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I’d have to be patient.

“What do you mean?” Bryce asked, and his hand shook.

“I wonder what happened before she was adopted,” Damen frowned, looking away.

Brayden glanced between them. “Did you ask her?” he asked .

“She won’t talk about it,” Damen replied. “She changes the subject.”

“Finn knows something,” Julian cut in once more.

“No,” Damen said again, waving his hand and not shifting his focus back to the necromancer. “It’s not the time.”

So, we were back here. I should stop this before I had to end up restraining Julian. Whatever was bothering him had to be bad. I’d never seen him so close to disregarding a direct order before.

“Damen,” I said, leaning forward. The others looked at me, and my skin grew clammy. However, the only thing I disliked more than attention was conflict.

And no one else seemed prepared to de-escalate.

When Damen lifted his eyebrow, I continued. “Does this mean that we trust Bryce and Brayden?” I glanced at Bryce and added. “Can you two get along?”

“We have to,” Damen said as he glared at the other man, and I noted that he hadn’t agreed to play nice with the fae. “At least for her sake. She needs this idiot so she can learn how to use her abilities.”

“If she needs me for education purposes, then I’m not an idiot,” Bryce rebutted.

Damen glowered at the fae.

“We’ll be watching, though,” he said, pointing at him as he stood and stepped closer.

Bryce also stood. It was still clear that, even years later, he was only one of the few who did not fear the onmyoji. “I don’t need your approval,” he said. “There are still some relationships in which even you’ve no right to intervene.”

It took a long moment, but Damen was the first to reach out. “Truce, then,” Damen held out his hand. “For now.”

Bryce met his gesture. “Truce. ”

“But this doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Damen added.

“Of course not.” Bryce rolled his eyes. “I would expect nothing less.”

Bianca POV

The autumn morning sunshine was bright and the sky was briskly cheerful when I woke up. I braided my hair and put on a sweater and a long skirt with ankle boots before going downstairs.

“Morning,” Titus greeted as I walked into the kitchen. The dragon sat at the countertop while Damen puttered near his coffee maker. I glanced between them, noting that Damen seemed intent on his project, before sitting next to Titus.

“Good morning,” I said, sitting down and tucking my ankles behind the stool’s leg. Titus’s focus moved to my ear, and I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. “It matches my outfit,” I admitted, touching my fingertips to the hairpin. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” he asked, raising his eyebrow. “I want you to wear it. That’s why I gave it to you.”

Yes, but… It was still difficult to believe that he’d decided to give me something that belonged to his mother. And even though he seemed pleased, I was afraid that something terrible would happen and I’d lose it.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and his smile lit up the room as he placed his fingers over mine. “I’m happy.”

I felt my breath disappear. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was a difference in how he interacted with me today. He’d hardly spoken to me at all the previous night, but whatever had been bothering him had appeared to resolve itself .

Regardless. My pulse raced and my palms sweat. “T-thank you,” I said.

“That’s an ‘A’ for effort.” Damen leaned over the counter, speaking to Titus. “But you lack a certain finesse.”

Titus frowned at him, but Damen quickly changed the subject, turning back to me. “We’ll head out a little bit early,” he told me, and there was a hesitation in his gaze that caused a lump to form in my throat.

It was strange, but I hadn’t forgotten that I’d upset him the night before. Was I in trouble?

“Um,” I began, pressing my palms against my thighs. “What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” Damen replied. “And since you picked up the lead, I thought you might want to look into it with me.”

“What lead?” I asked, and my attention fell to his hands as he held up the folded paper Ms. Protean had given me.

I’d given Damen the note sometime amid the chaos the previous day.

“Grace Cole,” Damen said, waving the paper. “I want to follow up with her and see what she might say.”

“Oh,” I said. “Do you think Dr. Stephens might interview Ms. Protean?”

Damen’s mouth twisted as he scoffed. “That’d be the day.”

I lifted my eyes to meet his. Why was that funny?

“They’re not exactly friends,” Damen said.

I pursed my lips. Well, that was unacceptable. If they were both Officers, working at the same university and involved in the study and research of criminals, then why shouldn’t they be well acquainted?

This was a waste of resources.

“In any case,” Damen began, holding his hand out for me. My chest grew tight as I studied his square fingernails before allowing my gaze to move to his face. He was watching me, looking for something, and my pulse fluttered.

The balance between us had been disturbed, and it had something to do with the previous night.

Was this uncomfortable feeling my fault?

“Come with me,” he continued. “And I’ll get you to class after. Besides, we have some things that we need to talk about.”

“Mrs. Cole must like you,” the bouncy woman chirped from Damen’s left side. “She never allows visitors.” She smiled as she touched Damen’s arm even though he hardly seemed to be paying attention to her.

It hadn’t escaped my notice, however, that since we’d arrived at the musty-smelling nursing home, the perky nurses’ aid had only addressed him. It was like I didn’t even matter.

“How do you know her?” she asked, giggling.

I was glaring at her behind Damen’s back and narrowed my eyes. Why would she laugh? That wasn’t even funny.

Regardless, was all this sashaying and flirting necessary? After all, they clearly knew each other. Their understated greeting upon our arrival had made that abundantly clear.

It was interesting, though. A fiery redhead didn’t seem like his type. Not that I cared much about his preferences, but someone with a dominant, pushy personality wouldn’t suit him well.

In my opinion, he’d prefer a woman with a hint of innocence and timidity—someone with elegant, girlish features. Yet I could also see him appreciating a challenge and a hint of sassiness.

I was sure it was a type and that there was a word for it. I could have sworn I read about it once, but I couldn’t recall.

It was there, on the tip of my tongue. But it didn’t matter .

I had to deal with this current threat. She was preying on him, and I’d bet the money that I didn’t have that they’d slept together.

This wouldn’t do at all. We had an agreement, and I doubted he even saw this wannabe consort’s attempts for what they were. He wasn’t even remotely phased by her lingering touches over his biceps.

I had to protect him from her manicured clutches.

“I’ve never met Mrs. Cole,” Damen replied, still blissfully unaware of the situation. He was still distracted, his free hand touching his jacket while he ignored the nurse moving closer. And when she began to wrap her slender hand around Damen’s arm, I could no longer stand idly by.

I pulled Damen’s arm. He’d come here with me, darn it.

Damen made a sound and stumbled sideways, falling against me. Meanwhile, the other woman glared at me as we stopped in the empty hallway.

He caught his balance almost immediately. “What’s wrong, baby girl? Did you trip?”

“I forgot to ask,” the nurse interrupted. “Who is this?”

Damen brushed his hands over my shoulders. “She’s my…” he started, then paused.

But why, why was he hesitating to tell this woman I was his assistant? What was he waiting for—my tax paperwork?

“She’s mine,” he said decisively, removing his hands from my shoulders. He gripped my hand again, and his gaze never left my face. “You’re to treat her with the same respect you’d give to any of us.”

The woman rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. However, as she brushed past us, her whisper was clear. “You know where to find me once you get bored.”

I felt myself tense, but she pointed at a door. “That’s Mrs. Cole’s room. You can go right in. ”

“Thank you.” Damen’s reply was stiff, but his anger dropped as the nurse wandered away.

Damen knocked on the door, and when there was no reply, he cracked it open. “Hello?” he called out, and after a moment, he pushed inside.

Mrs. Cole’s room was small. The wiry bedframe was adorned with multiple blankets, and lace doilies were lain out over a tall dresser, which was topped with framed pictures. The only other furniture was a wooden rocking chair in front of a curtained window.

Mrs. Cole sat there, and when the door opened, she stopped rocking.

She and Ms. Protean resembled one another. They even wore their hair in the same style and shared comparable fashion choices. But unlike Ms. Protean, Mrs. Cole was far from alert.

Her eyes were glazed over, and she didn’t even seem aware of our presence.

Damen didn’t seem perturbed. He was halfway across the space before I’d even entered. Yet, I followed, closing the door behind me. I wasn’t even sure if Mrs. Cole knew what was happening. But before I questioned it, Damen was already kneeling on the ground in front of the older woman.

“Mrs. Cole,” he said softly, “My name is Damen Abernathy. Do you know who I am?” His voice seemed to snap her out of her daze, and her expression cleared.

I moved behind Damen, and when she raised her gaze to meet his, I could clearly see the blank look in her eyes.

She was silent, but after a breath, she rewarded our patience. “I know who you are. I’ve been expecting you.” Her voice was barely a whisper—frail and thready. She folded her hands over the afghan covering her lap. “What is it you need from me?”

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Damen said slowly, “but Aine Hamway is now the owner of your husband’s previous residence. May we ask you a few questions?”

She blinked, and her attention drifted to me. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Bianca,” he answered. “She’s a fae.”

“A fae?” Her shoulders slumped. “Those two are still there then?”

My skin felt clammy.

“No,” I heard myself saying, although my body felt numb. “They’ve moved on, but we don’t know much about who they are or why they were murdered.”

“Rosalie Marshal was one of his many victims,” Mrs. Cole replied. “She was the daughter of a merchant—they claimed she ran away. But you’ll not find any information about James Cole. He’s made sure of that.”

“Who is he?” Damen asked.

“Edward’s son from his first marriage,” Mrs. Cole said, bunching the blanket in her lap. “I was told that he committed suicide.”

I touched my head. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what I felt.

Brayden had said so too.

“Bianca?” Damen was suddenly at my side. He touched my shoulder and guided me into a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“He—” I began, trembling. James hadn’t been a very nice ghost, but he had also been wronged. “He didn’t kill himself.”

“No, he didn’t,” Mrs. Cole said, her gaze stronger now. “Edward greatly underestimated my observational skills. I was never his confidant, but I still knew.”

“There’s no record of him being married before.” Damen, who’d been kneeling in front of me, turned and looked over his shoulder at the elderly wolf. “Or any children besides your own.”

“Because James didn’t live up to his expectations,” Mrs. Cole replied.

“He tortured James throughout his childhood and killed him once it became apparent that the boy did not have what it took. His first wife died of heartbreak shortly after that. He had all records of his marriage and his son’s existence erased. ”

“How in the world is that possible?” Damen scowled.

“You do not cross the Cole family.” Mrs. Cole leaned forward. “They can make anyone disappear. It’s how they keep their power. My children, unfortunately, have chosen to follow their father's footsteps.”

“Your son, Alexander, is the police chief,” Damen said. “That is a serious accusation.”

“And my second son, Garrett, is a stockbroker.” Mrs. Cole shrugged.

“What they do doesn’t matter. I love my children and my grandson—even though he might be even more foolish than his father.

But none of them came into their accomplishments or wealth on their own. Their success requires a sacrifice.”

Damen’s forehead wrinkled. “A sacrifice?”

“It’s a spell that requires the essence of a certain type of girl.” She looked away. “They’ve set up various items over the years that will lock on to a victim when triggered. When that happens, they know it’s time to perform the ritual.”

“This has been happening for years?” Damen stroked his chin. “Why have you never reached out with this information before?”

“Because no one listens,” Mrs. Cole replied. “Evidence and reports go missing, and investigators vanish. I’ve protected Gloria, but she certainly suspects. There is glamour involved, and my family has connections throughout multiple industries.”

Damen rested his wrist on his knee. “Why come forward now?”

“Because—” She looked away, and a weariness came over her expression. “I’ll soon be free, and then it won’t matter anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Damen asked .

But she no longer responded. Her eyes had faded back into the same glassy sheen she’d had when we arrived, and her features drooped into impassivity once more.

“Mrs. Cole?” Damen still tried to recapture her attention. “What exactly does this ritual entail?”

She didn’t answer, but she also didn’t need to—I’d seen it already.

“Damen.” I grabbed his hand before he could pester the old woman again. The chill in my bones warmed as he looked at me. “Let’s go.”

It was a memory, and the spell had been broken.

I had no reason to be worried.

“We have to stop them,” I told him after we stepped into the hallway.

“Of course,” he said, his eyes burning. There was a determined desire in his posture that didn’t exist before—it was clear that Damen was passionate about his work. “We’re so close. But…”

His words had trailed off, and his hand was tense over my own.

Obviously, he wanted nothing more than to immediately pursue those in the Cole family. But we also couldn’t.

“I hate this,” he told me, looking away. “We have nothing tangible against Alexander or Garrett Cole, and Daniel Cole—Garrett’s son—is out of town. They’re the only ones; they must have been involved somehow!”

“You’ll figure it out,” I told him, squeezing his hand. He’d been working so hard and cared so much about this case.

I owed him so much.

“I believe in you,” I said, my face flushing. Why were my fingers tingling ?

Damen stared at me, and the stress seemed to melt from his posture. “Thanks,” he murmured, and it was his turn to become red. “Just give me a little bit longer.”

I nodded, and when he turned his wrist to entwine our fingers, I didn’t feel nervous at all.