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“You know what the Ritual entails, don’t you? It’s why you hate my family so much.” I don’t waste any time on pleasantries.

“I mean, there’s a generations-old rivalry, a touch of resentment at all their power and control, and some general interpersonal conflict. But yes, all the ritualistic murder definitely plays its part.”

“I didn’t know. I gathered there were volunteers and sacrifices, but I was imagining controlled blood-letting. A cut, not a kill—which, for the record, is all I personally did. I thought it’d be grim, but just about within the bounds of acceptability.”

I sound horribly naïve when I say that out loud, knowing what I now know. And what he’s always known.

“Is even that really acceptable, year after year though? And is just maintaining the Dome enough for your family?” Gabriel says.

“You’ll grudgingly let them get away with the annual Ritual, but you had to intervene when my brother tried to go one step too far by expanding it,” I say, wanting to confirm something I’ve been suspecting. “We were so proud to hear he’d tried and almost succeeded. So angry at you for stopping him. For hurting him…”

Would it have required a higher number of sacrifices each year, to maintain a larger Dome? Or given that the Dome is preserved by the darkest kind of magic, did Gabriel just disapprove of expansion on principle? I still hate the memory of him draining Bren’s magic, and I’m glad I stopped it. But in the light of last night’s revelations, I can see his point rather more.

“I should have followed through,” Gabriel snaps. “I should have drained his magic while he was caught by surprise and weak from all the power he’d expended.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why do you think?”

“Supposedly you always have at least two reasons for everything.”

“Not that night. Where you’re concerned, I only ever need one. And that’s when things go wrong.”

I still don’t understand what he means when he hints that we already had a connection before that night. It’s hard enough to accept that he’s been thinking about me ever since, but you can blame the magic transfer and the bargain. Or hell, maybe I’m that damn irresistible? But prior to that, we’d never even met. At some point, I need to pin him down and demand answers, but that’s exactly what I don’t feel like doing right now.

“Gabriel, it’s been an insane night. I know a lot of that’s on me. I should have refused to get involved. But I didn’t, and I’m paying for it minute by minute. Please don’t be this intense. Just for once.”

“Okay. Come over. Or I’ll come and get you, though they’ll tear me apart at The Windmill, if that’s where you are. I’ll try to be at my least intense.”

It’s so unbearably tempting. Get in the car and race out to Thornber Manor. Drink with him. Screw him. Or make love to him. Talk and talk and talk, because for some reason, I’m never at a loss for words with him, and his conversation never bores me. And the more I think about this, the surer I become that my ideas of “goodies and baddies” in this equation are utterly skewed.

“No. I need to vent. But I can’t open myself up to you. I absolutely can’t.”

“Who else could you possibly speak to about this? Anyone in the Sadlers’ employ isn’t going to want to hear your disloyalty. No non-practitioner will understand what you’re talking about. And you don’t want to be attempting to chat this through with any of my men.”

He’s got a point—that’s precisely why I called him in the first place. I frown and try to think, then an idea strikes me.

The Jaguar purrs to a halt outside The Windmill, roof down, horn blaring.

I’m perched at the bar, using a skin-tight dress and artistic make-up as armour and camouflage. Though all the bar’s inhabitants have sent smiles in my direction, I’ve made it clear I don’t want to talk.

Now, their attention turns away from me to the noise outside. The windows are open to let out the heat, so I hear Nikki calling.

“Come on, babe. Time to party or cry on my shoulder or whatever combination of the two you had in mind.”

The barman looks me in the eye. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Miss Sadler.”

Everyone is so much more concerned about my wellbeing now they know I’m the daughter of theirde factolord and master. And they’re even more respectful since my contribution to renewing the Dome for another year.

“It’s fine. We’re just having a girly night.”

I stride out of the bar with the confidence that only freshly blow-dried hair and a couple of drinks can give you.

“Jump in,” Nikki says, grinning.

“Gabriel actually let you borrow his car?”

“He has quite a few cars. I constantly use the others. But turns out I only get the keys to the 1950s Jag when it’s in the service of showing you a good time.”