the last time I'd heard it. Ronnie yawned widely before mumbling a sheepish, "Sorry. I was up all night looking for more leads on this King guy. Once I got started, I didn't stop. I figured you needed to know before something nasty happened."

"Know?" I echoed. "What do I need to know?"

"Orlando King, remember? You asked me to look into his background."

I dimly recalled asking Ronnie for her help, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had happened between now and then. So much had changed. So many people had died.

"What did you learn?"

"That he's a Grade-A bastard, that's what. Did you know he used to be a poacher?"

"Amber said he just hunted big game when condoned by a local animal preserve."

"She was either lying or ignorant because he didn't stop at shooting sick and elderly rhinos. It took for fucking ever to confirm, but he appears to match the description of a man wanted for poaching in six different countries. He hunts indiscriminately. The more endangered the species, the better. If I had to guess, the attack that turned him into a wereanimal wasn't an accident. I think it was premeditated."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because Orlando skated on murder charges in South Africa a year before. He claims he didn't touch a local werelion girl, and they never had enough evidence to convict. He almost managed to scrub the entire thing off the internet, but I know people. We found it eventually."

"So they tried to kill him, and Joseph got caught in the crossfire," I mused. "That might be why he survived the attack at all. They weren't planning on hurting Joseph and knew that if an innocent American businessman was killed there'd be an uproar. They both got infected, but only Joseph came back. What do you think he was doing during that time?"

Ronnie heaved a sigh. "That I can't tell you. He disappears for a while. There's some hearsay about him visiting India for a while, but I couldn't nail down anything concrete."

I sat up a little straighter as a thought occurred to me. "India? What part of India?"

"Anita, I can't confirm-"

"I don't care. Just give me what you have. I need to test a theory. Was he in the rainforest or the plains area of India?"

Ronnie paused. "Yeah, in Delhi. How did you know?"

"Because King Cobras are most common in India, China, and parts of Southeast Asia. India is also a huge hub for travel. I'm guessing two different squatmatathropes from different parts of the world interbred. That's why they look like cobras but smell like cottonmouths."

"Snakes?" Ronnie echoed "Anita, honey, you're not making sense."

"Cobras," I insisted, voice rising in time with my realization. Everything made a horrific amount of sense now. "He met a colony of new snake shifters in India after surviving his attack. I'm guessing he somehow conscripted them. After he had their loyalty, the rest of it was child's play."

"What was child's play?" Ronnie asked, irritation creeping into her tone. "Anita, could you give it to me straight for once? I'm trying to warn you that this guy has a reputation as a killer and you're focused on the snakes? I don't understand what that has to do with anything."

"It's everything," I said. "I didn't put it together until you mentioned India. That was the piece I was missing. I don't know how, but he managed to contract their strain. He shouldn't have been able to pick up on a born shifter strain unless he already had a mutated version of the virus."

"Can you please spell it out in plain English, Anita? I'm exhausted."

"He's a panwere," I said, voice rising in excitement. "He's taking the leaders so that he can be the alpha of every single animal group here. He sent Micah to try to take me out. As far as he knew I was a human being and not worth trifling with. That's why he sent Micah for my leopards. You don't go deal with trivial errands, you send the help. And the leaders he's taken tell me which strains he has. Rat, wolf, lion, hyena, bear, snake, and possibly tiger."

It was a hell of a lot more than I had at the moment. He probably thought he had me beaten physically and metaphysically. But he'd come to the wrong town. He might have been a Chimera, but I was the Executioner. Killing monsters was what I did.

"Are you saying that this Orlando King guy took Simon?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Ronnie cursed. "Tell me where he's at. I'm coming with you when you storm his location. I'm going to kill him."

"You're not coming with me."

"The hell I'm not!" she raged. "That's my friend in there!"

"Simon is my friend too, and that's why I can't let you go. Larry is in the hospital right now, recovering from what these people did to him. His blood is still lodged under my fingernails, Ronnie. I almost lost him. I can't let another friend ride into battle beside me and get killed."

Ronnie was silent for so long that I was sure she'd hung up the phone and made a beeline for her car. When she spoke again, she was more subdued.

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Your friend? Still?"

I considered that. Then, "Yes, you are. But I'm still pissed at you. I can love you and still be angry with you."

"That's fair," Ronnie said. "Tell me where Larry's laid up, at least. I can hold his hand while you crack skulls. I can do that much for you, at least. I know you'll worry if you leave him injured and alone."

My throat constricted, and I blinked the stinging tears away furiously. I wasn't going to cry right now, damn it. I still had Micah on the other line, waiting for my answer to his problem.

"Thank you, Ronnie."

"No problem. And Anita?"

"Yeah?"

"Make it hurt," she said in a quiet, deadly tone. "Make sure he screams before you kill him. He deserves that."

The words resonated with the furiously burning coal burning in my chest. I'd seen what Chimera...no, Orlando King, was capable of. King had forfeited his right to my compassion when he'd raped, tortured, and killed my people. He was going to die for this. He'd already proven himself too dangerous to live.

"I will."

Ronnie hung up. Micah's breathing replaced the sounds of Ronnie's office.

"Sorry about that. Something illuminating just came up. Does the name Orlando King ring any bells for you?"

"It does," Micah said, and for the first time since we met, there was a bit of animation in his tone. He didn't sound hopeful. Not yet. But he was willing to give it a shot, which told me all I needed to know.

"You're going to take the deal, aren't you?"

"Or die trying," he said. "I want my people safe. You make that happen, Merle, and I'll owe you."

"I'll take care of them, no matter what happens to you. If you survive, we can talk about merging the pards and co-leading them. But if you die, I'll protect them like they were my own. Just give me the details. I'll give you my email. Send me names and pictures. I'll send you the plan when I have one. Be ready to act at a moment's notice."

"I will," he said. "I promise."

"I'm holding you to that, Callahan. Shoot me in the back and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

"Understood. I need to go now, Merle."

He hung up. I stood, feeling huge and clumsy as I stumbled my way back to Asher's room. I knew Chimera's identity. I knew where he was and who he'd taken hostage. Normally, the enemy holding the home-field advantage would have made storming the Circus a suicide. But Jeanette knew the Circus inside and out. She had the cave system memorized. She knew which tunnels were blocked off, which weren't, and which could be excavated quickly in case of emergency. I could make a back door. I could get our people out.

I would find Chimera and kill him.

Chapter Text

"I told you to stay in the clinic," Meng Die said waspishly, glowering down at Larry.

To his credit, he didn't flinch. Meng Die was two inches taller than he was when standing flat-footed. The thick wedge heel of her combat boots hoisted her height another three inches, giving her almost a half foot of looming power to lord over him. He didn't look particularly impressed by it. Like me, he'd been the smallest kid in class most of his life and had gotten used to this particular intimidation tactic. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared stubbornly back.

"I don't really see the point. I'm sore, but I'll live. Those wereanimals in there won't if we don't get this guy. I'm a freaking animator and there are animal bones in the Circus. Want a war elephant for the cause? Because I can do that. Unless you'd rather keep me laid up in bed where I can't help anyone."

Larry was trying so damn hard not to sound bitter. And he was failing miserably. He hadn't looked my way since I'd explained the plan to our little band of crusaders. He hadn't spoken directly to me even once. His spine was so stiff I could practically hear it creaking. He hadn't yelled at me yet, but it was coming. I wasn't looking forward to the fallout. I deserved everything he said. If he hit me, I might deserve that too. But mostly, I deserved to lose him as a friend. If he walked away and wanted nothing to do with me after this, I'd understand. It would hurt like a motherfucking son of a bitch, but I deserved it. I hadn't been his friend in that room. I wasn't even sure I'd been in my right mind. Dolph and Larry had merged into a single victim in my awareness. But even that wasn't an excuse. I'd made his choices for him, and that was something he may not be able to forgive.

"You were shot in the chest three hours ago," Meng Die said. "Most humans would take that as an indication to rest."

"I can sleep when I'm dead. Besides, you're going. I might as well come too. If you die, I die, no matter where I'm at. I guess that behooves me to keep you alive."

"And I doubt you'll find elephant bones in the Circus," Meng Die said dryly. "The tiny ginger necromancer pulled that trick once already. Belle was using Musette as her proxy at the time, so she and Padma would know to unearth any bones from the Circus grounds."

"Yeah, but I doubt they found all the ones I buried around the Circus parking lot and the ones I buried under the floor in the coffin room."

Meng Die raised a brow. "You put a tiger skeleton in the coffin room? What on earth for?"

"Goats, chickens, and a few pigs," I corrected her. "It's the same supplemental defense I gave my own home. They were animal sacrifices from Animators Inc. and were going to an incinerator. Since I'm a practitioner, I could divert the sacrificial corpses for disposal on private property, as long as I was the owner or had the permission of the person who owned the home."

Meng Die scowled at Jeanette. "You let your pet necromancer bury chicken corpses in our sleeping quarters?"

Jeanette shrugged. "Oui. She had her reasons."

"You'd be surprised how effective an attack chicken can be," I said. "And small animal bones are a hell of a lot harder to find and correctly identify than big ones."

Larry sighed. "I was hoping for more Lion King but I guess I can make Charlotte's Web work if I have to. We don't have to kill them, after all."

No, I'd be leaving most of that up to the B team. Jamil, Malicia, and Verity were already in position, ready to lead his wolves and the small, battle-capable group of wereleopards that Micah could scrape together on short notice. The 'panic tunnel' Jeanette had kept carefully under wraps was long, winding, and incredibly narrow at some points. Someone had to divert Orlando King's attention long enough to let them get into position. So here we were, waltzing into the heart of enemy territory, daring Belle and Padma's lackeys to take a shot at us.

"Ixnay on the ansplay," I said as we skirted the bed of a dinged-up Chevrolet. "It's time."

"Are you sure about this?" Meng Die said. "It would be simpler to just toss fragmentation grenades inside and finish it quickly."

"A lot of innocent people would be killed, so no," I said. "We're not going with that plan."

She shrugged. "It's safest to burn the whole place down with the enemy inside."

"The 'kill them all and let god sort them out' approach, huh?" I asked dryly. "That one has a higher than acceptable casualty rate. No. We're sticking with the plan."

"A plan that is contingent on this Chimera person believing that you are as invaluable as you believe yourself to be. We don't all worship the ground you walk on, you know."

She was right but damned if I'd admit it. This plan was hinging on admittedly flimsy evidence, but I didn't have a lot to go on. I was willing to take the gamble. There wasn't much more we could lose at this point.

"Shh," I said, drawing my cell phone out of my back pocket. "I'm calling."

Arnet's phone rang. And rang. And rang. I hung up when I got her voicemail and dialed again. And again. And again. On the fourth call, someone picked up. The voice that answered was definitely Arnet's but it was so strained, so choked with pain that it barely sounded like the woman I knew.

"Jessica Arnet speaking," she gasped at last.

"I know Chimera has ordered you to put this call on speakerphone. That's fine. I want to talk to him anyway." I raised my voice and sing-songed, "Oh Orlando, where are you? I found out your secret. Let me into the Circus and we can talk about it over coffee."

There was a loaded pause. Then Arnet let out a pained cry and the phone changed hands. A new voice spoke, calm and pleasant, despite the circumstances leading up to this phone call.

"You can never find good help," he said conversationally. "Are you going to tell me which of my lieutenants sold me out, or am I going to have to torture the information out of you before you die?"

"It wasn't an informant," I lied. At this distance, there was no way that he could read the mistruth in my pulse rate or perspiration. "I know a kick-ass private investigator. She tracked your journey from Africa to India. As a preternatural biologist, that part was fascinating to me. It was the snakes, Orlando. They were the one thing that tipped your hand. See, there aren't a lot of weresnakes that are native to North America, and most of the ones who do live on the continent are in Mexico. If you'd kept them out of it, I think you could have played us off of one another until it was too late to spot your hand at work."

Orlando's teeth ground on the other end of the line. "You think you're smarter than me, huh? Why don't I show you which of us has the real power? I can open dear Jessica's carotid right now. She'll be dead before you can reach me."

"You could," I said, struggling to keep my voice level. "But I don't think you will. If you kill her, I won't be inclined to cooperate with you. And you want me to cooperate with you."

"Do I now?" he asked.

"You do. You've had opportunities to kill me before now. You even had an opportunity earlier to do it when no one was looking. You didn't, because I intrigued you. You've never met a female panwere, have you? The cases tend to skew overwhelmingly male."

Sometimes the bad guy's motives were hard to parse. I'd never understand why some monsters did what they did. But Orlando King was easy to wrap my head around. I'd seen work like his before. He was a sexual sadist with poor impulse control. He was too brute an instrument to escape mortal justice for long, which told me someone was pulling strings just out of sight. Belle Morte and Padma had used their influence to erase the evidence of his past crimes and gave him free rein to do what he wanted, so long as he got rid of their problem in the end. I'd gone from a target of scorn to one of sexual desire when he'd discovered what I was. It wouldn't shock me if he thought we'd breed some kind of superior super race after he raped me a few times.

"I'm giving you a shot at keeping me," I said. "Set me loose in the Circus proper. Catch me fair and square, and I'll let you fuck me. Neither of us has weapons, neither of us has guards. It's a one-on-one fight, may the best monster win."

"I plan to," he said. Then, to someone else. "Bring them in."

He hung up, and I let out a shaking breath. I tried to still my frantically beating heart. Chimera had taken the bait.

"Let the games begin," I muttered.

Chapter Text

"Oh God," Larry said, nose wrinkling when we stepped inside the Circus proper. "What's that smell? It's like...hamburger, but worse. Is it just me? Am I the only one smelling that?"

He wasn't, and I didn't have the heart to explain to him what the scent implied. Working for the FBSA had worn off some of Larry's new penny shine, but he still had a lot of innocence left to lose. I was glad he'd never been to a crime scene with so many victims that the smell of spilled blood and minced meat blended together to create that fetid, butcher's shop smell. A lot of people were dead. I just prayed that they weren't all ours. If I saw Willie or Hannah strung up like the bodies in Sublime, I was going to scream.

"Ignore it if you can," Jeanette advised. "And if you have turpentine on your person, I suggest you use it on your nose to mask the smell."

"Uh, right," Larry said, shoving a hand into his pockets. He came back with a small yellow tube. "I don't have the turpentine in this pair of jeans. I normally keep some on hand for raisings or visits to the morgue. Some of the corpses can get pretty grody. This is...uh...Carmex. It's better than nothing, I guess. Do you want some?"

"No," Jeanette said.

"I'll take some," I said.

Larry didn't reply, but the tensing of his jaw told me he'd heard. He tossed the tube to me without saying a word and scanned the room for threats while I applied the stuff. Now the place smelled like medicated lip balm and violent death. Sadly, it was an improvement. Meng Die declined the Carmex and stayed quiet as a meek-looking woman approached us.

I barely recognized the beaten-down wereleopard as the woman in the photo Micah had sent me. Her name was Gina, according to the short blurb he'd provided in the email. Before Chimera found her, she'd played volleyball in a therian college league. She'd been pre-law, dating someone seriously, and shining with confidence. Chimera had beaten all of that out of her. There wasn't an inch of her skin that wasn't cut or bruised. Her hair was lank, and her pale eyes looked a little feral. She wouldn't look any of us directly in the eye. I was reminded of a cornered alley cat and decided to stay silent, just in case any sudden noises made her bolt.

"They're waiting for you in the stands," she said quietly. "They're asking for your weapons."

This was the tricky part. I didn't trust Chimera any further than I could kick him. I'd have to forgo the weapons at some point, but the key was not to look too eager to do it. That would raise alarms. The real brains behind the operation would reconsider their decision to let me in, and then the plan was blown all to hell. So I flashed Gina a dazzling smile and said, "Tell him I said he can disarm me himself. It's sexier that way."

Gina blinked a few times, mouth parted. She tilted her head to the side, as though she couldn't quite believe what she'd heard.

"Sexy?"

"Yeah, sexy. Go tell him, please. Tell him if he wants a chance to win me, he disarms me himself. I don't hand my weapons over to civilians. No offense. I'm sure you're very responsible, but there's only one person I'm here for. You might accidentally shoot yourself with my gun, and that would be on me."

Gina's mouth continued to work soundlessly. She finally said, "You're not following his orders...so I won't be hurt?"

"I protect people, Gina. It's what I do."

"How do you know my name?" she whispered.

"A little birdie told me. Now, please tell Orlando what I said. I'll be waiting right here for his answer."

Gina stumbled back the way she'd come. She had a pronounced limp. Someone had broken her leg recently, and the bone had fused wrong. She'd need it set correctly so she didn't end up with a bum leg.

I could feel that Larry wanted to say something about what had just happened, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes pointed anywhere but at me. Gina was shaking by the time she returned, but he didn't appear to have hurt her more. Good.

"He says that if any of you draw down, he will kill me first, and your boyfriend next."

Boyfriend. That had to mean Larry. So Orlando was that kind of guy. The kind who couldn't conceive of a world where men and women could have meaningful platonic relationships. And he'd completely ignored the person I was sleeping with. So I could probably add misogynist to his long list of nasty qualities.

"Got it."

"Follow me," Gina said.

We did. She led us further inside the Circus, bypassing the carnival rides and Hall of Oddities, making a beeline for the one-ring circus at the center of the warehouse. On performance nights an actual big top would be installed to improve the atmosphere. The invaders hadn't bothered with the pomp and circumstances. They were seated on the risers and watched us approach with avaricious glee. They really thought they had us where they wanted us.

My eyes strayed to the top row, gravitating toward the only face that I hadn't seen before. The mysterious Requiem. I'd heard a lot about him from London and Jeanette. Liv had actually died trying to earn back his attention. Personally, I couldn't see the appeal. Sure, he was handsome, but he didn't stand out from the crowd of pretty boys Belle had turned over the years. He'd swept his long, black hair into a tail at the base of his neck. His Van Dyke beard was neatly trimmed, and his physique was up to code, I supposed. He dressed well. It was all very metrosexual. Only the eyes were striking. Cornflower blue, edging close to a genuine turquoise when the light hit them right.

Reqiuem drifted down the bleachers toward us. I doubted he saw anything else. He only had eyes for Jeanette. There was a look of dreamy satisfaction on his face as he approached her, arms extended. He came to an abrupt halt when Larry stepped between them. Both vampires looked nonplussed. It would have been funny in any other circumstance, this short, angry, red-haired man trying to defend the slender, centuries-old vampire from an undead Hot Topic reject.

"Don't touch her," Larry said in a low, deadly voice. "If you haven't gotten the hint from all the times she's rejected you over the years, she just isn't that into you, dude."

Huh. I hadn't realized Larry had been paying strict attention when I gave everyone a briefing on who we were facing and what their motives were. He'd still seemed out of it and was too pissed to absorb anything meaningful. Or so I thought.

Requiem sneered at Larry. "Move aside."

"No. You move."

An arctic gale poured through the Circus, whipping off of Larry like a miniature tornado. He was the eye at the center of a brewing storm, and his aura ballooned out to fill the available space. It hit me with enough force to knock me sideways, and I wasn't even the target. Requiem staggered and would have fallen if he hadn't caught himself. The power only stuttered when Jeanette placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, mon ami. I am grateful for your support, but I can handle Requiem on my own."

"Oh, you'll handle him alright," Orlando said, unfolding himself from the bottom rung of the bleachers.

He was easy to overlook in the shadow of the two deadly and beautiful vampires. He seemed too ordinary to be so dangerous. There was a sneering implication in his tone that I didn't like, but I let him approach, only tensing a little when he reached for the Browning in its shoulder holster. He risked a glimpse up at my face as he began to pluck weapons off of my person.

"You're that confident, huh?" he mused, lips twitching upward in amusement. "So sure you can beat me that you won't even try to keep your gun. You really do think you're better than me."

"I know I am," I said coolly. "And I'm going to prove it."

"You know," he said, skimming a finger down my front. He paused over my navel in an almost ticklish fashion. "I'm going to enjoy ripping your guts out when I fuck you, Anita. Evisceration adds a novel element to the act, don't you agree?"

My intestines tried to writhe their way up into my ribcage to escape his touch. The visual he'd just shoved into my head was going to haunt me for years. It was likely he'd done it to someone I knew, and he wasn't bluffing. If he caught me unawares, he'd do it to me as well. He'd make the violent rape I'd experienced in Stillwater look like tender lovemaking by comparison.

Orlando didn't look satisfied until he'd plucked off both my guns and four of my five knives. The remaining blade was tucked into the lining of my jacket, hidden in one of the handy pockets that Jeanette's seamstress built into every article of clothing commissioned for me. I didn't believe for a second that he'd fight fair, so I wouldn't bother either.

"Gina, why don't you show Miss Blake to the coffin room?" Orlando asked, a dangerous gleam in his eye. "I'll let her have a head few minutes head start because I'm a gracious king."

"Grace, my ass," I grumbled. "You just want to prolong the experience. It's no fun if I don't have time to get properly terrified. Anticipation of the rape is almost as much fun as the rape itself, right?"

Orlando showed me his teeth, but it would have been overly generous to call it a smile. "Exactly. Hide anywhere you want, Anita. When I catch you, I'm going to fuck you bloody."

"And when I catch you," I began sweetly. "I'm going to make you beg for death. All the people you've hurt deserve to hear that before you shuffle off the mortal coil. A little catharsis for all the torture you've put them through."

"We'll see, Anita. We'll see."

Chapter Text

It was astonishing just how much one man could foul a space in less than half a day. The reek was coming from the coffin room. Shit, piss, blood, and a melange of worse things poured out of the open doorway when Gina opened it. She remained silent, not daring to look at me for fear she might share my fate if she was caught making eye contact. She did murmur a bit of advice as I stepped inside.

"Don't struggle. It lasts longer if you struggle."

She said it in a matter-of-fact tone that was a lot scarier than any impassioned warning speech she could have rattled off. He'd conditioned her to expect mistreatment, to stay still when he violated her, and to advise others to do the same.

Well, fuck that. Chimera wasn't tormenting another person ever again. He wasn't going to leave this room alive. Whether I walked out or it was mutually assured destruction remained to be seen.

"I'll keep that in mind," I said.

Gina shut the door, plunging the entire room into darkness. I knew there was a row of light switches nearby, but I didn't reach for them. I didn't want to see what leaked blood and fouler things onto the dirt floor. The smell was bad enough, nearly overpowering in the enclosed space. I tugged my shirt over my mouth and nose with one hand and followed the wall with the other. The darkness couldn't change the dimensions of the room, and I knew my way around well enough to navigate it in the dark.

At least, that was what I thought. I realized just how wrong I was a few seconds later when my questing hand came across something warm and slicked with blood. I reared back with a choked sound and nearly fell on my ass. The ground beneath me was a muddy mire, and it would be a bad idea to fall with Chimera coming in hot on my heels. So I forced myself to examine whatever was bleeding pressed to the wall.

It took effort to shift just my eyes, and usually hurt, like donning a pair of glasses with a prescription stronger than I needed. Under normal circumstances, I'd have chosen the leopard for this work. Its night vision was superb. But Chimera knew my leopard's scent. Not well enough to track me through the room by scent alone, but enough that he could use it to find me. Time for something he had no way of anticipating.

Nixe were freshwater predators descended from the Unseelie Court of faerie. They thrived in the dark and the cold. And, I realized belatedly, it was cold in here. Chimera must have been worried about blowflies moving in prematurely. Decay was inevitable and bugs always found a way. I wasn't sure what he'd used to lower the ambient temperature of the room, but as my eyes adjusted, I could see my breath fogging the air in front of my face. I'd have to watch that too. I wasn't the only one with adaptable eyes.

There were eight people pinned to the nearby wall, slowly suffocating under their own weight. He'd pinned them to the wall with climbing pitons, jamming the spikes through their wrists and ankles, essentially crucifying them. It wouldn't be immediately fatal. If they'd been human, it would have killed them in hours to days. Therians were made of tougher stuff than that. If Chimera kept them like this, it might take weeks for them to die. Dehydration would probably do them in, but again, they were tougher customers than humans. Even dying of thirst could take up to a week.

The shape I'd stumbled on was a woman. He hadn't had as much time to torment her, so her face was mostly recognizable, despite the deep bruising on the left side.

"Arnet?" I whispered.

"Ow," she managed to wheeze. "Could you get your hand off me, please? That hurts."

I drew my hand away from her ankle. I hadn't realized I'd drawn closer until she made a small, animal sound of discomfort and cringed backward into the wall. Her clothes were intact, so I was cautiously optimistic about the odds she'd escaped rape. Torture was another story, obviously. She was in agony, and she was trying to hide it.

"Sorry," I whispered back. "Who's here with you? Do you know?"

"Amber's at the end of the row," she said, voice coming out on sharp, shallow pants. "Joseph is dead. Orlando killed him after you left. Rafael was alive the last time he came in, but he sounded like he was in bad shape. I think Narcissa is still alive, but I can't be sure. He kept her in his room. He took a...special interest in her."

"Hang in there," I said, wincing at the turn of phrase. "The cavalry is coming. We just have to survive until they get here."

Arnet remained silent for a moment. I understood the reason why when footsteps echoed down the hall toward us. Chimera had gotten impatient. It looked like my head start was over, and I'd spent most of it gabbing with Arnet. It wasn't a complete waste, though. Like most sexist pricks, he'd underestimated exactly what she was capable of. She might not be able to fight him alongside me, but I was confident she could still help.

"I have to buy time," I hissed. "Stalling him is the best option. What's the layout of the room? What did he do in here after Jeanette and I left?"

"Butcher hooks," Arnet said faintly, her strength flagging. "And chains. Don't ask me how he managed to get them anchored in the ceiling, I really couldn't tell you. I just know he started impaling people on them. We tried to fight him but there were so many snakes..."

She tried to draw herself up by her shoulders and only managed to wrench herself into a painful new shape for her trouble. Her eyes welled gratefully when I muffled the sound with my hand. I wasn't going to risk drawing fresh attention to her. I knew that Chimera had put her in here to mess with my head.

"Are there any snakes in this room?"

"One," she said. "It's sleeping, I think. It ate Joseph. God, it just opened its mouth and ate him. He fed Joseph to that thing like he was just a rat carcass."

Well, that was one less thing to worry about. If the snake had eaten a large meal it wouldn't be moving for a while. I could count it out of the fight. That just left a psychotic murderer with a penchant for torture and rape stalking me through the dark. Easy peasy, right?

God, I just loved being the Executioner sometimes.

"Is there any safe way through the room?" I asked.

If anyone would know, it would be the observant former detective. I just knew I couldn't go banging around the room, screaming as I hit warm, bleeding bodies. Even if I didn't make noise, they would. I just had to escape notice until I got the signal. Once my people arrived, things would change. The hunter would become the hunted.

"Floor," she said, voice fading to a tremulous whisper as the steps drew closer. "If you crawl on the floor, you can make it to the other side of the room without running into anyone."

I'd also be wading elbow-deep in blood and waste, but it was a small price to pay, considering what Chimera wanted to do to me. I dropped onto my stomach without a word and reached for another shape. Its eyes weren't as keen at night, but it was flexible and deadly, and it had its own dedicated Greek mythos, just like the Chimera.

As I crawled forward on my belly my legs began to fuse, melting together to form the long, muscular tail of a lamia. The keeled scales made my skin itch as they extruded outward, and I had to contain a sound as my organs rearranged themselves in a disconcerting fashion. It didn't hurt, exactly, but between the smells and sensations in the room, my gag reflex might have been more sensitive than usual.

My shirt rode up around my bra as I moved forward on my stomach, and the bare dirt floor felt like sandpaper against my oversensitized skin. The cold bothered the snake as well, but not enough to slow me down. I'd found a hiding place between a pair of medium-sized coffins toward the middle of the room when Chimera stepped into the room.

The man actually whistled as he strolled inside the room, utterly unconcerned by the danger I posed. That died away a minute later when he couldn't immediately pinpoint my location. He'd probably expected a lot more screaming than he'd gotten. Too bad that I'd faced scarier. Not by much, mind you, but I'd still faced worse. Raina could have given him object lessons in pain. As a skinwalker, she was especially suited to dispense it. But even she would have termed this little walk-in freezer of horror tasteless. Raina liked to personalize suffering, tailoring each experience to the individual. Chimera was a butcher, plain and simple.

"Anita," he sing-songed, an edge of tension entered his voice when I didn't scream or say anything in reply. "Come out, come out wherever you are."

I remained crouched, dimly aware of what was going on outside of this room. Requiem was trying to kiss Jeanette. She let him, though she wasn't happy about it. She needed to stall too. We'd told Larry he'd know the right moment to act. Though I was afraid that Requiem might try to mount her then and there, urged on as he was by Belle's whispers in his ear. I couldn't understand exactly what she said. It was past my range of hearing, something I felt rather than a sound I could respond to. And somewhere further away, Verity was moving the last rock out of the way, clearing the tunnel for the others. Help was on the way. Five minutes, maybe a little more. That's all I needed to stall him for.

"Anita," Chimera repeated, louder and angrier than before. "Don't make this harder than it has to be. Come out, or I'm going to fuck Arnet in your place."

"Don't do it Anita-" Arnet began, but cut off with a groan when something impacted her face with a meaty 'thwack.' I wasn't sure if Chimera had swung a fist or a hammer, but it effectively silenced her.

"When I want your opinion I'll let you moan it around my cock," he hissed at her. "Don't think I'm finished with you, bitch. You'll be a party favor I pass around to my men tonight. That overgrown weasel you call a boyfriend can watch. Maybe I'll even let him participate after I've had a few turns."

I believed Chimera would do it. He'd rape Arnet if I didn't reveal myself. He'd let me listen to the screams and laugh at my cowardice if I stayed in place the whole time. He was a therian, which meant he probably had stamina. It could last for a while. It would keep him busy until the others arrived.

And I still couldn't let it happen. I reached into my coat pocket and drew out the silver alloy knife he'd failed to find. Then I called out to him, pitching my voice to carry.

"You sound like a cheesy comic book villain, you know," I said conversationally, relieved when none of the screaming panic showed in my voice. "Rape this and my cock that. Do you know who's this obsessed with sex? Someone who's impotent, that's who. Is that why you're such a twisted case, Orlando? Is that the secret behind all the bluster? You can't get it up unless someone is totally helpless? Such a big strong man you are. I can see why all these animal leaders follow you. I'm seriously quaking over here. Chimera the limp-dicked wonder really strikes fear into my heart."

Chimera let out a furious bellow and stormed into the room, pushing bodies aside like fleshy curtains, looking for me. He kicked over coffins. Some of them were occupied, but most weren't. A lot of their occupants were probably hanging by their wrists or ankles from the ceiling. Just like before, the perceived slight filled him with rage. His anger was so thick, so vital that it fugged the air around him. It smelled like char and curled in silky tendrils deep down in the lungs. I had the idle thought that this was what my grandpa's cigars must have tasted like. His rage was a living thing, almost separate from the man himself.

Almost, but not quite. It belonged to a mortal man, which meant it could be eaten.

I oriented on that rage, using his loud footfalls to disguise the rasp of my scales on the floor. If he noticed the movement, he probably put it down to his weresnake companion moving around in the dark, hunting me too.

Orlando King let out a shrill little scream when I cut his Achilles tendon. Funny how the tough guys screamed the loudest when the real shit went down. The silver content burned his skin black. The tendon wasn't going to mend until he got medical attention or he amputated the foot above the ankle. He thrashed, aiming an ineffectual kick at my face. I had just enough light from the open door to see his profile. I saw his eyes widen in fear, saw him mouth a denial.

"That's impossible," he said. "You can't be...I would have known! I would have smelled snake on you!"

"No, you wouldn't," I said sweetly, throwing coils over his lower body, flattening him into the bloody earth. Half of his face sank into the muck as he struggled. I leaned in and pressed my lips to the shell of his ear. He shuddered at that brief point of contact. "Do you want to know why? I can tell you my secret if you promise to keep it."

"What are you?" he whispered back.

"I'm not a panwere," I said, my whisper so low only he could hear. "You got that wrong about me. Do you know what else goes around skinning people and assuming multiple beast forms?"

The fear rolling off him now was tantalizing. I could taste it like candy on the back of my tongue, the remnants of a dark gift bestowed on me by the former Master of the City, Nikolaos. I never thought I'd be grateful for it at that moment.

"Skinwalker," he breathed.

"Damn straight. I was never stuck in here with you, asshole. You were stuck in here with me."

Chimera died screaming, reliving every terror he'd forced on others in excruciating first-person detail. He bucked, he clawed at me, he tried to put out my eyes, and nothing worked. He was lashing out blindly, only rarely making contact with the coils wrapped around his waist. He wasn't seeing me anymore. Hell, I wasn't sure if he was sane anymore. I drained him dry, guzzling the fear and rage that made up his core until he was just a hollowed-out husk.

And when I was through, I tore his face off, just for good measure. I'd find uses for it later. Like Gabriel, I could use his death to do some damn good with the skin.

I never got to see the rest of the battle. Most of the combat was over by the time I managed to find the light switch and release all the prisoners. Floors above, another tableau played out. Requiem had counted on Belle Morte and her lackey to keep Jeanette in line. Musette scampered when she felt the Dragon's power lash out in all its bloody glory. When they jumped ship, she was free to deal with him however she liked.

I never got a confirmation of what she allowed to eat Reqiuem, but apparently, they had missed some of the animal bones under the big top after all. Jeanette wouldn't say, but I was rooting for a panther. That would have been a nice bit of irony.

Micah was unconscious but alive by the time we'd flushed out all of Chimera's men. Larry was exhausted but appeared happy enough...until I reemerged, carrying what was left of Orlando King's corpse. He turned and limped out of the Circus the moment I returned, leaving me feeling colder than I'd been the moment before.

"Do you think he'll ever forgive me?" I asked.

Jeanette drew me into her arms and kissed the top of my head. The filth on my clothes stained her front, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Give it time, ma petite. He'll come around eventually."

I hoped she was right, but the doubts still lingered. I'd had the thought before, and I had it again as I watched Larry's retreating back.

Forever was a long time to spend with someone who hated you.

Chapter Text

Steam poured over the lip of my mug in a mesmerizing line of vapor. It dissipated in the early morning air, whipped away by an unseasonably warm breeze. March was trending toward April going at highway speeds, and I couldn't get a break.

Sublime had been torn down, per Narcissa's request. She couldn't continue to play there after what Chimera did to Echo and the others. Things like that defiled a place. She was considering rebuilding closer to Asher's Kiss in Branson. She'd lost one of the only things that kept her rooted in this area. Echo would never practice law in a St. Louis court again. We'd interred her body in Bellefontaine cemetery, but she could have Echo exhumed and reburied if she wanted to be closer to her vampire master. So far, she hadn't taken any drastic action.

She was staying at my home for the time being while she recovered from a miscarriage. She wasn't the only ally of mine that had been raped, but she was the only one who'd gotten pregnant. It had been a special kind of hell for Narcissa to lose it two weeks later when the full moon forced her body to change.

She'd asked if she could use a guest room and I said yes. She could stay here for the rest of her natural life if that's what she wanted. I would never begrudge her a thing. It was thanks to her that more of my people hadn't been captured, killed, or tortured. Chimera had been so intent on breaking the willful Oba that he'd ignored the rest of the animal groups in town until it was too late. She'd never once betrayed a single secret we'd confided in her, even under the threat of extreme pain. I hadn't earned that loyalty from her, but I was determined to repay it somehow.

Larry still wasn't speaking to me unless work demanded it. He ignored my pleas to talk and didn't reply when I left him messages apologizing for what I'd done. I had a feeling I'd lost him as a friend for good. Even if he somehow managed to forgive me for what I'd done, we'd never have that easy relationship again. My friend and loyal student was gone, replaced with a bitter man I didn't know.

I'd been woken at five in the morning by the vacuum cleaner. Micah's pard would be moving in later in the day, and Nathaniel was determined to make a good impression on the new arrivals. It would have been adorable if he'd done it any other time of the day. As it was, I was sipping my cup of coffee, willing it to give me the strength not to strangle him with his own hair.

"Don't be too hard on him," a soft, feminine voice said from just behind me. "He's trying to please me, I think. He's a true submissive, not just a pain slut. He needs to serve to feel complete."

I glanced over my shoulder. Narcissa was leaning against the door frame considering the sunrise. It was a pastel masterpiece, but she didn't appear moved. She clutched a coffee mug negligently in one hand, not seeming to mind the scalding temperature.

"Does it?"

"Does it what?"

"Please you? I can tell him to stop if it's making you uncomfortable."

She smiled faintly. "No, I wouldn't want to discourage him. He's come so far and I don't want to interfere with progress."

Narcissa folded herself into the chair next to mine and we drank in companionable silence until the vacuum finally shut off and Nathaniel could be heard bustling around inside, putting the final touches on my house. Though you would have thought it was his, given how much pride he took in it.

"What's on the agenda for today?" she asked at last.

"I have to talk to Claudia when she turns up for our workout later today. There's been more politicking from New York. Apparently, we have to select new guards, or some bigwig or the other will be offended when we land in Belle Morte's court in September. I personally think she's just yanking our chains as punishment for killing Requiem. I don't understand why, but apparently, he used to be a favorite of hers."

Narcissa pulled a face. "You're still going?"

"We have to. She's the sourde de sang of Jeanette's bloodline. Not going would be an insult and could earn her a death sentence."

"But if she goes it's definitely a death sentence," she surmised.

"Aren't vampire politics fun?" I asked, voice dripping faux cheer.

We were silent for another long stretch. Then she said, "I'm coming with you."

It was a statement, not a request, but I treated it like one anyway.

"I don't think that's a good idea. You'd still be recovering."

"I'm going or Asher isn't. That's the deal. I'm not staying behind while he goes into danger with the rest of you. You're bringing me along. Deal with it."

I should have been annoyed by her stubborn refusal to listen to sense, but I found it oddly comforting. Some things would never change, no matter how much torture you put a person through. I offered her a mock salute and a cheery,

"Yes, Mistress."