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Dallas made a face. “Somebody’s grouchy.”

Shaking his sleeve back, he checked his watch. “And two somebodies are about to be late.” He made for the door, grabbing his suit jacket on the way out, the shoes he wore only when he was attending weddings and other fancy events tapping on the floor. “Let’s go.”

—

The Fleet event to welcome Roark Bright back to the city was being held in the banquet hall of the Emerald Bay Resort.

The place was lavishly decorated, the building crowded with people wearing suits, elaborate gowns, and smiles that were likely as fake as their personalities. Jewelry winked under romantic lighting, and violinists played on a stage by the south wall. There were handcrafted ice sculptures and centerpieces, champagne towers, expensive-looking flowers, and so many balloons that Max wondered if there were any left in Angelthene, or if the event planner had bought out all the stock.

Max hated it. He’d never felt so out of place. One clumsy move on his part, and he’d take out an entire tower of champagne glasses.

No pressure or anything. But no matter how awkward he felt, he knew Dallas well enough to tell how hard this was for her. She was breathing shallowly, her silver-ringed eyes flicking about the room. He could see her pulse racing in her neck.

“I could use a drink right about now,” Dallas muttered. She stuck close to Max’s side, her arm brushing the sleeve of his shirt.

“That’s the last thing you need,” Max replied, keeping his voice at the same volume as hers. “What you need is a good, hard spanking.”

Dallas blinked several times, as if to clear her vision, but kept her attention ahead. “Anyplace other than here, and I’d be tearing your pants off, Max Reacher.”

Max tsked. “Allow me to clarify. You need a good, hard spanking for worrying so much. You’re driving me up the wall.”

Her catlike eyes flicked to his. “Sorry.”

“Everything will be fine, Dal. What are you so worried about?”

She froze then, as if she’d bumped into an invisible wall, fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in her satiny dress. “Him.” The word was a soft breath, her throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

Max followed her gaze. About a dozen feet away, Roark Bright was surrounded by a tight group of adoring people—a bunch of fake-asses who tipped their heads back and laughed every time he said something. Max would be willing to bet Roark couldn’t make a joke if he tried. Max had seen the man in the Daystar paper countless times, but his resemblance to Dallas was more apparent in person. Same hair color, same skin color, same smile. Their eyes were different; while hers were silver-green, his were amber, but aside from this, there was no mistaking it: Dallas was his daughter.

Roark had once been a member of the Phoenix Head Society, way back when Erasmus Sophronia was young and human. Back when Roark went by the name Elix Danik. The silver rings around the man’s pupils hinted at his warlock genetics, but there was hellseher in him too. There had to be. Which meant the gene alteration that had turned him into a hellseher had not passed onto Dallas.

But the man, like Erasmus Sophronia, had been born mortal, which was the reason the two had banded together to create the Arcanum Well.

So how in the hell did he have warlock blood?

The question was one of many that had invaded Max’s mind since that night in the Bright penthouse. So many questions, they sometimes kept him up at night.

Max grabbed hold of the infuriating thoughts and pushed them to the very back of his mind, focusing instead on the here and now. “He’s your dad,” he said to Dallas. “The last person who should be worried about impressing him is his daughter. No?”

“I wish.” The words were a choked whisper. “I’ve been trying to impress him ever since I was a little girl who discovered crayons.” She swallowed again, her pupils dilating. “Ever since I showed him one of my masterpieces, and he told me I needed to color inside the lines.”

Max snagged a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing server and tossed the liquid back. “Dick.”

Dallas eyed him. “I’m going to need you to be civil tonight.”

“Then maybe save the rest of your childhood memories for later, or he’s going to find out how it feels to take a real punch to the face.” His attention went back to Roark, the pompous ass everyone was doting on. What a hard life he must have, with servants at his beck and call.

While Darien was the fighter in the family, it was people like Roark that left Max burning up inside, his own fists itching with the need to pulverize something. The man had a wonderful daughter who bent over backwards to please him, but he’d been so sheltered and praised his whole life that he couldn’t get off the high horse he rode in on and see what he’d been blessed with.

Dallas’s quiet voice called him back to attention, and he loosened his fist. “Oh, believe me, he found out a long time ago. He didn’t get to where he is today without being dealt his fair share.” A deep breath rattled her chest, the necklace she was wearing glimmering under the chandeliers. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Max stayed close to Dallas as she led the way to the group, ditching his empty glass on the tray of another passing server. Dal was clutching her purse before her, her unblinking gaze on her father. The closer they got to the group, the more her feet dragged.

Laughter and conversation faded into a polite and curious silence as they joined the group.

Roark Bright’s attention fell upon Dallas. “Ah, there she is,” he said, plastering a perfect smile on his face. Gesturing with a graceful hand that showed off his rings and watch, he announced to the group, “Everyone, my daughter Dallas.” He beckoned her forward, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Best new recruit in Angelthene’s Fleet.”

One of the women in the group said with a grin, “Must be time for those wings soon.”