I enter the room to find the six board members gathered around an oval table.

They’re all shrewd supernaturals who value their money and their lives above their loyalty to the company. I know this because I did my research while I was preparing for this day, treating each of them like targets, just like the assassins would.

I also know that every member of this board is in some way connected with the Magical Magnate, who declared all Unknowns to be highly dangerous and ordered our imprisonment.

That was simply their way of controlling us and pandering to Lady Tirelli’s wishes, not because they were concerned for anyone’s safety.

The assassins warned me that my stepfather had made powerful friends within the Magnate and that they were agitating for greater control over the Factions of assassins.

Three members of the Magical Magnate are now written into Slade’s ledger, while the others are written into the ledgers of the other two Master Assassins, Cain and Alexei. If Hunter Cassidy wasn’t the Guardian now, I imagine many of those names would have been written into her ledger, too.

The Magical Magnate is no longer untouchable, but it’s because of supernaturals like the six right in front of me that the Magnate operated without justice for so long.

All six board members spin toward me. Two of them were already standing, while the other four push back their chairs and jump to their feet at my appearance.

The nearest, a man whose aura tells me he’s a warlock, sweeps back his suit jacket lapel to reach for his wand. “Who the hell are you?”

Within a heartbeat, the other five board members—a mix of men and women—have also similarly armed themselves, some with wands, others with bared teeth and descending claws.

I guess none of them recognizes me. I’m not all that surprised. Oliver brought them into the company after my mother was murdered, and he kept me at arm’s length from company business until he could put me away.

“I’m Striker Draven,” I say, my voice clear and calm. Already, I’m strategizing how to most efficiently take each of them down. The threat these supernaturals pose to me is nothing compared to the years of brutality I survived at the Academy.

My announcement makes them jolt.

“The Unknown,” one of the women whispers, her face paling.

It’s in my interests for them to fear what I could do as an Unknown—the flicker fits and explosions of power that caused other supernaturals to fear and shun Unknowns.

But my power lies in my control.

“Not anymore,” I say, carefully removing my jacket, pulling off my tie, and unbuttoning my shirt. I don’t plan on ripping through this silk shirt, but sadly, there’s nothing I can do to save my pants.

My hellhound roars to the surface, glad to be free for the first time in months. Molten fissures streak across my chest and down my arms while my incisors descend.

Within a heartbeat, I ram my claws down on the pristine table and rake them across its surface, splintering the wood like butter, the shrieking sound drowning out the collective gasps around me.

Each of the supernaturals takes another step back from me.

None of them challenges me, which fits with what I know of them. They value their money and their lives. They’re shrewd enough to know that they won’t win in a physical fight. It’s the quiet games behind my back that I’ll need to watch out for.

Unless I take full control right now.

I give them a dangerous smile, the kind I picked up from the assassins.

“I’m here for what’s mine.” I cast an angry gaze around at each of them, preparing to demand their loyalty.

That’s when I see what I missed when I first stepped into this room.

There’s a seventh person. A man. He was standing behind the tall bear shifter at the farthest end of the table.

What alarms me most is that this man has no presence.

If I were to close my eyes, he would cease to exist. None of my other senses can pick him up. He has no scent, no aura.

Worse, I don’t know who he is.

His posture is relaxed, where the others are tense. He’s of average height and average build, his hair is medium brown, his eyes are pale brown, and his skin is slightly tan.

My beast is immediately on alert.

That one is different , he says.

Without a doubt. This man is so nondescript as to be easily overlooked, right down to his gray shirt and black cargo pants. He could disappear into a crowd in an instant.

The bear shifter he was standing behind twitches, almost as if he, too, forgot that the man was there and is startled by his appearance.

“You,” I say, baring my teeth at the stranger. “Identify yourself.”

“My name is Abel,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of a growl that indicates he, too, could have a beast.

But what kind?

My own beast suddenly warns me: I sense a dragon.

This is an unwelcome possibility.

Dragon shifters are rare and well-hidden. One of the last known populations of dragon shifters exists in Philadelphia, and according to the assassins, they don’t have an aura. They’re secretive and nearly impossible to identify.

That would fit with my inability to sense anything from this man who calls himself Abel.

I’m about to demand more answers from him when sudden movements from both sides of the table draw my attention. It seems that two board members have decided to use the distraction of Abel’s appearance to their benefit.

The witch on my right-hand side points her wand at me, shrieking a spell, her voice so shrill that I can’t make out her words, but I have no doubt about her intentions.

She wants me dead.

At the same time, the warlock nearest to me also shouts an incantation, his black wand outstretched.

I launch myself into the air, halfway across the table, my reflexes carrying me out of the paths of both spells in a heartbeat.

The warlock’s spell crashes into the wall near the door, where the wood sizzles as if it were hit by acid. The witch’s spell also flies wide, and she can’t utter another before my claws slice through her throat.

I whirl back to the warlock, but Abel is already moving.

He leaps upward, his brown wings thumping out from his back, leathery and wide.

I’m ready for his attack, but with a single sweep, he shoots across the distance between himself and the warlock, grabs the man’s head, and twists.

The crack of the warlock’s breaking neck seems to wrench the other board members out of their shock. Each of them jolts toward the walls at their backs, their arms raised and palms out.

There is not a claw, tooth, or wand in sight now.

I narrow my eyes at Abel as he folds away his wings, holding them at his sides.

Then, very slowly, he takes a knee. “Oliver’s reign is over,” he says, casting a pointed glance at the other board members before returning his attention to me. “Striker Draven, you have my loyalty.”

Blood drips from my claws onto the table where I crouch.

Slowly, I return to the floor and raise myself tall.

I wish I could take Abel’s pledge at face value, but I can’t. He killed the warlock, but I can’t be certain of his real intentions until I know more about him.

For now, I keep him in my sights. “If any of you feel differently,” I say. “Speak up now. I’ll let you leave.”

The other board members shuffle and glance at each other.

It’s clear they don’t believe me, but there isn’t much I can do about that.

“Or stay,” I say, allowing another dangerous smile to cross my lips. “But be aware that I will demand complete loyalty.”

I take my eyes off Abel to consider each of the remaining four supernaturals, who continue to press themselves against the walls.

My voice lowers. “Follow me, and I’ll make you rich. But betray me, and I’ll hunt you down.” I pause, allowing my claws to sharpen again. “Now, what do you choose?”