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Jericho studied her, keen eyes boring deep inside of her. Who was the sympath in this relationship, anyway?

“If you want, I can delay the meeting for a few days,” he said, sounding eager to do precisely that.

For a moment, she considered his offer. Concern for Liam squashed the temptation. Victor wouldn’t tolerate excuses, and she’d never jeopardize Liam’s freedom.

“No. I’m fine. It’s just…” Since Jericho was her only ally, she needed—no—wanted him to understand. “For years, I’ve buried this part of me, kept it at the bottom of an imaginary well. Being a faerie makes me a target. Not only does it put me in danger, but the people around me too. When I was a little girl,” her voice broke, “my mom told me I was cursed. That if I revealed my ability, horrible things would happen to me.” She was right.

Years ago, in a dark alley, all her mother’s disdainful warnings had come true.Creeping shadows, soulless red eyes, Momma’s screams—

Alex slammed the pedal on her mental brakes, dodging the trip down memory lane. “Victor will expect me to tap into that well to help him.” What if something surfaced she couldn’t control?

Jericho snagged her arm, pulling her back from Victor’s door. “You wouldn’t be the first civilian who found themselves caught up in our clan leader’s plans. What he’s asking could take you down a road you don’t want to travel, placing you in grave danger.”

“You mean like he did with Ava?” When Alex first met Jericho, he was at Howlers on assignment, tasked with escorting Ava Morgan. The clan leader was using the newborn vampire as bait to trap a rogue vampire. Though Alex wasn’t privy to the details, she did know that helping Victor had almost cost the woman her life.

He nodded, and Alex chewed her bottom lip. “Seems Victor has a habit of enlisting unwitting damsels into his ranks.”

Jericho’s dark brow furrowed. “If you’re not up for this, say the word. Liam is a centuries-old vampire. He understood the risks when he broke the Council’s laws. He wouldn’t want you to sacrifice yourself for him.”

She shook her head. “I owe that man everything. I need to do this for him. Besides, Victor might turn me in if I don’t cooperate, and I have no intention of falling into the Council’s clutches.”

The thought renewed her resolve. She knocked on the heavy wooden door, and it swung open before her hand dropped, revealing an elf of a man. Seriously, the guy was leprechaun-sized. Dressed like one as well. His impeccable uniform looked costly and hand-tailored.

She resisted the urge to run her fingers through her tousled hair. The butler was dressed for royalty, while Alex was dressed for bartending in her frayed jeans and Howlers T-shirt. It was a deliberate statement on her part, making it clear to all that she was a member of “Team Liam.”

She met the butler’s black eyes. “Hi, I’m Alexandra. And you are?” The little man pressed his lips together, his expression guarded.

Jericho answered, his tone censorious, “Alphonse doesn’t speak.”

It figured Victor would have a servant who was incapable of blabbing his secrets. Alphonse swept his arm out, directing her over the threshold, then executed a crisp bow and closed the door behind them.

Once inside, she lost some of her nerve. Victor’s immense office was even stuffier than the clan leader. The furniture was a blend of sculpted curves and rich brocades. Not that she was an expert decorator, but it looked very Louis XV. She crossed an oriental rug with halting steps. Maybe she should have taken her boots off at the door.

Like the conservatory, oddities abounded. She tucked her fingertips into her front pockets and drifted closer to the built-in shelves, studying the odd collection of artifacts. Hand-carved statues, shrunken skulls, a scorpion with a gold-tipped stinger. Every item was unique, displayed as though it were a priceless treasure. She had the sinking suspicion she may have become the latest addition to his exotic menagerie.

“Touch nothing,” a husky voice whispered in her ear. She startled and glared into Jericho’s narrowed eyes. Unlike Ivy’s warning in the conservatory, she got the impression this wasn’t said to protect her but to protect Victor’s collection.

Eye roll. Like she had any use for Victor’s trinkets. It wasn’t as if she could hock a scorpion anyway. She chewed her lip and eyed the critter’s golden tail. Could she?

“Good evening, Alexandra, Jericho.”

Her heart leapt at the sound of Victor’s voice. He levitated from behind an ornate desk, moving with such grace he seemed a ghostly specter.

Totally creepy.

“Please, sit.” He gestured to a tufted sofa.

Spine straight and knees pressed together, Alex sat like a Catholic schoolgirl seated before the head nun. Jericho sank into the spot next to her, draping his heavy arm over the back of the sofa. The move reeked of possession, keeping her in his circle and yet not touching her—thank goodness. Her own emotions were wound tight enough without throwing Jericho’s into the mix.

Victor positioned himself in one of the wingback chairs across from them, crossing his long legs and settling the front of his richly embroidered suit jacket. Even relaxed, the power radiating off the vampire threatened to shrivel her oversensitive nerve endings.

“Thank you for joining me. I trust things are going well.” He studied her, brows arched, waiting for her response. In his eyes was a discomforting intellect that missed nothing. Not her steady hands, not her glowing skin, not the possessive arm resting behind her.

“Well enough,” she answered curtly.

His lips curled into a practiced smile, hardly a genuine expression of pleasure. “Good. We’ll need you at your best while you practice for your first assignment.”

“Practice?”