Wildfire

Chapter 6

Rogan packed me into his Range Rover. I told him I was fine driving my own car, but he pretended to not hear me. Cornelius somehow managed to pack the cat creature into a Ford Explorer by laying down as many seats as he could. He informed us that the cat was a he and that we would call him Zeus.

Rynda finally recovered enough to call the Sherwood chief of security. Before we left, several people in Sherwood House uniforms showed up to secure the house, led by the chief himself. Cornelius decided that would be an appropriate time to mention we had called BioCore and he had hung up on us. Rynda slapped the security chief. Rogan’s people confiscated Sherwood computers, loaded Rynda and the kids into an armored car, and our small convoy of five vehicles headed back to base. Two of Rogan’s ATVs led the way, Rynda and Cornelius were sandwiched safely in the middle, and Rogan and I brought up the rear.

It was just me and Rogan in the car. I liked to watch him drive. He did it with calm assurance, focused on the road. I liked the lines of his muscular arms, the way he tapped the wheel with his left thumb at long stoplights, and the way he kept glancing at me as if reassuring himself that I was okay in the passenger seat. I didn’t like the darkness in his eyes. I’d seen it before. It was a bad sign.

“Is it because of me?”

He didn’t answer.

“Are you brooding because of me?”

“Brooding implies marinating in your own self-loathing,” he said. “I don’t brood.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m planning to kill Harcourt.”

Rogan didn’t tolerate threats, and Vincent Harcourt was a threat. I didn’t want to think about how close I’d come to dying tonight.

“He was really strong. I clamped him with my magic and lost him after only two questions. Ten, fifteen seconds max.”

“Summoning is a will-based talent.”

So was truthseeking. That explained why Vincent was so difficult to hold.

“Victoria Tremaine would’ve melted his brain,” I said. “I barely managed to hold him for a few seconds.” And I was spent. I had very little magic left. The familiar fatigue of overextending was settling in.

“You did more than anyone could ask. You bought more than enough time for Cornelius to deploy his iron pan and for Rynda to escape.”

“Cornelius was trying to make friends with Zeus. Rynda was in shock.”

He didn’t say anything, but the darkness in his eyes turned deeper.

“Rogan, I’m in one piece. More importantly, the kids are okay.”

“If Cornelius had walked up and brained that bastard while you held him, we would be having an entirely different conversation. Neither of them had the presence of mind to pick up a weapon or run away.”

“You can’t blame Cornelius. He was fascinated with the cat. It was a compulsion, Rogan. He doesn’t think the same way we do and he stepped up in the end when it counted.”

“You need better backup.”

What I needed was someone to teach me the ins and outs of my magic. Truthseekers were rare and they guarded their secrets. I was practicing, but I’ve barely begun to scratch the surface.

“Vincent’s mind was hexed. It felt familiar. I think it’s the same kind of wall I put into Augustine.”

A week ago Victoria Tremaine had zeroed in on Augustine, the Prime who owned the large investigative firm that held the mortgage on our business. Augustine had helped me to save a little girl from slow death by arranging for me to pry open her kidnapper’s mind. Victoria had come to find out the identity of that truthseeker. To keep Augustine intact and to save myself, I’d put a wall in Augustine’s mind. It was a ruse, a fake hex, but it had looked real enough and there was no way to find out if it was false unless Victoria actually attacked Augustine. She decided not to risk it.

“Was it false?” Rogan asked.

“No. The one in Vincent’s mind was real.”

“Better backup,” Rogan repeated, nodding to himself. “Someone trained. Someone who will put your safety first.”

“Like who?”

“Like me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that from now on I’ll come with you. Just like before.”

“Connor . . .”

He took my hand and squeezed it with his strong fingers. His voice was ragged. “I should’ve been there. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. You could’ve died. It scares the hell out of me.”

I squeezed his hand back. “I didn’t die.”

He held my hand.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“Bug found one of the cars exiting a rural road. He couldn’t see the license plate, but he swore it was the same vehicle. I took a few people and went to check it out.”

He thought Brian might have been held somewhere on that road. “Any luck?”

“There are five ranches on that road. He could be at any one of them, assuming that’s where they dropped him off. It’s connected to the conspiracy, so the trail will be well hidden.”

“What could be in that file?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But if it exists in Rynda’s computers, Bug will find it.”

“Bernard would find it faster.”

“Fine. They can look for it together. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I’m not upset that you weren’t there. I was doing my job. I don’t blame you for anything, Connor. Except not telling me that you had a lead. That wasn’t cool.” I lowered my voice, trying to match his. “When you have a lead, I want to know about it. Not eventually, not when it’s convenient, but immediately.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Apparently, he was determined to blame himself.

“So, are we still on tonight? For our dinner?” I asked.

“Hell, yes. We’re on for tonight. We’re on for tomorrow. We’re on for the foreseeable future. You’re not going anywhere without me.”

And here I thought he was being romantic. “Would you like to wrap me in bubble wrap?”

“If I can find the bulletproof kind.”

“Rogan—”

“I mean it.” He checked the rearview mirror. His eyes narrowed.

I turned to see a massive black Jeep Wrangler closing in behind us. Heavily modified, it sat high on a lift and oversize tires. Custom bumper, light bar, and a grille made to look like fangs with a big M in the middle. The Jeep looked ready to bite our bumper.

I reached for the glove compartment and pulled out my Baby Desert Eagle. I’d bummed some ammo from Rogan’s guys.

The Jeep flashed his lights at us.

“Someone you know?”

“House Madero. Probably Dave Madero.” Rogan’s gaze gained dangerous intensity. He was calculating something in his head.

“Why is he flashing his lights?”

“He’s warning us that he’s about to use an EMP cannon.” Rogan pressed a button on his steering wheel. “Rivera?”

“Major?” Rivera’s voice said from the speakers.

“Drive on without me. I have something to take care of.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rogan took the Kempwood Drive exit. The Jeep followed.

“We’re not running?”

“No. The EMP cannon would stop the vehicle in the middle of the lane. The road is busy. I’m not taking chances with you in the car.”

Rogan shifted into the far right lane. A narrow strip of grass, bordered by a wall of trees that was the edge of Agnes Moffitt Park, rolled by us.

“Madero is a gun for hire,” Rogan said. “He can harden his skin with a layer of magic and he is supernaturally strong. I saw him take a hit from an SUV at sixty miles per hour. It folded around him. Shooting him will do no good. The bullet won’t penetrate, but just to be on the safe side, he also travels with an aegis.”

A protector mage, capable of projecting a shield of magic that would absorb gunfire. Great.

“What did you do to Dave Madero?” I asked.

“He isn’t here for me.”

Victoria Tremaine. Alarm shot through me.

The wall of trees ended. Rogan made a sharp right onto Hammerly Boulevard. The Range Rover jumped the curb, and Rogan drove across the grass onto the wide lawn and brought it to a stop.

The Jeep came to a stop about forty feet behind us. Darkness had fallen, but the lights of the streetlamps flooded the park with light.

The driver door opened and a man stepped out. At least, he was vaguely man-shaped. He had to be seven feet tall. He wore loose black pants and a black T-shirt. Hard muscle slabbed his chest and monstrous shoulders. His enormous arms rippled. His biceps had to be as big as my thighs. His blond hair was buzz cut to a mere memory. He looked like a caricature of a human, an action figure of a bodybuilder come to life.

“Is he real?”

“Yes.” Rogan shut off the Range Rover.

The passenger door opened and a blond woman stepped out. That had to be the aegis.

“If I get close enough, I can shock him.”

“No, you can’t. You spent all of your magic restraining Vincent. You shock him now, you’ll die too.”

Rogan swung the door open.

“Stay in the car.”

“Rogan!”

He jumped out.

Stay in the car, my foot.

I popped the door open, circled the car from the hood, and sighted Dave Madero with my gun.

“Her grandmother wants to speak to her.” Dave Madero sounded the way he looked, his voice deep and unhurried. “Your magic won’t work on me directly, Rogan. Nothing else here will do enough damage. Give the girl to me and we’ll go our separate ways.”

“No.”

“I get it. You don’t want to look bad. But I’m going to get her anyway and take her to her grandmother. She said to make sure she’s alive. She didn’t say in what shape and she didn’t say anything about you. Those things are up to me. You give me the girl, she won’t get roughed up.”

I really wanted to shoot him.

Rogan didn’t answer.

“Suit yourself.”

Madero’s skin bulged, turning a darker, flushed red. He started toward Rogan, slow and confident. Rogan watched him. He shouldn’t have gotten out of the car. He could do terrible things to a human body with his hands, but kicking or punching Dave would do no good. Rogan would just hurt himself. I would do anything to keep him from getting hurt.

The aegis behind him stepped forward, a gun in her hands. She was my age, red-haired, and her eyes were uncertain. She watched Rogan with apprehension.

I had to neutralize her. Rogan already had his hands full.

I sighted her and channeled my mother. “You shoot, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m an aegis.”

“I know. I never miss.”

She opened her mouth and closed it. I did my best to look like I meant business, because I did. She couldn’t shoot and maintain her shield at the same time. The moment that gun came up, I would fire and I would hit her to save Rogan.

“You can’t—” she began.

“Test me and you’ll find out.”

She stayed where she was, gun pointed to the ground.

Dave Madero rolled his shoulders and moved forward, circling. He was at least ten inches taller and probably twice as heavy as Rogan, who towered over me. Rogan’s body was corded with hard, flexible muscle, but next to Dave, he looked like a teenager who had yet to fill out.

Rogan moved too, with easy natural grace, focused on Dave. His whole body realigned itself, transforming him from a civilized man who had been driving a car just a minute ago into something else, something savage and almost feral. He moved toward Dave with a predatory anticipation. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

Dave must’ve realized he was being stalked and slowed.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked. “It won’t be pretty. You think we’re gonna fight, you gonna punch, maybe throw some kicks. She’ll be impressed. It’s not gonna work like that. I don’t know what kind of training you have, but whatever it is, it’s not gonna be enough. This isn’t the dojo. We’re not gonna shake hands and bow. And your girl will be worse off when you lose.”

“Stop talking.” Rogan’s voice was iced over. “Show me.”

“Fine. Your funeral.”

Dave swung. It was a slow, wide right haymaker. Rogan leaned out of the way.

Dave threw a left. It fanned Rogan’s chest with plenty of space to spare.

“Slow,” Rogan said.

Dave rolled his eyes.

“Every generation you breed bigger, slower, and dumber,” Rogan said.

“Keep talking. We’ll see what kind of noises you’ll be making when I make you swallow your teeth.”

They moved in a circle.

Dave snapped a fast right hook. Rogan moved out of the way like his joints were fluid.

“When the other families want a big dumb thug, they call you and here you are. Any job, any time. Kidnapping. Pain. Theft by brute force. Brute is the key word. You’re a House of idiots.”

Dave locked his teeth. Rogan hit a nerve. He was pissing Madero off on purpose.

“Soon you’ll breed out what little brainpower you have.”

“Done?” Dave growled.

“Almost. Just wondering when you will start wearing leashes. This generation or the next?”

Dave hammered a shockingly fast jab. Rogan dodged by a hair.

Jab, jab, hard right.

Rogan kept moving. Dave was backing him into the Jeep. The aegis saw it and scurried to the side, keeping the gun ready.

Dave drove a long straight jab, but palm up, turning it into an uppercut. Rogan ducked. Dave unleashed an insane hard right. Somehow Rogan dodged and Dave’s fist hammered into the Jeep. Metal screeched. The hood buckled from the impact. Dave growled and shoved the Jeep back with his left hand. The vehicle rolled thirty yards back, all the way to the tree line.

Cold sweat drenched me. If Rogan took just one punch, even a glancing hit, it was all over.

“The fight’s right here,” Rogan said.

“You made me hurt my baby,” Dave said. “That’s extra. I’m gonna kill you for that.”

He wasn’t joking. He would actually kill Rogan.

Dave charged like an enraged bull. He pounded after Rogan, erupting in a whirlwind of punches.

Jab, jab, cross.

Left jab. Right uppercut.

Left hook, right cross, left hook to the body.

The hook grazed Rogan’s side and he flew five yards, landed hard, then rolled to his feet. Fear punched straight through my chest and down into my legs.

Dave chased him. Rogan backed away, trying to dodge a wild barrage of punches. Dave was on him, swinging, his breathing labored and heavy. His face turned purple. He was sucking air in shallow gasps.

Jab, overhand right, hook, cross.

Rogan stepped into the punch, sliding between Dave’s arms, wrapped his left arm over Dave’s right, catching it in the bend of his elbow, so the giant man’s forearm rested on Rogan’s shoulder. He locked the fingers of his hands together and twisted, throwing all of his weight to the right. A loud pop echoed through the park. Dave howled, a raw, terrible cry of pure pain. He sounded like an animal screaming.

Rogan moved away. Dave straightened, his face contorted by rage. His right arm hung useless at his side. Rogan had snapped his elbow like a twig.

The aegis shivered in place, her face pale.

Dave charged, reaching for Rogan’s throat. Rogan backed up at the last minute, sapping the speed out of Dave’s attack, moved in, turning all the way to the left, so his right arm slid over Dave’s left, and bent his elbow, trapping Dave’s arm in his armpit. Rogan’s fingers locked on Dave’s wrist. There was another sharp pop. Dave screamed and collapsed on the ground, his wrist still in Rogan’s hand. Rogan moved his left leg over Dave, clamping the man’s arm between his legs, stepped all the way to the right, and twisted again. Another crack. Dave was screaming his heart out. The aegis shrieked like a dying bird.

“Rogan, stop,” I called. “That’s enough.”

“Are you done?” Rogan asked.

“Fuck you!” Dave spat.

“Dave!” the aegis cried out.

“The man isn’t done. He’s still got two good legs left.”

Rogan picked up Dave’s left leg, pulled it straight, and rolled back, sitting around it, so his right leg was locked over Dave’s thigh. He would snap Dave’s knee.

The aegis flung her gun across the lawn and looked at me, her face desperate.

I ran to Rogan and dropped on my knees by him. “Enough. Please. Please.”

“Is it enough?” Rogan asked.

Dave moaned. He was purple like a plum now, his breathing so fast, he wasn’t getting in any air.

I put my hands on Rogan’s steel-hard calf. “Please. He can’t even talk anymore. He can’t tell you to stop.”

Dave raised his palm and slapped the ground.

Rogan released his leg and stood up in a single fluid movement. His voice could’ve frozen over the Gulf. “Don’t come after her. She won’t stop me next time. Tell your brothers. You come after her again, I’ll go through your House until none of you are left.”

Dave deflated slightly, his skin turning a more human color. Sweat drenched him. He sucked in air, leaned on his side, and vomited.

The aegis knelt by him, a water bottle in her hand.

I wrapped my hand around Rogan’s arm. “Let’s go home.”

We got into the car. I slid into the driver’s seat, started the Range Rover, and drove back to the street before Rogan decided to go back.

He leaned back in his seat, his face calm. He had to be hurting.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded.

“How bad is it?”

“I’ll live.”

Dave was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Daniela once told me that Rogan hated feeling helpless more than anything. He would go to any length to avoid it. My going into Rynda’s house while he was across the city made him feel helpless and scared. He needed to let it out. He needed to hurt someone, and Dave had presented himself as a threat to me. Rogan broke him and would’ve kept on breaking if I didn’t stop him.

The Belize War had changed Rogan. It changed everyone, but it had torn him apart and he had to remake himself to survive. He served as the army’s ultimate weapon. He would walk into a city, reach into the deepest part of his soul, where the magic was wild, and let it out, and the city would crumble and fall around him. He inspired fear. They gave him scary names. The Butcher of Merida. The Scourge of Mexico. Huracan. As if he weren’t a man but some terrifying legend come to life. And then he ended up in a jungle, miles into enemy territory, with soldiers depending on him for their lives. Using magic would’ve saved him but his soldiers wouldn’t survive. So he didn’t use it. He walked them out of that jungle, but very few people knew what those weeks in Belize had cost him. He would never again fit into the civilian life. Rogan would never be “normal.” He left the military five years ago, but it made no difference. He was still in.

“Did I scare you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t have to go toe-to-toe with him.”

“Yes, I did.” Understanding dawned on him. “Wait. You were scared for me?”

“Yes!”

“I’ve seen him fight. When he armors up, he can’t sweat. He has a limited time frame before he starts overheating. The more he moves, the hotter he gets.”

“It was still dangerous.”

“I didn’t rush into the fight. It was a calculated risk,” he said.

Oh well, that makes everything better, then, doesn’t it? “You could’ve picked up a tree and smashed him with it.”

“That would take care of Dave, but not his family. House Madero doesn’t understand telekinesis. They understand brute force and broken bones. I sent a message and I made it simple enough so even they won’t misinterpret it.”

Well, he had a point. They wouldn’t misinterpret it. They wouldn’t work for Victoria Tremaine again.

“There is a difference between self-defense and torture. I understand why you broke his arms. But there was no need to break his legs.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Occasionally there will be times when I’ll be in danger,” I said.

“I know.”

“There may not always be a Dave handy.”

“I know . . . I’ll learn to deal with it. But I will protect you, Nevada, no matter what it costs me.”

He simply stated it as fact. Oh, Connor.

“I’m glad you stopped me,” he said. “I wasn’t when I was doing it. But now I’m glad.”

I was probably the only one who could. If it was one of his guys, he would’ve just kept going. And the next time, if I wasn’t there, he would break Dave’s legs.

I understood why Rynda was trying so hard to ingratiate herself to him. She was in panic mode and she knew that if Rogan cared about you, he would stop at nothing to keep you safe. If he and I ever had a family . . .

Children? Was I really thinking about having his children? I pictured what Rogan’s children might be like. Smart, and beautiful, and deadly. And impossible. They would be little demon children, getting into everything, trying everything, and not understanding the word no.

His eyes had iced over again. When Olivia Charles had killed his people, Rogan went into a grim place. There was nothing there except the absence of light, ice, and revenge. I had dragged him out of that darkness, and I would never let it have him again.

We passed the checkpoint and I parked the car in front of his HQ. He released his seat belt and studied me. The air in the car vibrated with his tension and energy, all of it dark.

“Some things I can’t help,” he said.

“I know.”

“But I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.”

I looked into his dark eyes and saw the edge of a storm brewing. He was focused only on me. Nothing else existed. I had the dragon’s undivided attention. Breath caught in my throat.

He leaned forward. He was going to kiss me.

Anticipation gripped me, mixed with a hint of instinctual alarm.

His lips touched mine. His kiss scorched me. I gasped and let him in. His tongue claimed my mouth and I tasted him, the unique flavor that was Rogan, male, harsh, and irresistible. His hand cradled the back of my head, his fingers sliding through my hair. He drank me in, possessive and seducing.

Magic touched the back of my neck, its velvet touch pure ecstasy on my skin. It slid down my spine, setting every sensitive nerve on fire.

My seat belt slid open. I sat there, dazed, as he got out of the car, walked to my door, and opened it. Rogan held out his hand. I took it. His fingers wrapped around mine. He led me into the building, through the downstairs, usually filled with his men, but now empty, up the stairs to the second floor, past Bug’s observation station, a crescent wall of computer screens, past his own office, to the back, where another stairway led up to the third floor. We walked up, he opened a metal door, we walked inside, and it clanged shut behind us.

An open space spread before me, a wide stretch of sealed concrete floor. A big bed stood on the left, on which someone, probably Rogan, had thrown a grey wool blanket. On the other side, to the right, a glass screen curved, probably hiding a shower and a bathroom.

The right wall was normal drywall, painted deep grey. The left wall was glass. Heavy three-foot squares of smoky glass climbed up thirty feet to meet at a sharp angle above us. I’d seen this building a dozen times and I’d never realized that the glass cap on top of it was transparent. It seemed solid black from the outside.

I walked to the window. Outside, the evening had birthed a night. The stars spread above us, glowing sparks of jewel-fire against the velvet blackness. A hoard that was the envy of any dragon.

Rogan wrapped his arms around me, my back to his chest. I heard him inhale the scent of my hair. His long hard length pressed against me. I leaned into him. He made a rough male noise that spoke of hunger and need. It made me weak in the knees. He brushed my hair aside and kissed my neck. Tiny electric shocks dashed through me. Magic danced over my skin, hot, slow, and deliberate. The muscles on his arms were tight under my fingers.

His hands slid over my breasts, caressing, teasing. A jolt of pleasure rolled through me. I gasped. I wanted more.

The zipper on my dress slid down. It fell around my ankles. His warm hand slid down over my stomach. Lower. Please.

My bra came unhooked. He slid the straps over my shoulders, eased the cups off my breasts, and I let it fall to the floor. His fingers slid over my nipples. The sudden burst of sensation was so intense, I jerked in his embrace.

He kissed me right below my right ear, setting my nerves on fire. I looked down on to his hands gliding across my stomach and saw dark smudges. Summoned creature’s blood.

“Rogan . . .”

“Yes.”

He kissed my neck again. I could barely talk.

“I’m covered in blood.”

He stopped and spun me around. “Are you hurting?”

“No. I’m just dirty.”

He looked down at the dried blood on my stomach. “I can fix that.”

He took my hand and we crossed the floor to the glass screen. A shower waited, three walls of tile bristling with faucets. He turned the knobs, and crisscrossing jets of water erupted from the walls. Steam rose. I slipped my underwear off and walked into the wall of water. It felt like heaven. Instantly I was soaked. The water dragged my hair down, plastering it against my chest and back. It ran dark, then almost immediately clear. I scrubbed my face, banishing the last traces of makeup, and turned around.

He stood in front of the shower, watching me, as if mesmerized.

I stepped through the water toward him, letting the jets spray my breasts and my stomach. Water ran down between my legs, wetting the curls of hair where they met. I was already wet inside.

Rogan swore.

“What?”

“You’re so beautiful.”

He pulled off his shirt and dropped it. He was big and golden, his body all hard muscle, honed to lethal efficiency. His broad shoulders and powerful chest slimmed down to a flat, hard stomach. I wanted to run my fingers across the hard ridges of his abs. His pants followed the shirt, revealing muscular legs. He was erect and ready, the full length of him massive and straining. He stood naked in front of me, towering, all brutal power and strength. His eyes were full of lust.

I opened my arms.

He came through the water for me. We collided. Magic whipped around me, swirling on my skin, a hot velvet pressure that flowed like liquid over my neck, my breasts, into the creases of my butt, gliding between my legs . . . He kissed me, hard and possessive, his arms around me. Our tongues tangled and I tasted him again. It was like being drunk.

I wrapped my arms around him. The cables of muscle on his back were steel-hard under my fingers. His hands roamed my body, stoking the fire. A wet ache hummed between my legs, a heavy pressure that demanded him. I kissed him back, desperate for more, and pushed him against the wall.

He grinned at me, a male smile, not just sexy, but carnal. He was like a dream come to life. I slid my hands over his chest, over his abs, down, over the thick girth of him. He groaned. The ache between my legs was unbearable now. I needed him inside me.

I pumped, squeezing, draped myself against him, my nipples pressing against his wet chest, and slipped down. My mouth closed around him. He barely fit. I sucked. Rogan growled and hauled me upright. His hands gripped my butt and he heaved me up, onto his hips. His hand slipped between my legs, dipped into the wet heat, and stroked the sensitive bud. Pleasure shocked me. His magic spilled over and joined his fingers. It was too much. I arched my back and rode his hand.

He pushed my back against the cool tile. I felt his thick shaft press against me. He thrust all the way, right into the center of the ache, and we were one.

He thrust again and again, in an unrelenting, maddening rhythm. Climax burned through me, wiping out everything. He kept going, as he drove himself into my heat. I opened my eyes and saw him looking at me. I clung to his shoulders, kissing the strong column of his neck, his jaw, his lips. A shudder rocked him and he emptied himself. The tidal wave of his release reverberated through his magic, sending me tumbling into ecstasy again. I draped myself over him, boneless and limp. The pleasure was so intense, I almost cried.

“You’re everything to me,” he said into my ear.

I wanted to tell him that he was everything to me, that I wouldn’t let the darkness have him, that he never had to worry that I would give up and walk away. But the echoes of our shared pleasure stole the words, and so I said it the best I could.

“I love you.”

Something was beeping. I stirred and raised my head. Next to me Rogan swore, gently lifted my arm off his chest, and rolled out of bed. We had collapsed there after the shower, barely bothering to towel off, and I had dozed off on his chest, exhausted, happy, and safe, with his arm around me. Sleeping next to him was like coming home.

I blinked until my vision was no longer blurry. Rogan fished his phone out of the pile of his clothes by the shower and answered it.

“Slow down.” He moved back to the bed and held the phone out a couple of inches from his ear.

Rynda’s high-pitched voice emanated from the phone, punctuated by a child wailing. “. . . can’t calm him down. Please. Please. I need your help. Please, Connor.”

I groaned and collapsed back on the bed.

“I’m busy,” Rogan said.

“If you just talk to him, he’s only four, please . . .”

Rogan looked like he wanted to throw his phone against the wall. “I’ll be right there.”

I slapped a pillow on my face.

The pillow disappeared and he leaned over me. “Wait for me.”

“Let me guess, it’s another crisis only you can solve?”

“Kyle is panicking. I put her and the kids in the building north of us. It will take me thirty seconds to walk over.”

“We just had sex, and now you’re taking off to see your ex-fiancée.”

“I’ll be back. We’re sleeping in the same bed tonight. I mean it.”

I waved at him. “Go.”

He pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt. “Wait for me.”

He opened the door and left.

I exhaled. It’s not that Rynda was consciously manipulating him. It was more that she relied on other people to fix her problems. First her mother, then her husband, and now Rogan. She was the kind of person who would see a pot overflowing on the stove and come and tell you about it, instead of picking it up and moving it off the burner. And then she would be proud of herself for acting quickly in a crisis.

Rogan, on other hand, would solve the problem. That was what he did.

I checked the small digital alarm clock on the nightstand: 10:03 p.m. I thought it was much later. I must’ve just fallen asleep when Rynda called. Except now I was wide awake.

I studied the starry glass ceiling above me. The night was so beautiful from here. It would’ve been even more beautiful if Rogan was here with me.

I’d left my phone in my car. I had meant to grab it but so much had happened.

The room spread in front of me. No shelves, but a stack of books sat on the floor near the window.

10:10 p.m.

I got up and snagged the top book off the stack. Monsters Inside Us: A Case Study of Magically Induced Metamorphosis. Well, that was a mouthful. I dragged the book with me to the bed, turned on the lamp, and leafed through it. Magic did strange things to human beings. A century and a half ago, when the Osiris serum was first developed, it was given out like candy. Nobody knew exactly how the Osiris serum did what it did. Some thought it created new powers. Some said it awakened the dormant talents we had repressed. But how it acted was less important than the results. Some people took it and gained great power. Others turned into monsters. Those magic-warped had to be destroyed.

Now, years later, the instances of monsters were rare. I’d met one, Cherry. She was a junkie and she sold herself to some institute run by a House. They had exposed her to something and now Cherry spent her days in the murky waters of the Pit, a nasty flooded area of Houston, eating frogs. Part of her was more alligator than human.

10:19 p.m. Thirty seconds, huh.

I wrapped the blanket around myself and flipped through the book. I knew a lot of these cases. The case of German Orr, the real-life minotaur. German was a sicko, who could transform himself into a bull-like beast. While in his minotaur shape he was extremely well-endowed, and he used his talents to star in some seriously gross porn. He was arrested on bestiality charges and went to court, arguing that this was magical discrimination and his rights were being violated. He lost, was jailed for six years, and then left the country.

Jeraldine Amber, the Bangor Banshee. When Jeraldine used her sonic magic, she transformed into a strange pale creature with black eyes and watery white hair. She was normal in all other respects, and while her talents passed to her children, the ability to metamorphose didn’t. Or so they claimed.

10:35 p.m. Seriously, Rogan?

I turned the page. The Beast of Cologne. I knew this story so well, I could write a book on it. Misha Marcotte, a Belgian woman, discovered her talent in her early twenties. She could assume the shape of an enormous beast, a creature out of a nightmare. She was practically indestructible in that shape, but she had no control over it. Once she metamorphosed, she would go berserk. The Belgian Armed Forces in cooperation with the French Légion de Sorciers, the Sorcerer Legion, had tried to evaluate her skills, and during her third transformation, she permanently lost her humanity. She crossed the Belgian-German border and rampaged through Cologne, nearly leveling the city, until they finally contained her. How exactly they managed to do it was a secret, but the dominant rumor was that the Germans drowned her in the waters of the Rhine. She was a cautionary tale for anyone with the power of metamorphosis.

There were rumors that she had reverted to her human form, survived the drowning, and was being kept alive somewhere under constant sedation. I believed it. The Primes would never throw a talent away, not while they hoped to glean some knowledge or increase their power from it.

I slapped the book closed. 10:48. I’d been waiting for him for almost an hour. Enough was enough. I couldn’t just sit here, pining in the dark by myself, naked. I had family to check on.

I got up off the bed. The thought of putting on my blood-smeared dress turned my stomach. No, thanks. He had to have some clothes around here.

I searched the room. The glass curve of the shower extended a few feet past the shower itself, and behind it was closet space. Shelves supported stacks of neatly folded T-shirts and sweatpants, and a rod held a couple dozen hangers, offering everything from shirts to ridiculously expensive suits, precisely organized and quickly available. Military habits were hard to break.

I grabbed a T-shirt. It came to mid-thigh on me. I stole a pair of sweatpants. Predictably, they were a little tight on my hips and way too long. I rolled them up. Good enough. I kicked the remnants of my dress, my bra, and my underwear into a pile on the floor. I really liked that bra, but there was no way I would be walking out of his place with my bra in my hands. With luck, nobody would see me, but I didn’t want to take chances.

I slid my feet into my beat-up sneakers and padded out the door and down the staircase to the second floor. Bug sat in his chair, absorbed in the glow of nine computer screens arranged in three by three formation on his wall.

He blinked at me. Bug always looked like he’d lost his sandwich and needed desperately to find it, because he was on the verge of hunger jitters. Before Rogan enticed him to come to work for him, Bug had been in bad shape. The swarm the military pulled out of the arcane realm and bound to him was supposed to have killed him in eighteen months. Only volunteers became swarmers, usually for a big payday. Bug never shared why he did it or what he spent the money on. Somehow he survived past his time. When I met him, he lived in an abandoned building, which he had booby-trapped. Skinny, dirty, paranoid, trading surveillance for an occasional hit of equzol, a military-issue drug and the only thing that would “quiet” the swarm according to him, Bug had one foot in his grave. Napoleon, a bastard son of a French bulldog and some adventurous mixed breed, was the only thing that kept him grounded.

Rogan had plucked him out of his hidey-hole. Now Bug had filled out, his dark brown hair was neatly cut and clean, and he wore decent clothes. He seemed calmer. His paranoia had receded. He could carry on a conversation without twitching. Napoleon, also clean and a good deal plumper, snored by his feet on a little couch, upholstered with red fabric and Île-de-France motif.

“You’re leaving?” Bug asked.

“Yes.”

“Don’t leave,” Bug said.

“I’ve got to go.”

“What do I tell him when he comes back?”

Did Rogan tell him to keep an eye on me? “Tell him whatever you want, Bug.”

I crossed the floor, turned the corner, and descended the staircase. The lights were on. Half a dozen of Rogan’s ex-soldiers, four men and two women, carried on a quiet conversation. It died when they saw me.

I recognized Nguyen Hanh, an Asian woman who worked as Rogan’s head mechanic, and Michael Rivera, Rogan’s second-in-command. About mid-thirties and Latino, Rivera had a great smile. He usually smiled after he shot someone.

“Are you leaving?” Rivera asked.

“Yes.” Kill me, somebody.

“Why?” Nguyen asked.

“Because I’m going home.”

“But the Major isn’t back yet,” Rivera pointed out.

“I realize that.”

“You can’t leave. He said he would be right back, and we’re supposed to keep you safe while he’s gone. If you leave, we can’t keep you safe,” Rivera said.

“You can still keep me safe. I’m going to my house across the street.” I pointed through the wide open double door at the warehouse. “You never close these doors anyway, so you can watch me walk twenty yards to my house.”

“He’ll be in a bad mood if you leave,” a dark-haired man said.

Rivera looked at him for a second, then turned back to me, smiling up a storm. “Maybe you could wait for him?”

“No, I really can’t.”

I walked straight at Rivera. He stepped aside, I marched through the doors and headed toward the warehouse.

“It’s because of the Sherwood woman,” another male voice said behind me.

“Of course it is,” Nguyen said. “I said when she first showed up she’d be trouble.”

I crossed the street, punched the code into the lock, entered the office, and locked the door behind me. I had had one hell of a day. I had left my phone in my car, my gun in Rogan’s car, and I had no underwear. Walking around without underwear felt odd. Being without my phone was even more odd. There was probably some sort of deep conclusion to be derived from the fact that losing my phone disturbed me more than losing my underwear.

This wasn’t me. I always had my phone and my gun. And underwear.

I eased the interior door open. The warehouse was quiet. A lonely light glowed at the very end of the hallway in the kitchen. With four teenagers in the house, someone was always raiding the fridge during the night, and we usually left the light fixture over the table on for the midnight snackers. Tonight I heard no voices.

It was a few minutes past eleven, and on a school night everyone would be in bed by then, but we’d decided to keep everyone in until the trials. Where were they?

I tiptoed down the hallway, took a right, cleared another short hallway, and peeked out at the Hut of Evil, a small building within the building where Bern reigned supreme with all his equipment. Faint voices floated down to me.

“. . . right . . . he’s on top of the building . . .”

“Got it.”

Right. Team Baylor was making the world safe from alien zombies one cyber shot at a time. At another time, I would get right in there and join them, but tonight wasn’t that night.

I leaned a little more and caught a glimpse of Bern. He wasn’t wearing his gaming headset. His face, illuminated by the glow of the monitor, looked haggard, the eyebrows furrowed. He was focused on whatever was in front of him at the cost of all else. Probably going through the contents of Rynda’s computer, looking for the file the kidnappers wanted.

I turned around and padded into the kitchen. When he found something, he would tell me.

My cell phone lay on the kitchen table, illuminated by the lamp like a lure. Cornelius must’ve brought it in. Ha! I picked it up. One thing recovered.

A missed call. I flicked the icon and listened to the voice mail.

“This is Fullerton at Scroll, Inc. Please call me at your earliest convenience, no matter the hour.”

All the muscles in my stomach tensed into a tight hard ball. It was past eleven. He said as soon as possible. I called the number.

He picked up on the first ring. “Hello, Ms. Baylor.”

“Hello, Mr. Fullerton.”

“The analysis of your DNA is completed. Your familial relationships are verified, and you are clear for trials.”

I exhaled.

“We’ve received two requests for your basic profile. Under the circumstances of the impending trials, I felt I had to notify you as soon as possible.”

“Let me guess, House Tremaine?”

“That’s one of them.”

“Denied.” Victoria wouldn’t be getting her claws on any of my information.

“Noted.”

“Is the second from House Rogan?” What do you know? Rogan did care about the genetic match after all.

“No. House Shaffer.”

“House Shaffer?” Of the three truthseeker Houses in the US, House Tremaine was the most feared, because my evil grandmother did business with the brutality of an axe murderer. House Lin had the most members. House Shaffer was the middle of the road and I knew very little about it.

“Yes. Should I deny or accept the request?”

“Why would they be asking about my genetic profile?”

“There are numerous reasons,” Fullerton said carefully.

“You’re an expert and this is brand-new to me. I’m just asking for a guess.”

“The basic profile can be used for a number of things. It doesn’t contain enough information for in-depth planning. However, it is very useful in eliminating the possibility of familial relationships.”

Oh. “Do you feel they are trying to make sure that we’re not related to House Shaffer?”

“That would be my expectation. Truthseeker talents are very rare. As a gesture of goodwill, they’ve made their basic profile available to you, should you choose to peruse it.”

“Have you examined their profile?”

“Yes. House Baylor and House Shaffer are not related.”

I pondered it. If I didn’t grant their request, they would wonder if I’m some sort of illegitimate relative. If I let them have access to the basic profile, they would quickly realize that I wasn’t anyone’s love child and leave us alone.

If only it would be that easy. The block in Vincent’s mind was put there by a truthseeker.

I felt like I was playing a game of chess blind.

“Let them have access to our basic profile.”

“As you wish.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Baylor. Have a lovely evening.”

I hung up. Too late for that.

What I needed now was a nice long nap . . . I turned. Mom was leaning in the doorway, her arms crossed.

I had no underwear, but I was wearing sweatpants. She couldn’t possibly see through my sweatpants and ask me where my underwear was and why I was sneaking into the house in Rogan’s clothes.

“What was that about?”

“Another truthseeker House wants access to the summary of our records. Fullerton thinks they want to rule out the possibility of a familial relationship.”

“What do you think?”

“A summoner attacked Rynda tonight.”

“Cornelius told us.”

“I sensed a block in his mind. It was put there by another truthseeker.” I leaned against the table and crossed my arms too. “Brian’s kidnapping is tied to the conspiracy to create New Rome. Vincent, the summoner, told me that whatever ransom they want from Rynda is connected to her mother, and her mother was in this conspiracy up to her eyeballs. We also know that when the conspiracy first started to show itself, with Adam Pierce trying to put together pieces of an artifact which would make him powerful enough to burn down the city, the location of the artifact segments was entrusted to a certain family. Their minds were shielded with a protective hex. A truthseeker had managed to peer under that hex, just like I had done, to get the information Adam needed.”

“And you think this other House . . .”

“House Shaffer.”

“House Shaffer is involved?”

I sighed. “I don’t know. The hex was very powerful. It would take a Prime to get past it. It’s logical that it would be one of the three truthseeker Houses within the United States. They have the most skin in this game, which means it’s either Lin, Shaffer, or Victoria Tremaine. Our genetic profile couldn’t have been up for more than a few hours, and the moment it went up, Shaffer jumped on it. So I let them have the summary. Let’s see what they will do with that information.”

“Was that really wise? What if they share it with your grandmother?”

“Let’s say they do. It will confirm what she already knows. We’re her grandchildren.” I shrugged. “You know she had Dad’s DNA sequenced the moment he was born. She can probably predict our genetic makeup based on that alone.”

My mother frowned. “This worries me. This is the world your father escaped, Nevada. He’d done it for a reason. He hated it. It’s dangerous and he didn’t want to have anything to do with it. He didn’t want his children to be a part of it.”

I felt so tired. “What do you want me to do, Mom? We’re caught in this conspiracy. The only way out is to expose it. It’s a big tangled knot and the truthseeker is a string that’s sticking out. I’m pulling on it.”

“I don’t want you to strangle yourself with that damn string. We should’ve never filed to be a House.”

“Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it? Mom, I’m trying to survive and keep everyone safe. You keep criticizing me, but there is nothing else I can do. You and Dad must’ve known that one day our grandmother would find us. What was the contingency plan?”

She didn’t answer.

“That’s right. There wasn’t one.”

My mother’s face turned a shade paler. “We could run.”

Not that again. I was so done with this.

“No. You and Dad could run, because it was only the two of you. But we can’t. There is me, Catalina, Arabella, the boys, you and Grandma Frida. That’s seven people. Where are we going to go? How will we hide seven people? Should we split up, so Victoria can get the weakest of us and then use that person as a bargaining chip? You know that’s a bad idea. Your plan was to hide forever. Well, it doesn’t work like that. A magical talent will break into the light. It’s inevitable. It’s a part of who I am. I’m a Prime truthseeker, just like my grandmother.”

Her expression turned harsh. “That’s not who you are.”

“Yes, it is. I’m our best hope. It’s now up to me to keep the girls and Bern and Leon safe. Except you and Dad hid us so well that now I’m untrained. I have never even used an arcane circle until this year. I hadn’t even known that I had other powers besides being a living lie detector. It’s all on me now, and I have no weapons to fight with. You did the same thing to Catalina and to Arabella, and now you and I are doing it to Leon. You can’t stuff us into a glass box and keep us from using our powers, Mom. We will go crazy. How about instead of criticizing me, you just help me? Because I need help.”

I turned and stomped out of the kitchen through the other entrance.

I lay in bed. I’d abandoned the sweatpants as soon as I stomped into my loft, slipped on a pair of underwear, and climbed into my bed, still wearing Rogan’s T-shirt.

When we sold the house and moved into the warehouse, my parents built me a loft apartment—a bedroom and a bathroom, accessible only by a wooden staircase. I could retract the last ten feet of it, which effectively frustrated my sisters’ attempts to bug me when I wanted to be left alone. I even had a window for my bedroom. It was a cozy space, my retreat from the world, my favorite place, where I ran away to when I was tired and overwhelmed. Right now it seemed empty. My bed seemed too big and empty too.

How in the world did I get used to sleeping next to Rogan so fast? I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights we slept together.

He didn’t ask for my DNA profile. I couldn’t decide how to feel about it. It depended on why he didn’t request it. Did he not request it because he loved me and didn’t care if we were genetically compatible, or did he not request it because he wasn’t thinking of anything serious like marriage?

Did I want to marry Mad Rogan?

Marriage meant exclusivity, but in the world of Primes, affairs weren’t just common. They were almost normal. I would do almost anything to stay with him, but sharing him with anyone else was beyond me.

Something knocked on my window.

Maybe it was a bat.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I climbed out of the bed and walked to the window. A small grey rock tapped the glass from the outside. Knock-knock-knock.

I looked down. Rogan stood on the sidewalk.

Well. Think of the devil.

I pulled the latch up and opened the window. The rock streaked to the ground.

“I’m trying to sleep.”

“I said wait for me.”

“I did. I waited for an hour. Then I had to go home.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Why would I be mad at you? Is it because as soon as we had sex, you jumped out of our bed and rushed to see your ex-fiancée and was gone for almost two hours?”

“One hour.”

I checked the clock by my bed. “One hour and twenty-two minutes.”

“There was a hysterical child on the other end of the line. When I got there, his sister woke up and started crying. Then Rynda cried.”

“Did you soothe them to sleep?”

He gritted his teeth. “I made sure they aren’t crying.”

“Great. Then the problem is resolved. I’m going back to bed.”

“I asked you to wait for me and you didn’t.”

“Why would I stay there, Rogan? You weren’t there. I have my own bed right here.”

“What exactly did you want me to do? Was I supposed to listen to her scream and tell her to fuck off because I would rather stay in bed with you?”

“So now I’m the bad guy?”

“Well, yes, a little bit. I went to do something nice and you got mad about it. You’re overreacting.”

Ooh, no he didn’t.

“Nevada, as the Head of a House, there will be times I will have to get out of bed, no matter what we’re doing, and go take care of things.”

“Taking care of your ex-fiancée is House business?”

“I’ve known her since we were children.”

“Mhm.”

“She’s practically family.”

“And what am I?”

He realized he’d walked into it.

“As it happens, I’m also about to become a Head of a House. You’re right, sometimes things do come up, and we have to leave and take care of them. I’m not just going to lay all sad in your bed waiting for when you decide that you’re done blotting another woman’s tears. I have profile requests to evaluate and kidnappings to solve.”

“What profile requests?” he growled. “Who?”

“Not you, if that’s what you’re asking. You didn’t check on our genetic compatibility.”

“Who, Nevada?”

“Do you think if you snarl enough, I’ll tell you? You’re not that scary, Rogan, and I don’t respond well to intimidation. Maybe you should lather up some spit.”

“Who was it?”

He was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let go of it until I told him, and it had very little to do with what I wanted to fight about. Fine. “House Tremaine and House Shaffer.”

“Did you say yes?”

“Not to Tremaine.”

“You said yes to Shaffer?”

“Yes.”

He lapsed into silence. His face arranged itself into a cold mask. “You’re right. You are becoming the Head of your House. Might as well start planning now.”

Oh, for the love of . . . “They asked for my basic profile to eliminate the possibility of familial relations, because they’re worried I might be a Shaffer love child.”

“They asked for it to ensure that there are no complications preventing a match,” he ground out. “That’s the first step.”

I leaned through the window and savored the words. “You’re overreacting.”

A door swung open somewhere and Catalina called out, “Mom says that you should either have sex or stop arguing, because it’s past midnight and all of us are trying to sleep. Figure yourselves out!”

The door slammed shut.

“That’s okay,” I hissed. “We’re finished talking. Just one question before I go: in your expert opinion as the Head of a House, when Rynda called you, was it a true emergency? Was it something that absolutely couldn’t be resolved without your presence, or was it another opportunity for her to make sure that you’re emotionally engaged to take care of her and her children if Brian doesn’t make it? And if it was a true emergency, why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”

I slammed the window shut. There. I got it out.

He stared at me through the window, turned, and strode across the street.

That’s right. Just walk away.

I threw myself on the bed. Well, that went well.

Something thudded outside.

Now what?

I got up and went to the window. He stood in the middle of the street. A stream of pallets and huge tires flew past him, stacking themselves on the ground under my window.

I just stared, mute.

The stack grew with ridiculous speed. He was building a ramp to my window.

I pulled the window open again. “Are you out of your mind?”

His face was grim. “No.”

“You’re expending a huge amount of magic doing this.”

His expression told me he didn’t care.

The flood of tires ended midway up; the pallets stopped too. He’d run out of building materials.

The door opened again. “Mom says—” my sister started.

A fire escape ladder tore itself off the building across the street on my left and wedged itself in the stack. Several cement bags landed on its base, anchoring it.

Catalina shut the door without another word.

He walked up the ramp, climbed the ladder to my window, and held his hand out to me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m kidnapping you back to my lair. You’re sleeping in my bed tonight and all other nights.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“And do I have any say in this?”

“You always have a say. If you say no, I’ll leave.”

He wore his Prime face, inscrutable and detached. But his eyes gave him away. He was barely in control and hanging on by the tips of his fingers.

We could either work through this mess or I could sit in my room and steam in my own hurt feelings. I grabbed his pair of sweatpants, pulled them on, stuck my feet into my slippers, and put my hand in his.

My cell phone rang.

Who the hell would be calling me at midnight?

I raised my finger. “One second.”

The phone streaked across the room and held still in front of me.

I took it and answered.

“Nevada Baylor.”

“There you are,” Vincent Harcourt said.

“Hello, Vincent.” My voice was so sweet, you could drip it on pancakes. I put him on speaker. “So nice of you to take time away from terrorizing children to call me.”

“I had a spare moment.”

His voice set my teeth on edge. So smug.

Rogan took my hand. Together we walked down the ladder, then the ramp toward his HQ.

“I see you filed for trials.”

It wasn’t enough he had almost killed Rynda’s children, Edward, and a houseful of people. No, he decided to call me in the middle of the night to rattle me.

“Do you think you can be a Prime?”

“You tell me. How did it feel when you couldn’t move and stood there shaking, trying with all your will to keep me out of your mind? Did it feel like I’m a Prime?”

Heat flared in Rogan’s eyes. He smiled, low and lazy, looking at me as if we were in the middle of a ballroom and I wore a ten-thousand-dollar gown instead of his T-shirt.

“Touché,” Vincent said. “Too bad you won’t make it to trials. You might have been interesting.”

“Is this the part where you threaten me?”

“No, this is the part where I educate. You don’t know how the game is played, so I’ll explain it to you. You’re dead. Your mother is dead.”

In my head I saw my mother lying in place of Edward Sherwood, a bat-ape creature digging in her stomach. You bastard.

“Your cute sister is dead.”

He would pay for this.

“Your other sister is dead.”

Other? He took the time to opine on the cuteness of my sisters while threatening to kill them. Oh, I wish he was within bullet range. I wish.

“The two idiots who live with you are dead.”

We walked into the HQ. Rivera, Nguyen, and two others from before, the blond woman and a dark-haired man, were still there. At the sound of Vincent’s voice, Rivera came to life like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water. Rogan shook his head.

“The animal mage is dead . . .”

“You’re wasting my time,” I said. “Just say everyone I know and love is dead. It’s more efficient.”

He laughed quietly. “You’re mouthy.”

“And you’re a psychopath.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing. It’s practically a requirement for people in our position.”

“Yes, well, David Howling did it better.”

“Rogan won’t always be there to do your dirty work.”

“Rogan didn’t kill David. I did. He fought me for his life and lost. The next time we meet I’ll pull every dirty secret out of your mind and lay them out in the open. When I’m done, you’ll curl into a ball and weep, just like all the others. That’s how you threaten, Vincent.”

Nguyen blinked. Rivera took a careful step back.

I passed the phone to Rogan. My fingers shook and the phone trembled slightly. He took it and I curled my hands into fists.

“She’s right,” he said. “You need to work on your delivery.”

“I’m so glad you’re there, Rogan. It saves me a phone call.”

“I’m always here for you,” Rogan said, his voice deceptively light. “It’s been too long. We should get together.”

“I was thinking the same thing. You’re overdue for a visit.”

“Can’t wait.” Rogan smiled.

“You can’t kill all of us, Rogan.”

“But I can kill you, Vincent. Don’t worry about the others. You’ll never know how it will turn out anyway.”

“We’ll see. Your cousin sends her love.”

“Tell her I’ve missed her.”

The phone call cut off.

Rogan turned to me. “House Harcourt disavowed Vincent about an hour ago. They claim to have no idea where he is or what he’s doing.”

“How convenient.”

“I thought of going over to the House Harcourt compound in the morning.” His tone was still light. “I could knock on their door and you could ask them some questions. Would you like that?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

Rogan looked at Rivera. “Make the arrangements.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rogan led me to the stairway. I walked up the steps. “He knows that we’ve identified him. He will expect retaliation.”

“Yes,” Rogan agreed as we crossed the second floor. Bug saw us and didn’t say a thing.

“If I were him, I’d attack the base as soon as we leave.”

“I’ve accounted for that possibility.”

“What if he attacks tonight?”

“He won’t.” Rogan led me to the staircase to the third floor. “He performed a high-volume summon tonight. With summoning, the totality of the matter coming through is what counts. One large creature is equal to several smaller ones. Vincent summoned nine beings tonight and then expended energy and magic manipulating them, defending against you, and fighting Cornelius for control. He won’t risk attacking tonight knowing that I’m here. He needs to recharge.”

“What about Cornelius? He’s an isolated target.”

“Cornelius is staying here tonight, in the same building where I put Rynda. Matilda is with his sister and brother at their family ranch. He called them while en route. They are coming over in the morning to view Zeus.”

“When did you find this out?”

“When I got up to deal with Rynda. I would’ve told you about it if you didn’t leave in a huff.”

We walked through the door into the bedroom.

“What will attacking the Harcourts do to Brian? Brian is our first priority.”

“Nothing,” Rogan said. “I don’t believe Vincent cares, but even if he did, he botched an attack on Rynda. As you said, the retaliation is expected.”

He shut the door and turned to me. I stared back at him.

“Let it out,” he said. “You’ve been holding it in since the phone call.”

“He threatened my family,” I ground out. “I watched him let a creature eat a man while he was still alive, in front of his niece and nephew. He enjoyed it, Rogan. I saw it in his eyes. He would’ve killed us all, even Rynda’s kids. I know he’s a monster. And then he calls here and pretends to be urbane and charming and wants to have a polite conversation. He’s like a serial killer who butchered a person in plain view, washed his hands, and went to a costume party.”

“He’s a psychopath. He always was one.”

“There is a disconnect there, Rogan. He did horrible things and he doesn’t even realize how screwed up it is. He doesn’t feel bad. This can’t be the first time he did this. How did he get to the age he is without someone realizing what he is?”

“He’s a useful asset to his House,” Rogan said. “His usefulness outweighs his unsanctioned excursions. They punish him, they talk sternly to him, but in the end they need him. Other Houses knowing that Vincent exists is enough to keep them from attacking Harcourt.”

“This is what bothers me.” I spun around and began to stalk back and forth. If I didn’t move, I would explode. “What kind of world is it where Vincent is necessary? Where he’s an asset. Where Dave can just kidnap people off the street and nobody will do anything about it? Don’t you see how terribly fucked up this is?” I stopped. “And I’m about to drag my sisters and cousins into it. I’m scared, Connor. I’m scared out of my mind.”

“When you are in it, you have no idea it’s not normal,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize until I joined the army that everyone didn’t live like this. This is what we’re fighting against. If the conspiracy succeeds, Vincent will get free rein.”

All of the fight went out of me. I sat on the bed. “The further I go, the less choices I have. We’re not even a House yet and already I have to make sure we look strong enough to not be attacked. Everything I do from now on has to be dictated by getting more magic, more power, more wealth, just so we can survive.”

He knelt by me, resting his hands on my arms.

“If I don’t do this, my own grandmother is going to crush us. I’m not just responsible for making sure I put a roof over my family’s head and food on the table. I’m now responsible for their lives. I want to murder Vincent Harcourt before he lets his beasts tear my mother into pieces. I killed David and I have nightmares about it, but now I want to kill Vincent, because I have no choice. Even the choice of my husband has to be calculated based on some genetic bullshit that says Rynda is a better match than me . . .”

I’d said too much. I clamped my mouth shut.

“Do you love me?”

The question caught me off guard. “Yes.”

“Do you love your family?”

“Yes.”

“Would you do anything to protect them?”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter, Nevada. Nothing’s really changed. I love you. You love me. We’re together. I don’t care about genetic matches. You told me before it didn’t matter. Did that change?”

“No.”

“Then we’re okay.” He slid his warm hands down my shoulders and took my hands in his. “Every world has dangers. There are muggings, shootings, car accidents, drug addictions, abusive relationships. It has nothing to do with being a Prime. This is life. The only difference is, now you can see the dangers more clearly.”

He squeezed my fingers.

“Your grandmother was a threat to you before you were even born. Your father didn’t run away from her because she was a loving and caring mother. He found your mother and married her without any genetic matches. You are at least as strong as Victoria Tremaine. The difference between you is education and experience, and you can get both.”

I took a deep breath.

“It’s all coming too fast,” he said. “A lot happened in the last two days. You met your grandmother, you registered for trials, you dealt with Rynda, you fought Vincent and almost died. You need time to sort through all of this. But you are here tonight, and nothing will touch you while I’m with you in this room. I promise that I won’t leave no matter what the hell happens and if I go, we’ll go together.”

I put my arms around his neck and hugged him. The warm strength of him felt so good. Reassuring.

His arms closed around me. “I’ve got you. It will be okay. I’ve got you.”

We stayed like that for a long time.