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She dipped her chin in return, the gesture so subtle it could barely be classified as a greeting. “Darien. Maximus. It’s been a long time.”

“We’ve come to make you an offer, if you’re willing to hear it.”

A hum floated up from deep in her lungs. “You’re not the first this evening.”

“Lionel beat us to it?” Max dared.

“I’m afraid he hasn’t had a chance to speak with me yet.” What a goddamn lie. She beckoned with a wave of fingernails that were filed into curled claws. “Hurry it up. The night is wasting, and I am tired.”

Darien glanced at Christa, who gave him a subtle nod. This was where she would part with them.

Channary led the way through the house, down a maze of creaky corridors. The many doors they passed were shut. Candles flickered in sconces, dripping wax onto floorboards that were in desperate need of being ripped out and replaced.

When they reached a staircase, the structure as narrow as it was steep, they ascended the steps to the third floor. Channary’s office was the fifth door down, perpetually guarded by two Pawns. She didn’t acknowledge either of them as she swung open the door and strutted inside.

The walls were crowded with shelves of books and ornaments, not a gap to be seen. A desk sat near a bay window, the peeling frames providing a striking view of the ocean, where a swiftly setting sun flaunted its orange reflection on the choppy waters.

Tightening her wolf pelt around her shoulders, Channary sank into the chair behind the desk, crossed her legs, and sparked a cigarette. She smoked it from a long silver cigarette holder, an antique that kept her clothes from getting covered in ash and made her look like she’d stepped out of a bygone era.

“Alright, Darien,” she crooned, breathing a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “Let’s hear it. This better be worth my time.”

“Randal’s dead,” he began, getting right to the point.

“I am aware. And I’m assuming you’re here to flaunt your newfound riches and status in my face.”

“I come with an offer.” Channary canted her head. “I was recently informed that we have a new problem on our hands, and I would like your help, if you are willing to offer it. The MPU is looking to take down the arms trade that Randal and his men were involved with, and if we don’t help them do it, they’ll put us behind bars. All of us.”

“All of us?” Channary trilled a cold, disbelieving laugh. “Every Darkslayer house in the city? You’ve got your panties all in a bunch for nothing, Darien.” Silver-blue eyes raked over his form. “You’re young. You weren’t around to see the rest of us fight for our status. A few disgruntled detectives aren’t anything new to us.”

“Maybe not,” Darien said. “But I have no interest in serving time in Blackwater or Darkwater. To use your words, I am young, and I don’t wish to spend the better part of my life rotting behind bars.”

She didn’t need to know the truth—that the MPU was the least of his concerns, and it was Gaven Payne and his men who’d personally threatened him, his family, and his home. The more allies he had on his side, and the less people he had standing in his way or attempting to take him down themselves, the better. No matter how much he hated speaking with this woman.

And no matter how much he hated pretending to ally with her.

Channary snickered, still more amused than she should be. “They would put us in Blackwater, wouldn’t they?” She tapped the ash off her cigarette. “Who told you all this?”

“That’s confidential. The most I can tell you is there’s a new Head Detective in charge of their operations, and he isn’t a fan of Darkslayers.”

The Warg put out her cigarette in the glass ashtray, then balanced the holder in the notch in the rim. She leaned forward, lacing her white fingers on the desk. “Let me get this straight.” Her voice was as smoky as the stream of gray curling out of the ashtray. “You have received a warning about the MPU wanting to throw us behind bars, so you would like my help in taking down these dealers.”

“Correct.” He would never ask for her help, not unless he really needed it. He didn’t trust her enough for that. What he really wanted was to assert his claim over his father’s seat and douse any of the plans she’d been stoking. Lionel’s presence here was a concern; clearly, they were in cahoots, which was a first.

“And where’s this offer you mentioned? What do I get in return?”

“You want your house at the top of the hierarchy,” Darien began.

That cold smile spread. “How very observant of you.”

“I’m here to offer you something better. How would you like Randal’s former position as Head of all houses?”

She eyed him with cold assessment. “You’re speaking of his position as if it is yours to hand off.” Of course she would toe the line and see how much belittling he would tolerate.

“It is mine. I am Randal Slade’s son and successor. His title isn’t up for grabs, it belongs to me—” Darien jabbed his chest. “—until I decide to offer it to someone else. And unless you’d like to see a cut in your wages, and your house moved to the bottom tier, I would rethink your next move. That goes for Lionel as well.”

Her stare turned hostile. “What does Lionel have to do with this?”

“You think I don’t know why he’s here? You think I don’t know that you two have been going head to head for years, yet he’s here at your house tonight like you’re thick as fucking thieves?”