And for the briefest moment, the burn of Raven’s magic and the heat of something far older and far more dangerous tangled inside me.

  I let a crooked smile pull at my lips, my voice light even as my insides coiled tight. “Relax Con. I don’t shit where I eat.”

  For one reckless second, my body leaned toward him, instinct tugging me closer. The heat radiating from him, the cut of his jaw, the sharpness in his golden eyes—it was a pull I couldn’t deny. I had always wanted Constantine, but not like this. Not with magic crawling under my skin, twisting every want into need.

  The attraction was raw, a live current between us, electric enough to sting. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his hand hovered near his sword but never quite settled—it all screamed restraint. He said nothing, but I knew. He was holding himself back.

  What the hell was this magic doing to me?

  And why did it seem to bleed into him? Was it affecting him as much as it was me? Or had it always been like this for him—and I had been too blind to notice?

  Too many questions. Too few answers.

  My shoulders sagged with relief when Val and Quinn strode up, the tension snapping like a thread pulled too tight.

  Quinn glanced between us, his expression unreadable. “Will we be joining you on the quest?” he asked, his tone careful, but laced with the edge of a man who already knew he would.

  Constantine’s jaw tightened, irritation flickering in his golden eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was directed at me or the situation—or both.

  “No,” he said firmly, answering Quinn’s question. “You two are the only ones in the clan who know the truth. We need you here to protect Raven and Rene. The political situation is… tense.”

  I turned to them. “You are my most trusted death dealers. Val, you’re in charge while I’m gone. You may need to split up and take new partners. I’d prefer one of you on shift at all times. Quinn, you’re second to Val. If any death dealer questions your orders, they’ll deal with me when I return.”

  “Understood,” Val said immediately. His dark eyes burned with quiet loyalty. “There won’t be a problem.”

  Quinn smirked, ever the irreverent one. He gave me a wink. “I’m happy to partner with Arebele. She’s better looking than Val, anyway.”

  Val grunted. “You’re too pretty for her.”

  Quinn laughed, then swung a playful punch into Val’s arm. “She’s Canadian. They like their men pretty.”

  Val rolled his eyes, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re ridiculous. But admit it—she’s a nice addition to the clan. I was surprised she accepted the transfer.”

  I shrugged. “Vancouver’s had little turnover and almost no issues. She wanted a little more action.”

  Val’s gaze flicked past me, toward the small clusters of vampires still lingering in the foyer, their whispers low but clipped. His expression sobered. “Yeah. I hope that’s the only reason.”

  I followed his eyes, the weight of clan politics settling heavy in my gut. The vampires were watching, measuring, waiting. With Rene weakened, and Raven tied to Valerian’s twisted game, every step we took mattered.

  And leaving the clan’s safety in anyone else’s hands—anyone but Val and Quinn—wasn’t an option.

  Edward excused himself from the cluster of vampires gathered around him, his tall frame moving with calm authority. He was dressed as neatly as ever, charcoal suit pressed, and green eyes keen but kind as they swept the room. When his gaze found us, he smiled warmly with an expression that carried both reassurance and steadiness.

  I felt a pang of hope twist in my chest. If anyone was fit to lead Shadow Bone Clan, it was Edward. He wasn’t flashy like Siris, or reckless like Dimitri had been. He had the respect of soldiers and citizens alike, and he didn’t crave power for its own sake. Rene had made these elections by majority vote, and though Edward was still considered “new” compared to some of the elders, I wanted him to win. Needed him to, if I were honest.

  “Edward,” I greeted, inclining my head.

  His eyes flicked briefly to my cheek, then back to mine. “Were you hurt? Is the clan safe?”

  I blinked, caught off guard. It took me a heartbeat to remember Constantine carrying me inside earlier, as if I were broken glass. My jaw tightened at the memory. “I’m fine,” I said evenly. “There was an errant spell cast earlier, and it… affected me. But I’m better now.”

  “Good.” His shoulders eased slightly, relief showing in the curve of his mouth.

  I nodded toward the other side of the foyer, where Siris still held court with his crystal goblet, black velvet suit catching the chandelier’s light like a bad stage costume. “How goes the battle?”

  Edward followed my gaze, his expression tightening just a fraction. Then he shrugged, the motion small but telling. “It’s hard to say. Siris has secured the votes from Dimitri’s old followers. Some of them still believe he was duped into leaving the clan, and that gives him leverage.”

  “Not sure how they could believe that, but anyway.”

  He exhaled through his nose, the weight of politics heavy in his tone. “As of now, it’s all pretty even. I doubt we’ll know until the last ballot is cast.”

  Constantine stood silent beside me, his arms folded, but his golden eyes tracked every shift in Edward’s expression.

  I forced a thin smile, though inside, unease gnawed at me. The clan was balanced on a knife’s edge—and with Rene faltering, the smallest rumor could tip it the wrong way.

  And from the smug smile on Siris’ lips from across the room, I knew he thought he already had the edge.

  CHAPTER 8

  Iangled my head toward Edward, lowering my voice so only he would hear. “Do you know if Dimitri has spoken to Siris?”

  Edward’s brows lifted slightly. “No. Siris wouldn’t risk his standing in the clan by visiting Dimitri right now. He’s too ambitious for that. But…” His lips pressed together before he continued. “I have been told they were close before the defection.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. “That tracks.”

  Edward’s green eyes lingered on me, clearly wanting to press further, but I gave him a polite incline of my head. “Excuse us, Edward.”

  He nodded once, offering a look of respect before turning back toward his cluster of allies.

  I shifted to Constantine, lowering my voice to a growl. “Dimitri spent time with the lycan king. Do you think he would know where the piece is?”

  Constantine’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable but thoughtful. “That’s an interesting idea,” he said after a beat. “And one worth investigating. We should find out.”

  Without another word, we moved.

  The foyer’s polished marble gave way to narrower halls before we opened the door that led to the basement level. It was much darker and colder as we descended deeper into Shadow Bone’s belly. Torches lit the stone walls in flickering amber, their light catching on iron sconces and the subtle etching of centuries-old wards carved into the stone.

  The air grew cooler the further down we went, carrying the heavy scent of damp stone and rusted chains. My boots echoed against the worn steps, Constantine’s tread steady beside mine.

  At the bottom, the narrow hall opened into the cell block—heavy iron bars, reinforced doors, and the low, oppressive hum of enchantments layered by witches long dead.

  I tightened my grip on my spear as we walked past the first row of empty cells, the air thick with the memory of screams and blood.

  Dimitri was waiting.

  And if anyone had secrets worth prying loose, it was him.

  The cell block was colder than the rest of Shadow Bone, the stone sweating with dampness. The air smelled of rust, old iron, and the delicate, sour tang of blood that never truly faded from these walls.

  We reached the end of the row, and there he was.

  Dimitri Galloway.

  Once the picture of power—his suits immaculate, his dark hair slicked into place, his words abrasive enough to cut glass. Now he was filthy. His black hair was matted, his face streaked with grime, the sharp lines of his jaw shadowed with neglect. His once-expensive clothing was torn and ripped, one sleeve hanging by a few threads. His boots, what remained of them, were caked in dried mud.

  Even in that sorry state, he sat on the edge of the cot like he owned it, his long frame relaxed, one knee cocked, elbow balanced lazily on it. His lips curved into a smug smile the moment his eyes met mine.

  “Cassara James,” he drawled, his voice hoarse but still carrying that mocking lilt. “To what do I owe this honor? Come to gloat? Or perhaps… confess that you miss me?”

  My jaw tightened, but I didn’t answer. Not yet.

  Dimitri’s gaze flicked to Constantine, lingering there as though daring him to rise to the bait. “And the loyal shadow himself. Still following orders like a good hound, I see.” He leaned back, feigning boredom as though his imprisonment was little more than a mild inconvenience. “I do hope the cells are up to your standards. I asked the staff for silk sheets, but alas…” He spread his hands in mock despair.

  Constantine’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword, his jaw hardening. The scrape of his boot against stone echoed, a low promise of violence. His golden eyes narrowed, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

  Dimitri only chuckled, low and amused. “Ah. There it is. That famous temper. Go on, Con—draw it. Give me something to make this evening less insufferably dull.”

  I lifted the spear a fraction, the blessed steel humming in my grip, and let my voice cut into the cold air.

  Because Dimitri might look broken, but the truth gleamed in his eyes—he wasn’t beaten. Not in his mind. This cell was just another move in whatever twisted game he was still playing.

  And I’d be damned if I let him think he had the upper hand.

  I let the spear rest casually against my shoulder, my gaze raking over him with deliberate disdain. “You know, Dimitri, I half expected you’d have gone feral by now. But I should’ve known—five seconds in a fight, just like five seconds in bed, and then you’re winded.”

  His smirk froze, just for a heartbeat.

  “Oh, Cassara,” he said with a soft chuckle, trying to recover, “still bitter I never invited you into my bed? Trust me, darling, you would’ve begged for more.”

  I tilted my head, lips curling. “Begging implies you had something worth staying conscious for. Everyone knows the truth about your stamina, Dimitri. Blink and it’s over. It’s practically your clan legacy.”

  The smirk slipped. His eyes narrowed, a flash of anger sparking there. “Careful, Cassara. You’ve always had a sharp tongue. Shame you don’t know how to use it properly.”

  I leaned against the bars, close enough for him to see the heat in my eyes. “Oh, I know how to use it. You’re just the only man alive who wouldn’t last long enough to enjoy it.”

  That did it. His cool facade cracked, a growl curling at the back of his throat. He lunged forward, hands gripping the bars, his face inches from mine. Dirt smeared his cheek, but his eyes burned with temper.

  I smiled, slow and dangerous. “There he is. The real Dimitri. Not the smug puppet in rags pretending all this was part of his grand design.”

  “Cassara,” Constantine’s voice cut in, low but firm. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, his tone edged with steel. “This line of questioning is pointless.”

  I didn’t move, not right away. I enjoyed the twitch in Dimitri’s jaw too much. But then he pulled back, his smirk returning—not as smooth as before, but enough to prove he knew he’d been baited.

  “Ah,” he drawled, smoothing his dirty sleeve as though it mattered. “So this isn’t just a social call. You’re here for something. To trade, perhaps?”

  His eyes gleamed, hungry despite the grime and rags.

  And just like that, the balance shifted. Dimitri had scented leverage.

  I leveled a glare at Dimitri, every ounce of contempt I felt sharpening my tone. “Well, I sure as shit wouldn’t come here for a social call. Not even to insult you.”

  He chuckled, low and throaty, leaning lazily against the bars. “How nice. Then tell me, Cassara—what do you want?”

  I lifted my spear, and met his eyes without flinching. “We’re looking for a piece of an artifact. The Pentacoris. Don’t get excited—you won’t be talking to anyone else about it.”

  Dimitri tilted his head, his smile crooked and unbothered. “My closest friend has already used my own people to seize power. There is nobody in this clan I trust, Cassara. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Do you know anything about this artifact?” I pressed.

  “Only that it is rumored to have great power,” he said, his voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “And that it was disassembled.”

  The air seemed to thin around me, my lungs catching. I sucked in a quick breath. “How do you know this?”

  Dimitri’s smile widened, smug satisfaction oozing off him. “It was one of the artifacts Rahl had me looking for. I created an underground network to source black-market antiquities. You didn’t think all those alliances I made were based on my good looks, did you?”

  “Fuck!” The word ripped from me, harsh and sharp, as I slammed the butt of my spear against the stone floor.

  Constantine’s hand was on my arm in an instant, grounding me, his grip firm. “As unsavory as that is,” he said, his golden eyes never leaving Dimitri, “it may work to our advantage.”

  Dimitri inclined his head, clearly savoring the moment. “Exactly. I am willing to help you—in exchange for some quality of life. I don’t expect to be released,” he added quickly, reading the fire in my eyes, “but a decent suite… under guard, of course, would be in order. It would make assisting you much easier.”

  His smug smile made my stomach turn.

  Because he knew, and I knew, that for all his filth and rags, Dimitri had just regained a measure of leverage.

  And damn it all—we might need him.

  Constantine stepped closer to the bars, his hand leaving my arm, but his presence grounding me all the same. His voice was calm, practical. “You’ll get some amenities here in the cell. A proper bed. More blood rations. But don’t expect more.”

  Dimitri gave a theatrical sigh, as though Constantine had just told him he’d have to dine without wine. “Amenities in a dungeon hardly sweeten the offer. What I want is a fledgling suite. A door, a proper bath, real light. If you expect me to dig into my network for you, I need more than rags and chains.”

  My spear slammed against the bars with a tinny clang before I thought about it. “There is no way in hell you’re getting anywhere near the rest of the clan.”

  Dimitri’s dark eyes glittered, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. He thrived on our outrage, the bastard.

  Constantine didn’t rise to the bait. His gaze never wavered. “What about the basement office? It has a small shower. You remain here in the lower levels, but we can outfit the room with furniture. Comfortable, but still under guard. A desk to work from. You may need access to some of our records.”

  Dimitri tilted his head, considering, his smirk deepening. “Better. That would do. But I’ll also need a few books of my own. Something to pass the time.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe we were standing here, negotiating comfort with a traitor. Every instinct in me screamed to cut his smug throat and be done with it. But the truth was undeniable; I wouldn’t risk Rene’s life any more than Constantine would.

  Still, I leaned in, my voice as sharp as the spear tip between us. “You listen to me, Dimitri. You betray us again—just once—and I will take my time ending you. Inch by inch, until you beg me for the mercy you don’t deserve.”

  Dimitri’s smirk morphed into something sharper, almost weary. “I wish to keep my head, Cassara. Nothing more. And perhaps, when this is over, regain a measure of respect.”

  I barked out a humorless laugh. “Respect? You’ll be lucky if I let you keep your tongue.”

  Constantine’s golden eyes flicked toward me, steady but unreadable. And in the silence that followed, the weight of our choice settled over all three of us—we had just bargained with a snake.

  And snakes always waited for the right moment to bite.

  Constantine didn’t move, but I felt the wariness rolling off him in waves. His voice was flat, cold, unyielding. “Dimitri, you never cared about respect. You only cared about power. Don’t mistake our willingness to negotiate with an abhorrence for killing you. I would just as soon run you through with my sword as stand here. The only thing useful to me is your information.”

  Dimitri’s lip twitched, his smirk flickering but not falling. “Are you going to tell me why you want it?”

  “No,” Constantine said without hesitation. His golden eyes gleamed like polished steel. “Only that it’s powerful enough it shouldn’t be left in mortal hands.”

  Dimitri sighed, leaning lazily against the bars. “That is true.”

  I crossed my arms, my spear still at my side, but my stance hard. My eyes slid to Con. “How can we be sure he knows where the pieces are? He could be bluffing, trying to get what he wants.”

  Dimitri turned his gaze to me, his smile stretching wide. “I only searched for one piece. I was unable to retrieve it, since it currently resides with the lycans’ sister pack. Even the lycans here do not know where they are.”

  My lips thinned, frustration boiling under my skin. As much as I hated it, I knew he wasn’t lying. Dimitri was too smug, too pleased with himself, enjoying my discomfort. That satisfaction was genuine.

  “I will help you further,” he drawled, reclining on the filthy cot as though it were a throne, “when my suite is ready.”

  Then, as if we weren’t there, he stretched out and lay back, one arm thrown casually behind his head, the other dangling off the edge of the cot.

  Dismissed. By a man in rags.

  I ground my teeth, fingers tightening on my spear until the metal hummed. Every instinct screamed to end him where he lay.

 

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