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Lady Virelle Halden of House Val’Shera leaned her elbows on the table, steepled her fingers, and regarded me over the top of them for the count of several breaths. “In four decades, my daughter has never before brought home a … friend.”

I couldn’t imagine why not. “Well, I think last night qualified as exceptional circumstances.”

“Or perhaps it is you that is exceptional, Mr. Sullivan.”

I blinked before I could school my expression into polite impassiveness. “Please, call me Xan.”

“Xan,” she echoed, like she wanted to find my parents and punch them. She could get in line on that.

She waved a hand. A door opened, and in a well-rehearsed parade, four servers arrived with four identical bottles, filling our glasses with ruby red wine.

Four more brought in plates, the food colorful, well-presented, and in small quantities.

I didn’t much care what I was going to eat; I knew I wouldn’t taste it.

Beside me, Kara picked up her fork, the movement graceful and poised—the first sign of life she’d shown since I walked in. I waited for her parents to move before I picked up my own, taking a small bite.

“What exactly do you do?” Virelle asked.

A surprisingly tricky question to answer. Did I lead with a menial bartending job, or confess to an awkward teacher-student dynamic with her daughter? I took the time to chew and swallow while I thought. “I work at the university.”

“Indeed. In what capacity?” She had a way of asking questions that implied she wouldn’t be disappointed with my answer, because she’d already set her expectations at rock bottom.

“On the faculty. I specialize in philosophy.” A slight stretching of my position as adjunct lecturer, but not a complete lie.

“How interesting,” she said, in the way one might comment on drying paint. “Have you known Kara long?”

Wow. Another very simple question with an equally complicated answer.

I was aware of Kara tensing beside me, but I didn’t look at her. “We’ve been through a lot in a very short space of time.”

“So I gather.” Her lips twitched, and I got the impression Kara had already said as much—whether willingly or under duress was harder to discern. When had she had time to be grilled, shower, and fix her hair and makeup?

“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Sullivan,” Virelle continued, while Dacien watched on in silence. “Sharper and more diplomatic than your years might suggest.”

I couldn’t help but feel that was a back-handed compliment, and said nothing.

She placed one elbow on the table again, and rested her chin on the back of her hand as she stared at me. “What are your intentions toward my daughter?”

That was the easiest question yet. “I don’t have any, Mrs. Halden,” I said frankly. “Kara and I are still getting to know one another.”

Kara’s fork hesitated briefly before she delicately spiked her next morsel.

“Indeed?” Virelle said, watching me. “Somehow, I was hoping for … more. Especially given that you’ve bound her to you.”

Oh, shit.

Kara tensed again, as well she might. It would’ve been nice if she’d forewarned me. Something like a quick knock on my door, followed by a, ‘Oh, by the way, I told my parents everything and hung you out to dry.’ Maybe she’d opted for a manicure instead.

I reached for my glass, taking a small sip of wine while I contemplated my options. Could I reach the door before a Valkyrie Demon? Doubtful.

No bright ideas were arriving, and I took a second sip, conscious that the atmosphere in the room was fast approaching the consistency of molasses.

Fuck it.

“Well, that’s between me and her, isn’t it?”

The corner of Virelle’s lips curled up in amusement, predatory and dangerous. “Is it?”

“Yes. It is.”

Virelle leaned back in her chair and gave another wave of her hand. The servers trooped in again, taking away our plates. I’d had one bite; I supposed that was enough.

She waited for them to leave. “What do you know of House Val’Shera?”

The shift in subject seemed abrupt, but I went with it, waiting for her to fill in the gaps. “Only what’s common knowledge. You have a heritage that dates back to Old Providence, predominantly demonic lines, and”—I glanced around pointedly—“a fair amount of wealth.”

“My dear Mr. Sullivan,” Virelle said coolly, “our heritage doesn’t just date back seventy-odd years to Old Providence, it dates back to the Ancient Egyptians.”

Okay.

“You look remarkable for your age, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Kara had just taken a sip of wine, and spluttered. She dabbed at her lips with her napkin.

“In all that time, Mr. Sullivan, do you know how many members of House Val’Shera have been bonded to a warlock?”

“I assume that is rhetorical.”

“Four.”

Three more than I’d expected her to say.

Kara’s head came up in surprise, staring across the table at her mother. Clearly, it was news to her too.

“What happened to them?” I tried to keep my tone light.

Virelle waved a hand like the question was unimportant, and part of me wondered how the servers knew not to take that as a signal to bring in the next course.

“I’ll ask you one last time, Mr. Sullivan. What, exactly, are your intentions towards my daughter?”

I leaned back in my chair, propped one elbow on the arm, and stroked my chin.

They knew I’d bonded her, and her questions made more sense with that knowledge. I didn’t know my parents, but if I did, I figured they’d be asking similar questions if I rocked up with a girl who could literally claim me as a slave.

Virelle was patient, watching me like a spider observes a fly in its web. Dacien’s eyes narrowed, and I assumed he had a shotgun under the table somewhere, finger on the trigger as he waited for my answer.

I waited for my answer too. Quite a lot was now riding on it. Very possibly including my life.

“Last night was quite intense,” I began, choosing my words with care.

“New Providence Bay University was the location of what was probably the most violent and deadly massacre of students in living history—and in this country, that’s saying something.

Neither Kara nor I would likely be alive now if we hadn’t worked together, and much of that was only possible due to our bond. ”

Kara looked at me, eyes wide. I wasn’t sure if she shared that sentiment, but I plowed on regardless, not letting myself be distracted.

“I understand why you’re asking. When I told you that my intentions toward your daughter are between me and her, it’s partly because we’ve hardly had a moment to discuss it ourselves.

I will say that she and I have a lot to work through, but whatever path that takes, it’ll be one we both have an equal say in.

Sorry, but that’s about as far as I’m prepared to go at this time. It’s barely been a day.”

I held Virelle’s gaze. Part of me was riding the fuck-it train all the way to the end of the line; the other part just wanted to get through this visit without bleeding.

The moment crawled by, like Virelle was trying to crush me with her will alone. Then she smiled, a serene expression that straddled the line between peace and psychosis. “I like you, Mr. Sullivan. I think you’ll be a wonderful match for my daughter.” She inclined her head. “You have my blessing.”

I let out a breath, but Virelle wasn’t done.

“That said, while I appreciate the life of a warlock comes with a certain risk, do be clear that if you harm Kara in any way that … well, let’s say, isn’t consensual , then I will personally hunt you down, flay the skin from your body, and play games with your internal organs while you watch.”

“This has been lovely,” I said, dabbing my lips with my napkin. “I’m really quite full. Thank you so much for dinner.”

I pushed back my chair, but Dacien rose first.

“Come with me, Xan,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep. “Let’s go and find a couple of cigars. I’m sure Kara and her mother have much to discuss.”

I hesitated for just a beat. “Sounds great.”

Fucking fantastic. One down, one to go.