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Hunter nods. “It’s been a challenge getting our footing. The win and the party at the crypt seem to have helped.”

I’ve heard about the gluttony that took place in the crypt on Friday night, reported by my Shadows. They’d followed my rules, no fornication, while still enjoying the passion of the night. It’s important. Necessary.

“Connections can be our greatest weapon. Or the very thing that gets us all killed. I’m pleased you’ve been able to create a bond.” I move behind the desk, rest my palms on the wood. “I have two projects. Quiet, specific, and critical to the integrity of this House–and to the city itself.”

They both nod, posture shifting subtly. Men who’ve witnessed death–experienced it–and will again.

I look at DK first. “You’re taking her to the river.” His brow lifts. “To the place she was found,” I clarify. “The spot where Arianette crawled out of the water half-dead. I want you to walk her through it. Not as a protector, she has too many of those already, but as a student of the terrain. Maybe something jogs her memory. A sound, a scent, the way the wind hits the trees.”

“You want her to remember,” DK says.

“No,” I say, cold and even. “I want her tosee. Remembering comes after.”

Hunter leans back, arms crossed. “And what about me?”

I tilt my chin toward him. “You’re already doing it. That late-night voice of yours–people listen. Not just the college kids, but the insomniacs, the drunks, the ones who know things and don’t realize it. I want you to start asking the right kinds of questions.”

He quirks a brow. “On air?”

“Veiled. Slanted. A riddle, a metaphor, a game.” I wave my hand, not interested in the specifics. “I don’t care how you spin it, but spin it. Find the thread. Pull it until something snaps.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Hunter asks.

“It will.”

The fire crackles across the room. I step back, letting the weight of the room press down around us. “People think women vanish because they’re weak,” I say finally, voice low. “Because they’re careless. Sluts and whores. Expendables. That’s a lie. The girls in Forsyth vanish because someone out there is trying totear down what we have by taking the people that belong to us. I want to know who that someone is.”

DK’s nod is barely perceptible. Hunter seems to already be deep in thought.

“If that’s settled, I want to remind you the Black Wedding is in five days. Per tradition, you’ll be at my side, witness to the ceremony. Graves will prepare you.”

Having no interest in explaining further, that’s the last thing I say before turning my back to them. They’ll take the hint. The meeting is over.

Behind me, the leather of the chairs groans as they stand. Damon’s boots are always heavier than Hunter’s, he drags a little more weight, carries a little more anger. I don’t turn around. I listen instead, to the way the old hinges sigh as the library doors close behind them. That pause. The one where they hesitate, like they want to ask more questions–get more clarity on my commands.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the answers.

In five days, I marry a woman barely of age. I’ll make her mine, give her a title, fulfill my duty, and reap my reward.

I walk to the fire and lean one hand against the mantle, the heat crawling up my wrist like a warning.

The men are loyal. The House is quiet. The dead are buried.

For now.

But I can feel something moving beneath it all.

And it may destroy us all when I drag it into the light.

25

Damon

Even with GPS coordinates,the trailhead is nearly invisible. I pass by it twice, cruising at less than five miles an hour, until I realize that the rotten stump on the side of the road is the marker.

Pulling off, the tires crunch over the fallen leaves. I park the SUV on the edge of the road. I know the river twists nearby, we’d already passed over it once on a bridge.

Arianette sits beside me in the truck, curled up like some Victorian doll left in the attic too long. Her dress is too delicate for the forest–lace cuffs, soft gray wool, ballet flats that won’t survive the mud–but she insisted on wearing it. Said it made her feel “more like herself.”