Page 30 of Forged in Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #5)

“You… you don’t kill innocents either, Riven. Remember?” Her voice has taken on a pleading quality that tells me she’s grasping for any leverage she can find.

“Oh, you think your Poppet is innocent?” I snort, winding my fingers through Rebecca’s silky ponytail. She goes rigid under my touch. “You should see the file I have on her, Veyra.”

“No!” Rebecca blurts out, her voice raw with terror. “No, that… that’s not true. I haven’t done anything wrong. I swear, I haven’t—”

“Sure,” I interrupt, giving her hair a gentle tug that makes her gasp.

“If you’re willing to overlook a little insurance fraud.

And the sexual assault allegations that mysteriously disappeared after some very large payments changed hands.

” My voice drops low. “And whatever happened to your roommate in your sophomore year at Harvard, Poppet?”

Rebecca makes a broken, sobbing sound, her entire body shaking now. The scent of her fear is so strong it’s almost choking.

Veyra’s voice comes through the phone, strident and desperate. “Christ! Please, Riven. Just tell me what you fucking want!”

It’s the most raw emotion I’ve ever heard from her—more than she showed during all our years working together. There’s a twisted part of me that wants to savor this moment, to drag it out.

But that’s not who I want to be anymore. And I’m wasting time.

“Just a name, Veyra,” I finally get to the point because manipulation was never a game I excelled at. I’m better with direct action. “I think you know the one I’m looking for.”

“No…” Her breathing is labored, ragged. “No, you know I can’t do that. Client confidentiality—”

“Of course you can,” I interrupt smoothly. I tighten my grip on Rebecca’s ponytail, drawing her head back till she flinches and her teeth clench.

“Tell her that she can do it, Poppet.” I give her hair another tug, and her head bobs involuntarily.

“Honey… please.” Rebecca’s voice comes out strangled, desperate. “Please just do what he says.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Veyra’s voice comes through the phone, defeated and bitter. “Steele. His name is Malakai Steele.”

“There,” I say soothingly. “Was that so hard?” I pause, letting the relief settle in before I continue. “Now, exactly why would Malakai Steele want Kieran Asguard dead?”

“You’ll have to ask him that yourself.” Her voice has turned surly, resentful.

I tug Rebecca’s ponytail again, twisting the strands around my fingers with deliberate slowness. This time, I pull more firmly, drawing her head back until her throat is completely bared and her eyes are wide with terror.

For a predator, it should be an irresistible target. Oddly, there’s nothing about it that appeals to the dragon-touched part of me.

This woman isn’t my enemy. She’s just collateral damage in someone else’s war.

“Veyra!” Her voice comes out choked, barely recognizable. “Veyra, he’s going to hurt me!”

“I don’t know, okay!” Veyra sounds frantic now, all pretense of professional cool abandoned. “I swear to you, Riven! Our clients know they can rely on complete discretion. We ask no questions apart from what’s necessary to get the job done. That’s how we stay in business.”

I study Rebecca’s exposed throat, noting the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath the skin. She’s close to hyperventilating, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps.

“You know, I could kill her in a dozen different ways before she could even scream,” I say softly. “I wonder if this is a situation where the mathematics of mercy might be applied. A blade between her ribs? Or something…. messier.”

I let that sink in for a bit.

“Please, Riven. Please don’t. I’ll do anything.” Veyra’s voice is broken. “But I swear to you, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” I say finally, releasing Rebecca’s hair. “I’ll buy it.”

She slumps forward, gasping, one hand flying up to her throat as if to protect it.

“Run along, Poppet,” I tell her, my voice almost gentle now.

She stares at me, blue eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“I said run ,” I growl, letting a hint of menace creep into my voice.

Rebecca scrambles to her feet so fast she nearly trips over them. She backs away from me, putting distance between us with shaky, unsteady steps. For a moment, she just stands there staring at me like she can’t quite believe she’s still alive.

Then she turns and bolts.

I watch as she disappears down the wide avenue, dodging around startled dog walkers and joggers with the desperate speed of genuine terror. She runs like her life depends on it, ponytail streaming behind her like a banner of panic.

Not once does it occur to her to stop and ask for help. Not once does she try to flag down another jogger or scream for assistance.

Clever girl.

“Riven. Riven, are you there? What’s going on?” Veyra’s voice pitches through the phone, agitated and desperate. “Riven! What have you done to her?”

“She’s fine, Veyra,” I assure her, settling back against the bench and watching Rebecca’s retreating figure until she disappears around a bend in the path.

“And she will stay fine.” I let that promise hang in the air for a long moment.

“As long as you stay out of my world. And that means all of it. The contracts, the information brokering, the Guild connections. All of it. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she whispers, and I can hear the tears in her voice.

“And that goes for the others, too,” I add, making sure there’s no room for misinterpretation.

“Corvan, Verroway, Crowe… I can reach out and touch all of you. Driscoll’s dog may be safe, but that doesn’t mean the man won’t meet with an unfortunate accident if any of you decide to interfere. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you.” Her voice is barely audible now. “You’re covering yourself. That’s… understandable.”

“Actually, this is for her… Iris. If anyone so much as touches a hair on her head, I’ll send you Poppet’s… in a gift box. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely.” She still can’t get the tremor from her voice. “You have my word.”

Not that I set much stock in that.

“Good,” I say, and end the call.

I sit there for a moment in the shadow of the trees, watching as people make their way along the paths, filtering out to get their days started.

Malakai Steele. The name sits in my mind like a puzzle piece, significant but not yet fitting into any pattern I recognize.

I’ve heard it before—rumors in Guild circles, mentions in intelligence briefings.

Someone with money and influence, the kind of power that can reach into the supernatural community and pull strings.

But why would he want Kieran dead? What threat could Iris’s brother possibly pose to someone like that?

I stand and head toward an exit, just another jogger among the others.

But as I move through the park, I can’t shake the feeling that finding Malakai Steele is going to be the easy part.