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Chapter Seventy-One

CARMINE

Too late.

The moment I arrive, even before I change into a man with two feet, crouching on the railing outside a dark room, I know I am too late. Something is wrong. I don’t scent her or her mother anywhere. There’s not a hint of Strega as far as a predator’s nose can smell.

But I scent blood and the magic of the three graces of Baia calming someone in distress.

Floating nineteen stories above the ground, I pound on the glass. The ledge is so narrow my heels hang over it. On the other side of the open door, human-shaped shadows shift against the hallway wall. Sam is walking toward me.

“What did you do?” he growls through the glass.

“Nothing. I swear it. Let me in.”

Without hesitation, he says, “Invited tonight only.”

I slide into the liminal and back out inside the penthouse. I immediately smell blood, but more powerful than that, I scent the proteins that make it clot.

“Where is she?”

He’s already walking away. “We don’t know.”

I follow too close. “How do you not know?”

He spins toward me, and in his rage, I see his female form overlaid. “She is out of control.” Sam’s like a teacher on their last fucking nerve, talking to a parent who thinks their kid is just fine. “Impossible to protect.”

Serafina is crouched in the middle of the living room, holding a towel to the ripped-out throat of the tall Black person I have met in so many circumstances before.

“Alex?” I crouch next to Serafina. “What happened?”

“Fucking strigoi ,” she sneers, then looks up at Sam. “I need another towel.”

“It’s fine.” I push away the towel. The blood drips out slowly. I move a gold chain away from their neck. That’s where I sensed the cameo from Baia. It’s what’s keeping them calm. I lean close so Alex can hear me. “Where is she?”

They can’t answer.

I lick the wound. The blood is not nourishing, but I’m not feeding. My venom heals the raw edges of flesh, knitting them together. When the artery is closed and enough blood can reach the brain, Alex’s mouth shudders as if words want to come out.

I repeat the question. “Where is she?”

They look at me with one lolling eye and speak in a rasp. “Bourbon came.”

“Fuck!” I shoot to standing. I already know where she is, and I have no idea how to get to her.