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Armond wrinkled his nose. “Ugly contraption but necessary for the grand finale. Later, when our guests have finished their libations, the driver will fire up the bulldozer and charge through the gates like a knight on a stallion.”

Vivian patted Armond’s arm, certain bulldozers didn’t gallop but lumber at a slow crawl. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Dove,” Armond said to his eager partner, “be a dear and see how the hors d’oeuvres are holding out while I check on the fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” Vivian winced.

“Don’t worry. I promise it will be fabulous.” Armond kissed her cheek. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

Her heart swelled as she watched the two of them set off. She was fortunate to have such talented individuals in her life. She loved them both dearly.

Rather than escort her as he did at the party, Liam hung back, embracing his bodyguard role. Feeling strangely bereft, Vivian strolled along the driveway and was stopped by a couple.

“Constance.” Vivian extended her hand to the plainly dressed, demure blonde. While genuine, the woman’s smile never reached her eyes. “It’s so good to see you again.” She turned to Constance’s mate. “And Harold. I’m glad you could join us.” She forced a smile of her own, briefly shaking his hand.

Harold was a paunchy male with ruddy cheeks who seemed to be in a perpetual bad mood. “Yeah, well, you can thank my Bride for that. She wouldn’t stop nagging until I agreed. At least Magister Steele is here, so it won’t be a complete waste of time.” He glanced over their heads. “Ah, there he is now.” Without a backward glance, he set off.

“Please excuse my mate,” Constance said, her cheeks glowing pink. “He’s been eager to speak with the magister for quite a while.”

“No apologies are necessary.”

Constance lowered her head, twisting her hands. “I’m glad I could be here. This shelter you’re building is a beacon of hope for so many women. As you know, there is very little recourse for those who find themselves under the influence of an abusive male.” Tears glistened in the women’s eyes, her expression haunted.

Vivian knew that look all too well.

“And my doors will be open to women of all backgrounds. To anyone who has a need.” She reached into the pocket of her coat, then took the woman’s hand, slipping her card into her palm. “This is my personal number. Call me, and we’ll get together for tea. I’d like to tell you more about my project.”

Constance offered a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’d love that.” She scurried off to join her mate, who was jabbering in the magister’s ear. Catching Vivian’s eyes on him, Tiberius disengaged the frowning Harold and strode to her side. Four members of his personal guard trudged behind him, lingering at a respectful distance.

“Magister Steele.” She took his extended hands and air-kissed his cheeks. “Thank you for being here. Your support means so much to me and many women of the underworld.” Women whose backing he would need if he wanted to remain in office. After all, those women more than outnumbered the handful of males she’d offended with this project. Tiberius was no fool and skilled enough to work both sides to his advantage.

“Happy to be here and lend my support to such a worthy cause,” he said a bit too loud, making sure others heard him.

He glanced over her shoulder, and his lips tightened into an irritated line. “I see your new pet is in attendance. Might want to watch him around the hors d’oeuvre tables.”

She didn’t need to look to know Liam lingered but a few feet away. His protective influence was an itch between her shoulder blades she couldn’t reach to scratch. “Rest assured he will be on his best behavior tonight.”

Armond’s voice rang out, saving her from further conversation about her bodyguard. “If I could have everyone’s attention, please. It’s time we started.”

“Shall we?” Tiberius extended his arm, escorting her to their places beside the podium.

Vivian listened patiently while Armond spoke, working his way through his carefully planned itinerary. The charred remains of the mansion loomed behind her like a malevolent beast. It seemed to glare holes into her back as though it knew today it would meet its end.

There was a time when she’d stopped here at least once a month. Stare at the rubble. Remind herself she was free. It had been years now since she’d returned, leaving Armond to deal with the contractors.

The ravens cackled in the cages, growing restless, eager to stretch their wings. Their agitation prickled the back of her neck. Before she could analyze the feeling further, Armond introduced her to the crowd.

Showtime.

She drew back her shoulders and smoothed the worry from her expression. Due to her growing discomfort, she gave a short yet impassioned speech, eager to have the task over.

When she’d finished, Armond reclaimed the podium, bringing things to a close. “Mistress Vivian, will you please do the honors?” He held out his arm.

Vivian squared her shoulders and strode to the gates.

During her occasional visits here, she’d never gone past this barrier. Her stomach tightened, and she grasped the iron bars of what was once her prison. Then, using all her supernatural strength, she shoved. The hinges swung inward with a mournful groan.

On cue, the ravens’ keeper freed them from their cages. With a flurry of midnight wings, they shot into the sky, sailing over the heads of the gathered guests. Gold sparklers blazed to life along the fence line. The crowd broke into cheers and applause. It truly was a beautiful, inspiring moment. So why did the back of her neck prickle?