S tanding so close to Peyton outside the Tavern and not being able to touch her or even ask her permission to close the gap between us…

It’s more painful than I could have imagined.

I fight to regulate my breathing and contain my turmoil, focusing on everything I’ve gained during the last eight months.

The ability to remain calm.

The belief that I won’t break what I care about.

The knowledge that there may be a place for my beast’s brutality, but it is not here.

Not here with her.

Her crimson hair is tangled at the back, her figure leaner than the last time I saw her. Her back is to me, but she has half-turned her face, giving me her attention and allowing me to study the curve of her cheek, the length of her eyelashes, and the slight part of her lips.

I need to ask her why she was here tonight. Why this place? And why was she so restrained?

I had imagined that if I were to see her again, it would be in a situation where she was wreaking hellish vengeance on a target. And yet, she slid on into this tavern, swaying through a room filled with criminals, without spilling even a drop of blood.

Clearly, her wish to arrange a conversation with Vanguard was more important to her. But why?

Even as these questions pass through my mind, they’re nothing compared to what I really want to ask her, the questions that really matter to me.

Is she happy? Is she safe?

Is she okay?

I’m fully aware that she can read my emotions completely. Hunter told me so. But I’m determined to contain them as much as I can, determined not to inflict them on her.

My feelings are mine to own, not hers to bear.

“Fury,” I begin, and even though I’m controlling him, my beast’s growl taints my voice, his fiery thoughts pushing at my mind.

Her presence fuels him with an energy he hasn’t shown since she left us.

I take a beat to restrain him, and that moment of silence seems to be all she needs to step away.

“I will see you tomorrow night, Striker Draven.”

With that, she slips away from me, disappearing so quickly into the shadows that she might have been a figment of my imagination.

A fucking beautiful illusion.

But it’s time for me to leave, too.

I’ve learned that this part of the city is dominated by the dark entity, and I can’t afford to linger. Not that I’m concerned about my safety. Rather, I don’t want to risk breaking the truce Vanguard has offered me.

A truce that feels too easy somehow.

Vanguard wants something. He wouldn’t have requested Slade’s presence at our meeting otherwise.

I keep my steps unhurried as I continue four blocks east on foot, finally rounding the corner of an alleyway where Slade waits.

He rises from his lean against the alley wall, his blue eyes alight with silver power. “I’m glad to see you’re unscathed.”

Without another word, he waves his left hand, and our surroundings instantly change.

A grassy field stretches out from us in every direction, and the air brightens. A pleasant breeze wafts around us.

Slade’s power to create temporary realms was a surprise to me, but apparently, it comes with his assassin’s ring.

His particular ring was crafted from a silver feather brutally stolen from the Valkyrie Queen Amalia Avery herself.

The Queen’s path to vengeance led her to become Lady Tirelli, her pain twisting her into a monster.

Since staying and training with the Legion, I’ve learned about the rings’ vicious history. Slade’s ancestor, Josiah Baines, attained power over metal by selling his soul to a witch, who cast a spell and gave him the power to shape metal to his will.

Josiah used that power to trap the Valkyrie and take their feathers, shaping the feathers into rings that carried the Valkyries’ power—their strength and speed, their ability to make themselves invisible, and their killing ability, along with any other unique power that particular Valkyrie may have controlled.

Josiah’s descendants became the Ringmakers, who continued to hunt the remaining Valkyrie and Keres to near extinction.

Tragically, when a Valkyrie loses a feather, she gets sick and dies. It was the loss of her daughter that sent Amalia into darkness.

Now, the realm Slade has created will allow us to speak freely, without fear of being overhead. Nobody else can step into the realm. From the outside, it will appear as if we have disappeared.

“Vanguard didn’t show up,” I say. “He sent his beta, Jonah, like you thought he might.”

Slade doesn’t look surprised. “It’s rare for Vanguard to make an appearance. Did you sense if his warlock was nearby?”

When I asked Slade what he knew about Vanguard, he told me that one way Vanguard protects himself is with the help of a warlock named Orlan, who uses his power to transport Vanguard instantly from place to place.

I shake my head. “The Tavern was filled with humans. The only supernaturals in the streets nearby were shifters. No witches or warlocks.”

Slade scratches his chin. “Then Vanguard really wasn’t taking any chances tonight.”

“He’s agreed to meet me tomorrow night in Central Park,” I say. “But there are conditions.”

Slade grunts. “Of course there are.”

“He wants you there.”

Slade tenses. “That’s unexpected. Do you know why?”

“He said you’d be there anyway, and he wanted you where he could see you.”

Slade gives a snort. “True.” Then, “What else?”

I exhale slowly, taking a beat while Slade peers at me. There’s no way to escape his intelligent gaze, but it takes me long enough to respond that he prompts me.

“Striker?”

My throat closes over as I speak. “Peyton was there.”

Slade takes a step back, appearing more wary of this news than he was about Vanguard’s request that Slade attend the meeting.

“Before you ask,” I continue. “I don’t know why.

But she wanted to come to the meeting with Vanguard.

She requested to speak with him after he’s spoken with me.

Jonah agreed.” My forehead creases as I attempt to both describe and process Jonah’s attitude toward Peyton.

“Jonah was surprisingly deferential toward Peyton. He even bowed to her.”

Slade taps his hand against his thigh, his lips compressing.

“This is either good news or deeply troubling news. To our knowledge, Jonah is a fire mage, but his full history is unknown. If he has an inherent respect for Furies—assuming his respect isn’t for Peyton specifically—then her presence could be a benefit to us.

” He ends with a heavy exhale. “Or extremely detrimental.”

I nod, acknowledging that I probably already have one of the answers to the questions I should have asked her. “She’s hunting someone.”

“The question is who,” Slade questions. “Vanguard himself?”

“She did threaten to hunt him down if he didn’t agree, but that doesn’t mean it’s him she’s after.”

Slade nods. “It could be someone he’s associated with or someone she thinks he can get to.”

A cold chill settles at the base of my spine. “Do you think she would go after the leader of the dark magic creatures?”

The concerned light in Slade’s eyes grows.

“Her sisters would surely steer her away from that. Now that Lady Tirelli and your stepfather are out of the equation—and the Magical Magnate has been pulled back into line—we’re all concerned about what that entity might do.

” He takes a pause before suggesting, “I could ask Hunter to visit Peyton and find out.”

I give that idea a thought, but shake my head. “We can’t interfere. Peyton has to be free to walk her own path. After all the years she spent without any control over her life, even before she came to the Academy, I won’t curtail her freedom.”

Slade quietly studies me without speaking, and his silent response unnerves me.

“She won’t endanger us, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I hurry to add. “She insisted on protecting me in there.”

The memory draws a warmth to my chest that I wasn’t expecting, but I remind myself that her purpose will drive her now, not her emotions. Protecting me must have been aligned with her goals.

Slade’s chest rises and falls with a deeply indrawn breath. “I wasn’t worried about that.”

Well, fuck, I’d really like Peyton’s power to read intentions right now.

Warily, I ask, “Then what?”

He gives me another quiet look. “I think you know.”

He’s too fucking perceptive.

As the realm melts away, revealing the dark alley again, I make myself breathe.

From what I’ve learned about Slade’s relationship with Hunter, they went through a lot to be together. They should be enemies, and even fought and rejected each other, but they found their way back to each other.

Slade grips my shoulder. “When it comes to someone you care about, there’s a difference between giving them freedom and freezing them out.”

He lets go of my shoulder, but it seems he isn’t done. “If you want her in your life, at some point, you’re going to have to take a leap of faith.”

With that, he disappears into the shadows as deftly as Peyton did, leaving me to make my way back to the Draven Industries building where I’ve made my office my temporary home.

Faith.

It was never my strong suit. Never my foundation.

Rage, violence, force. That’s how I survived. Or tried to.

I miss a step as I realize that, even with all the growth I’ve made, there’s still a part of me that’s broken. A chip in my heart. A piece that’s missing.

It isn’t Peyton’s love that I need to fill it.

Love can’t be demanded or expected.

It’s her forgiveness.

Fucking hell.

I need her forgiveness.

I need it more than anything, and I have no way of seeking it without being self-serving.

With a soft growl, I force myself to keep moving, keeping my senses peeled as I make my way along streets filled with humans and supernaturals, aware more than ever of the way the supernaturals give me a wide berth.

My reputation has spread. I have my stepsister Zara and the dragon shifter Abel to thank for that. Over the last two weeks, they’ve been sowing seeds throughout New York’s supernatural communities of what I wish were respect, but for now, is a healthy fear of me.

I am the hellhound who destroyed the White Wand. The one with the darkest heart. The monster with assassins watching his back.

I’m not certain yet if the growing whispers are to my benefit, but for now, they keep other supernaturals at a distance.

Just as I need to keep Peyton at a distance.

Far better for me to remain broken than to hurt her again.