Page 5

“Qu’est-ce que tu regardes?”She smoothed a curl from her cheek, wincing at the sound of her native tongue on her lips, then translated, “What are you looking at?”

While Dove went mute, Armond angled his head, his words stilted. “You tell me. You’ve received multiple threats far worse than this one. Just last week, we received a dismembered cat. You and I both know poor Dove will never be the same after that one.” Dove squeaked her agreement. “None of them sent you flying down the steps on your proverbial broomstick.”

Armond was correct because none of those threats had gotten under her skin, made her quake, or question her own sanity. OnlyHehad ever had that kind of power over her.

She tilted her chin and sniffed, saying simply, “I don’t like lilies.”

Dove blinked and glanced down at the open box she still held in her arms. “What should I do with these?”

“Burn them,” Vivian ordered, her words clipped.

Dove’s delicate brow scrunched, and she caressed one of the petals. “You mean, in the fireplace? But they’re so pretty,” she said in an it’s-not-their-fault tone.

“Burn. Them.”

While her Chosen was skilled at communing with the dead, it was Armond, with his vast experience of the world, who was better at interpreting the desires of the living. He scooped the bouquet from Dove’s arms, strode through the great room to the ornate fireplace, and tossed them inside.

As the flames licked the edges of the box, Vivian exhaled a deep sigh, her tension easing.

“I’m sorry, Vivian,” Dove said. “The guard insisted the package was harmless.”

“It’s not your fault, darling.” Not Dove’s fault that Vivian was broken and twisted. “I’m the one who should apologize for carrying on so. Perhaps it’s the stress that’s getting to me.”

When she planned to build a women’s shelter over the charred remains of her former mansion, she’d expected some fallout. After all, there were plenty of controlling males in the underworld who didn’t like the idea of an impenetrable women’s refuge. One where their “fated” mates could escape their tyranny. Once the shelter was completed, not even the most determined and violent of abusers would be able to breach their walls. No lycan, vampire, warlock, demon, ormagewould dare to step foot in her sanctuary uninvited.

Armond scrubbed his hand over his face, looking weary beyond his youthful thirty-two years, a pittance in a vampire’s longevity. “These threats won’t stop once we’ve broken ground. While this shelter you’re building might be bulletproof, your current home certainly isn’t. Perhaps it’s time you hired a larger security team. Someone more capable of protecting the property.”

Vivian steeled her spine. “And allow the jackals to believe they’ve cornered me? Let them think I live in fear of them? No.” She stomped her stiletto-clad foot, rattling the snakeheads. “My days of cowering are far behind me. Behave like prey, and the predators will treat you as such. I’ll not have a bunch of armed guards lurking about inside my home, watching my every move.” She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

At least with Liam as her bodyguard, she’d be in complete control of the situation.

Two

“Like I told you.I’m retired. I’m not taking any more jobs,” Liam said to the pompous vampire seated across the table. Asshole didn’t bother to share his name. Not that it mattered since Liam wasn’t big on social graces himself. He’d known the bastard was going to be trouble when he’d waltzed into Howlers wearing a suit. Fool was lucky he didn’t get the shit beat out of him before he’d even made it inside.

Liam knew his type. Fancy clothes, manicured nails. The way the vampire had tiptoed through the room like he was wading through dog shit.

Lord Pompous was the kind of stuck-up prick who didn’t like to get his aristocratic hands dirty. Instead, he’d headed to an underworld bar, looking for some sucker to do the job for him. Liam had tired of the conversation two minutes before it started.

“Word on the street is you’re the best,” Pompous went on as though his ears were plated in gold and just as useless. “That you’re willing to do anything for the right price, no matter how unscrupulous. Your associates tell me, once you accept a contract, you finish the job, no matter what it takes.”

That kind of sweet talk would get the asshole nowhere. Liam shook his head. “Not interested.”

“It’s a simple task, I assure you. In fact, I’m certain it will be the easiest money you’ve ever made.”

Liam popped the Macanudo cigar into the corner of his mouth, took a drag, and blew a cloud of smoke into the aristocrat’s face, uttering, “Nope.”

Pompous waved his hand, coughing. If his reddening jowls were any indication, he was finally catching on. “You’d have to be ten kinds of stupid to turn down my offer. I mean, look at this dump.” He leaned back, scanning the priceless collection of treasures Liam had spent years hammering into the walls of his bar. “Seems to me you’re barely keeping a roof over your head. With the amount of cash I’m offering, you could fix up this derelict establishment. Buy a couple of decent pool tables. Even replace the duct-taped chairs.”

Liam clamped his cigar between his teeth and leaned in, grating, “I like the duct tape. Gives the place character.”

Pompous snorted. “Come now. What I’m offering must be a fortune to someone like you.”

Liam’s muscles turned to stone. He took his time, snuffing out his cigar in the ashtray, then popped his neck. “Someone… like me?”

Chairs scraped behind him, some of the regulars recognizing the threat in his tone. They eased off their stools, slinking to a safer distance. Unfortunately, the target of Liam’s anger missed the flashing neon sign, the one warning,danger, danger.

“That’s right, someone like you,” Pompous spat. “A classless, low-bred bastard. Look at you. Body covered in tasteless tattoos, frayed shirt, dirt under your nails.” He sneered down his nose. “Who do you think you are to refuse a pureblooded descendant? Perhaps you’re too ignorant to understand when one of your superiors is offering you the deal of a life—Blegeck.”