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I slide into the passenger seat, exhaling a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thank you for coming.”

“For you? Always.” He adjusts his six-five frame, his head nearly touching the roof, then puts the car in gear, pulling smoothly into traffic. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten into more trouble since we last spoke.”

“Alright. I won’t tell you.” I lean my head back against the seat, suddenly bone-weary. “But first, we need to make sure we’re not followed. I know you can control the people who see us but what about the ones we don’t see?”

Adonis’ smile turns dangerous, a glimpse of the predator beneath the charm. “Leave that to me.”

He takes a series of seemingly random turns, weaving through side streets until we reach a stoplight. A car pulls up behind us—one I recognize as belonging to one of Cohen’s men.

Adonis meets my eyes briefly, then lowers his window, turning to look directly at the driver behind us. His mouth moves but no words come out, at least none that I can hear. His power rolls off him in waves—the compulsion that no human can resist.

The car behind us makes an abrupt turn at the next opportunity, driving away as if we never existed.

“They’ll remember following a different car,” Adonis explains, raising the window. “A wild goose chase that will leadthem in circles until the compulsion wears off.” He gives me a proud, quiet smile. “Now, to Malibu.”

The drive to the colony takes less than an hour, the city giving way to coastline as we head north. Mist rolls in from the ocean, shrouding the road in ghostly white, isolating us from the world. It feels appropriate somehow—this liminal space between my life in the city and the sanctuary that awaits.

Adonis takes my arm as we approach the front door, a gesture both protective and supportive. “Whatever’s happened,” he says quietly, “we’ll help you through it.”

The door opens before we reach it, revealing Abe, elegant in a smoking jacket, his red hair swept back from his forehead. Behind him stands Ezra, peering at me with curiosity. From the tinkling sound of the piano in the depths of the house, I’d wager Valtu Aminoff is still staying with them.

“Lena,” Abe says, his voice warm with concern. “Come in. You look like you’ve had quite a fright.”

I step into the warmth of the house, feeling some of the tension drain from my shoulders. Here, I don’t have to pretend.

“Tell us everything,” Abe says, leading me to the living room with its panoramic view of the misty ocean. “Last we spoke, you got your fill. Are you hungry again?”

I shake my head, noting the piano notes have stopped. “It’s not about feeding. It’s about Victor Callahan.”

“The PI,” Valtu says from the doorway as he leans against it, sipping from a goblet, looking every inch the Dark Prince in his black attire and wavy hair. “The one you pretended to not have feelings for.”

“We told you not to get involved,” Abe chides.

I give the doctor a pointed look. “And have you ever known me to listen?”

“Fair enough,” Abe says. “So, what about Callahan?”

Ezra comes by and gives me a glass of wine mixed with blood, preserved with anticoagulants, a favorite pick me up. I take it eagerly, finishing half the glass before Ezra laughs, making me stop. My hand is trembling as I place it down on the glass coffee table.

“Callahan and Marco,” I tell them, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Then I launch into everything that’s happened since the last I was here, including the bits I wish I could hide—the fact that I slept with Callahan.

“And now Marco’s missing,” I finish, downing the rest of the glass. “Cohen came to see me at the club tonight, thinks I know something about it. Or that Callahan does.”

“And do you?” Abe asks, watching me carefully.

Ezra hands me another glass. I take a careful sip, feeling strength returning to my limbs. “No. But Callahan was furious. The way he attacked Marco—I’ve never seen a human so violent. So…unleashed.” I hesitate. “There’s something different about him. Something not quite right.”

“Hmmm. And you think he killed your Marco?” Ezra asks, now sprawled in an armchair, deceptively casual.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it. But if he did…” I meet Abe’s steady gaze. “I wouldn’t blame him.”

Abe sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Lena, you know becoming involved with humans is dangerous. Especially humans connected to a murder investigation.”

“I’m notinvolvedwith him,” I protest. “I just slept with him.”

Valtu snorts in response.

“Your face says otherwise,cara mia,” says Ezra teasingly.