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“Marcus refuses to see anyone, including me, most days,” Tiberius said, his tone somber. “He’s become quite the recluse. With the recent upgrades he’s made to his penthouse, I dare say his security is even more impressive than what you’ve planned for your shelter. I worry should he continue to decline, I may need to take drastic measures in order to protect House Othonos.”

When Marcus’ father was murdered, and his position as Lord of House Othonos claimed by his killer, it was Tiberius who helped Marcus avenge his father and reclaim his title.

“Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that. Marcus would be devastated.” If the male who’d raised him like a son led that coup, there was no telling what it might do to him. “Have you found the person responsible for the bombing?”

“Not yet. Since his attacker had ties to Zion, the special task force I created is working on the case.”

Liam’s arm tightened around her waist at the mention of the religious zealot. It was Zion who sent an assassin to murder Liam a couple months ago for refusing to sell his disgusting drug, black ice. Zion who was responsible for the fresh bullet wounds she’d examined when Liam arrived at her home. Not that she wanted to discuss any of that with the magister since there was no guarantee he’d believe Liam innocent of any perceived crime.

Vivian schooled her reaction. “This Zion fellow seems to have his dirty fingers in everything these days. I sincerely hope your task force is successful.”

Liam snorted beside her, thankfully remaining silent.

Tiberius snared her hand, cupping it between his own massive palms. “Speaking of my task force, there’s a rather urgent matter I need to discuss with you.” He flicked a dismissive glance at Liam, stating, “In private.”

“Certainly,” she agreed, though she preferred not to leave Liam unsupervised. “Liam, darling. Go and fetch us something to drink. I’ll just be a moment.”

He dipped his head to her ear. “Not a fan of having you out of my sight, Viv.”

She extracted her hand from Tiberius’ unrelenting grip and patted Liam’s shoulder. “I won’t be long. Go on now.”

He frowned, looking as though he wanted to argue, then nodded.

Far from apologetic, Tiberius said to Liam, “Sorry to steal her away from you.”

With Liam occupied, Tiberius led her to the balcony. As they stepped outside, the cool night air raised goosebumps on her arms. Instead of a railing, a short glass wall enclosed the space, giving one the unsettling notion that they might plummet over the side at any moment. Couples paired off around a gas firepit with blue flames, their faces glowing with a ghoulish light.

Tiberius guided her to a secluded corner, and she settled onto a cushioned bench while he leaned his elbow on the railing. “I understand you plan to break ground tomorrow despite the threats you’ve received.”

Was that a note of concern she picked up in his tone or something more? “It will take more than a few paltry threats to cancel my plans.”

The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile. “No. I imagine it would take a great deal to dissuade you. I’m certain it’s no coincidence you’re breaking ground on the anniversary of Alistair’s death.”

She lowered her head and peered at him from beneath her lashes, breathing a forlorn sigh. “Is it wrong that I seek to find some consolation in the wake of my former lover’s heartbreaking demise?” Her voice cracked with emotion.

“Gods, you’re amazing.” Tiberius snorted a laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost believe you were the heartbroken widow.”

She straightened, offering him a coy smile. When the previous magister died in a tragic accident, the Council officials elected Tiberius Steele to take his place. With his new position, he inherited the deceased magister’s records. As well as all the dirty little secrets he’d kept in a book in his safe. Alistair’s many crimes and the abuse she suffered at the mage’s hands were one of those secrets. Fool that she was, she’d gone to the Council seeking help. Begged them to grant her sanctuary. She should have known that the former magister’s need for a mage would exceed his desire to defend an abused woman.

It was shortly after Tiberius accepted the position that he came to her, offering a heartfelt apology on the Council’s behalf. With Alistair’s death already suspect, they agreed it would be best to let the past die with him. For everyone’s sake.

“Surely you didn’t bring me out here to discuss the groundbreaking ceremony,” she said. “Tell me what’s troubling you.”

His conscience darkened. “I’m sorry to do this here, but I’m afraid it cannot wait. Now that my task force is investigating Zion, they’re reprocessing every scrap of evidence we have. During the course of their investigation, they discovered a case of journals that were previously confiscated during a raid on a rogue vampire’s lair. That lair belonged to Salvatore Guerra.”

Her pulse skipped at the mention of the journals, which was a ridiculous reaction. Alistair was long gone and his journals ash. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “I’d heard rumors that Salvatore had turned rogue and was committing atrocious crimes. That he found a way to turn innocent vampires into bloodthirsty killers.” It was quite the scandal considering the vampire was once a respected aristocrat and Council member.

Shadows painted Tiberius’ angular face. “Yes, well, for a while now, we’ve suspected Salvatore wasn’t working alone. There was a mage who collaborated with him, helping him to create his monsters.”

“Mage?” Again, her pulse leapt, apprehension prickling her neck.

“I’m afraid I have some troubling news.” Tiberius sat in the chair beside hers, taking both of her hands into his own before saying, “In those journals was proof that Alistair was, in fact, that mage. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Alistair is alive.”

Alive. Alive?She heard the word as though from a dark tunnel.No. Not alive.She’d watched him die. Saw it with her own eyes. Somehow, she mustered the strength to say, “That’s not possible.”

“He mentions you in several of them.” Tiberius reached into his suit jacket and extracted a small black booklet, the edges yellowed and wrinkled.

She took the journal with shaking hands. Alistair’s swirling script glared back at her from the page. Her blood cooled, turning to sludge in her veins. “No,” she exclaimed with an almost inaudible exhale. “This can’t be right.”