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“Nah, fair is fair,” he says, although he doesn’t look like it. I stare at his eyes, the bottle-glass green. “At least you didn’t bring a knife, like some other pricks we know.”

“Ashby, right?” Hunter asks, shaking his head. “I heard about that.”

“Absolute punk move,” Maddox–whoever he is, lifts his shirt to reveal a jagged scar. “Whatever, just makes legit wins even better. Anyway, since Porterfield lost, I figured I’d offer you his winner's tattoo, just to rub it in a little.”

“Yeah?” Damon says. “Yeah, I won’t say no to a free tat.”

“Good, I’ve been wanting you to come down to the shop anyway. See the setup. Talk about maybe working together.”

Damon nods. “Yeah, sure.”

“Not tonight though.” The nephilim runs his hand through his white-blond hair. “I need to let Porterfield know he’s not welcome in the tower tonight.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, well that’s the punishment for being a loser,” Maddox mutters. “Ask me how I know.”

A bulky figure with warm brown skin emerges behind him, rolling his eyes. “Dude, Lav went with you and played nursemaid for three days. I think you survived.” He shifts his attention to the Barons and thrusts out his hand. “You’re the new Barons, I’m Sy Perilini.”

“You’re the King,” Hunter says, shaking his hand. “Hunter Sorrin.”

“Damon Kemp.” He holds up his bloody hand and they both agree not to shake.

So far none of them have acknowledged me at all, but I sense eyes on me: the nephilim.

“You must be Arianette Hexley. Current Baroness and future bride. How does that work?” His eyes assess me before darting over to Hunter and Damon. “The three of you share? Or does the King get dibs?” He scratches his chin dramatically with one of those long, inked fingers. “Or does he have your cunt on lockdown so he can make sure he’s the one that knocks you up so he can have the perfect, obedient heir?”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Hunter asks, pushing me to the side.

“Chill. Ignore him.” Sy grabs his friend by the shoulder, his voice firm, “Come on, Rem, let’s go deal with Porterfield.”

Down the hall, a figure enters the doorway, instantly consuming any remaining air. “Christ,” Maddox mutters when he sees the Baron King, adding even lower, “as if meeting mommy dearest and losing tonight wasn’t enough, now this bullshit.”

“Simon,” the Baron King says as he approaches, “Remington.”

Remy grunts, but Sy steps forward. “Nice match tonight. Your Baron did well.”

The tension between the men is obvious, permeating like a bad smell. I press against Hunter, who stiffens at the closeness, and I watch the meeting of Kings.

“Better than well,” the King says, assessing Damon. “You were solid out there. A little sloppy at times, but you held your own against a trained hooligan.”

“Okay,” Remy says, ramming past Sy and pushing his sleeves up. “How about you get in the ring with me and see who wins.” He grins, cheeky and handsome. “You’ll have to take that mask off, though. House rules.”

There’s a flicker of heat between the two men, a battle that seems to cross time and space, a battle that I don’t understand. “Settle down, Remington, I came down here to congratulate my Baron on his win, nothing more, nothing less.”

Even I don’t believe that.

“Well, we’ve got a party to cancel,” Sy says, pushing Remy back the other way. “Congratulations, Kemp.” I think we all breathe a little easier once the Dukes are gone.

“I’ve sent Graves a message to set up the crypt for a celebration–truly, beating a Duke isn’t easy. Especially without bringing a weapon into the fight.” The King reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small silver box that he hands to Damon. “For tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“Will you be there?” I blurt, immediately regretting drawing his attention to me. At this point it’s too late and I add, “At the celebration.”

“No. Not tonight.” He steps back. “Once you return, stay on the grounds.” He nods at me. “Andalwayskeep an eye on her, even on our property.”

It’s a directive, one that doesn’t require a response.