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“I don’t think it would be in my best interest to take this bargain. Not when it almost certainly means Casimir will take it upon himself to make some kind of attempt on my life. And not when we’re about to have the pleasure of his company.”

He pulls back an inch, and several things happen all at once.

First, a wave of bone-melting relief washes over me as the first part of what he said registers, and I realize I’m not about to be bitten by someone who isn’t Cas. Second, that realization quickly morphs into confusion when the rest of it sinks in.

And third, the door to Philippe’s office slams open with a crack that rattles the frame. I spin around to look, and my heart leaps into my throat.

There, with fury and violence written all over his face, is Cas.

24

Casimir

I’ve never considered myself a particularly violent creature.

Aside from one notable exception, I’ve never taken a life, and I’ve rarely had cause to injure or maim to achieve my purpose when flattery or threats or bribes usually do the trick.

But standing in Philippe’s doorway, seeing him with his fangs bared and hovering at Ophelia’s throat, one hand in her hair and the other at her waist—a position and intimacy that should be mine and mine alone—sends violence ripping through me.

Without thinking, without hesitating, I’m across the room in a few short heartbeats.

My hand is at Philippe’s throat before I’ve registered raising it. I haul him off Ophelia, slamming him into the floor-to-ceiling window behind him with a force I’m surprised doesn’t fracture the glass.

“Cas, stop!”

Stop?

I’ll stop when the arrogant smirk fades from his face, when the cruel glint in his eyes as they meet mine turns into a cold, dead, glassy stare.

It’ll serve him right for touching her, for—

“Cas.” Ophelia’s voice is quieter this time, and the touch of her hand on my shoulder brings me back into my body in short, jerking increments. I’m still half-lost to the crimson haze overtaking my senses, but her soft words somehow make it through. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“What the fuck is it, then?” I snarl, and a little more sanity slams back into me when she flinches.

“He knows about the other two victims. How they tie to Haverstad. He was going to tell me for…”

Her voice trails off, and I’m not quite coherent enough to fill in the blanks. Not until Philippe rasps out the rest of the sentence from where I’ve still got my hand at his throat.

“For a taste. Isn’t that right, Ophelia?”

“Which you didn’t agree to,” she snaps. “And which I wasn’t going to let you have, even before Cas showed up.”

Philippe’s eyes dance with mirth as he regards Ophelia, and the pieces start to fall into place, slow they may be through the fury still clouding my judgment.

Ophelia was going to let him bite her.

For information.

For something so trivial as a break in the case, considering the price she would have paid for it.

But Philippe is still looking at her with challenge and amusement in his eyes, and the image of how closely he was holding her when I arrived is still seared into my retinas.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been such a high price for her after all.

“Cas,” Ophelia says again. “Let him go. Maybe he’ll still be willing to work with us.”

I release my grip a fraction, and Philippe sucks in a ragged breath.