The Shifting Price of Prey

Chapter Sixty-Five

Bastien flashed fangs. ‘Well, well, my loyal shadow and my lovely sidhe princess.’

Malik stepped smoothly between me and Bastien. ‘Our agreement was that you should cause Genevieve no harm, Emir.’ His voice was soft with threat. ‘You will take my soul back now; else I will consider it broken.’

‘You know I have not broken any agreements, Abd al-Malik. The sidhe took your soul of her own volition.’

‘Genevieve would not have been in a position to do so, had you not altered the plan. This is—’

Malik fell silent as Bastien held up one finger then treated me to a gleeful smile. Dread crawled down my spine as I leaned forward to look at Malik. He was frozen, his beautiful face etched with anger and determination.

Crap. Looked like Malik didn’t get enough of the power in my blood. And going by Bastien’s expression, he hadn’t had the juice to trap Malik before. Damn. I so didn’t want to find out what other little extras chomping the Emperor’s head had given the psycho.

He waggled his finger at me. ‘I find my elevation to Emperor is proving to be immensely enjoyable, my sweet bride.’ He gave the statue-like Malik a delighted poke.

‘You mean the power you stole,’ I said flatly.

‘Stealing? Ah, yes, it appears thieves abound. For instance, did you know there is another who looks exactly as you do? I believe she may have stolen your identity.’

Confusion winged through me. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Bastien whirled away, his toga flaring about him, calling, ‘Come and I will show you.’

Heart pounding, I raced after him, barely noticing the four werewolves who had taken up sphinx-like positions around the Empress on her stone, to a spot outside in the lee of the stage.

Bastien waved a hand at the open space with its chain circles and cages. ‘Behold!’

I looked. And stared in horror, my eyes refusing to believe what they were seeing.

The place was a hive of movement. Hugh’s boys and girls in blue had corralled the vamp centurions and a crowd of folk dressed in their designer best, who had to be the auction bidders, into some of the cages. And now they were taking statements from the huddle of Others who were obviously the ‘lots’ from the cages and their ‘coin-holders’ from the chain circles. But despite all the activity under the fierce glare of the halogen spotlights, my eyes fixed on the small group gathered at the heart of it all.

I, or someone who looked enough like me, right down to my black jeans and T-shirt, that I couldn’t tell the difference, was standing talking to Hugh, Tavish and Finn. Bastien said something, but his words didn’t register past the pulse thundering in my ears. Finn had his hand protectively on the imposter’s shoulder, his horns curving up in full threat mode. Tavish had a nimbus of watery power surrounding him like an aura – a personal Ward – and, held securely in his arms, was a bundle of brown fluff that I recognised as Freya, my niece in her doggy form. The imposter had her arm round Katie, hugging her close. And loitering a few feet away from Katie, his shoulders hunched over, was Katie’s treacherous ‘boyfriend’, Marc, the big-cat-shifter.

It was his gaze, fixed unerringly on the imposter, which tipped me off.

She was Gold Cat. Somehow she’d got herself enough power to make herself solid and then Glamour herself up to look like me, then she’d pulled a fast one and taken my place. And none of my friends appeared to know the difference . . .