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CHAPTER FOUR

The first thing Vlad registered when he came to was a bitter taste in his mouth. The second was the cold ground beneath his back and the shrill wail of sirens.

A warm weight pressed against his flank, taking away some of the chill seeping into his bones. He knew without opening his eyes that it was Tarang.

But the tiger’s presence felt odd.

Their bond, usually a vibrant connection singing between their souls, seemed pale and strangely muted.

Someone was talking to him. Vlad forced his eyes open.

Cortes’s troubled face swam into view. “Can you hear me?!”

Vlad tried to speak. His throat felt like sandpaper. He settled for a grunt instead.

“Here.”

A bottle of water appeared. Cortes helped him sit up and held it to his lips. Vlad drank greedily, his head pounding.

Popo was perched on Tarang, the familiar crooning softly to the anxious tiger as he hugged Vlad’s side.

They were on Madison Avenue. Red and blue lights strobed across the building beside him, casting strange shadows across the glittering facade. A crowd had gathered behind the police cordons, their phones held high as they recorded the incident.

Memory returned in violent flashes of color. Vlad’s stomach lurched.

He met Cortes’s gaze wildly. “The restaurant?—!”

“Everyone made it out okay,” Cortes reassured him hastily. “Ilya got your staff and guests safely through the back. Your men had already secured the rear alley. A few of them got injured in the gunfight. Nothing that won’t heal.” He paused. “Marco took a bullet to his shoulder and Ilya one to the thigh. “

Vlad’s throat tightened. “Ilya got shot?”

“Yes.”

Anger brought a flush of heat to Vlad’s clammy face.

“Wei Chen and Giovanni?” he asked Cortes stiffly.

“Still processing what they saw.” Cortes grimaced. “Kinda hard not to when a tiger materializes out of thin air and starts tearing people apart.”

Tarang huffed softly beside them, his muzzle clean of the blood of their enemies. The familiar’s anxiety pulsed weakly through their weakened bond.

Vlad’s jaw hardened.

If that’s even the right word for what I’m feeling.

He remembered his second bodyguard and looked around. “Milo?”

“Getting patched up in the ambulance.” Cortes indicated the vehicle parked at the curb a short distance away. “He’s more pissed about his suit getting ruined than the bullet wound.” The Colombian’s mouth curved wryly. “The paramedics wanted to put you in one to check you over, but I said you’d be better off getting some fresh air out here. Tarang’s presence inside an ambulance wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed. He hasn’t left your side since you passed out.”

Vlad reached out and stroked the tiger’s neck weakly. Tarang huffed and turned his giant head to lick his hand, his tongue rasping hotly across his palm.

Cortes hesitated. “The men who attacked this place? They vanished the moment you went down. Like they’d pulled off what they came here to do.”

Vlad’s recollection of the fight was still hazy, but he remembered the masked figure who’d attacked him with a saber. The man’s expression before he’d disappeared had been one of triumph.

A wave of dizziness swept over him. He swallowed and closed his eyes.

“Vlad?” Cortes said, alarmed.

The Colombian’s voice sounded faint above the roaring in his ears.

Something felt wrong.

Vlad reached instinctively for his incubus powers.

The familiar heat that always simmered beneath his skin and in his blood failed to manifest.

His eyes snapped open. Fear drenched him in a cold sweat.

He pressed a hand to his stomach and tried again. Nothing happened.

“What’s wrong?” Cortes was watching him with a heavy scowl.

Footsteps approached before Vlad could reply. They looked around.

Jared Dickson was headed for them. An Immortal tasked with the role of a liaison between the Immortal Societies and the US Special Affairs Bureau, the NYPD Lieutenant had been a crucial figure in their fight against the Sorcerer King a few months back.

“Your crew works fast,” Cortes grunted.

Black-suited figures were moving efficiently through the chaos surrounding the brownstone building housing the Oro Divino . They wore badges identifying them as Special Affairs Bureau agents.

“They’re not my crew,” Jared said curtly. He jerked a thumb at the blown-out windows on the third floor of the restaurant. “We need to talk about what happened up there,” the NYPD Lieutenant told Vlad. He stilled, his brow wrinkling. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Vlad muttered. He started to push himself up.

His legs buckled.

Cortes caught his arm, surprise flashing across his face.

“Hey, take it slow.” Concern laced Jared’s voice as he moved to the other side of him.

Tarang pressed against Vlad’s back, supporting him.

The familiar’s confusion and agitation bled through their strained bond. Vlad’s heart clenched.

Did those men do something to us?!

Jared glanced at the gathering crowd. “Let’s get you somewhere less public.”

“I hate to say this, but you look even worse now than you did after you passed out,” Cortes told Vlad grimly.

Vlad let them guide him toward a black SUV with government plates. The short walk seemed to take forever, his legs feeling like rubber all the way.

“Lieutenant Dickson!”

A young officer was jogging toward them, his expression keen.

Jared’s face hardened. “Not now, Peterson.”

“Sir, witnesses are saying they saw the Lucianos and the head of the Red Dragon Triad walk into that building—” the officer protested.

“What they saw,” Jared cut in sharply, “was a couple of restaurant guests entering the premises before a failed robbery attempt took place. Nothing more.”

“But—!” Petersen faltered at Jared’s scowl. “Yes, sir.”

“Get statements from the crowd,” Jared ordered. “Standard procedure.”

Peterson walked away, visibly deflated.

“Rookie?” Cortes hazarded.

“Fresh out of the academy.” Jared sighed. “He’s got a good head on him.”

“Give him a month,” Cortes said. “He’ll soon learn not to ask questions about the weird shit that happens in this city.”

Jared’s expression grew pinched.

They reached the SUV. Vlad sank gratefully onto the back seat, his body feeling impossibly heavy. Cortes and Tarang climbed in beside him, the familiar’s usual grace oddly stilted.

Jared got in the front seat and shut the door, muffling the chaos outside. He turned to face Vlad.

“The agents from the bureau are handling the cleanup, but I need to know what exactly they’re cleaning up in there.” The Immortal’s tone grew careful. “My understanding is the Black Devils were brokering a deal between Giovanni Luciano and Wei Chen. What happened?”

Vlad wasn’t the least bit surprised the Immortal knew the details of tonight’s meeting.

Cortes glanced at him. Vlad nodded, too dizzy to speak.

“We were attacked by a team in tactical gear,” Cortes told Jared.

Jared’s eyes shrank to slits. “Special ops?”

“I doubt it.”

“Was it another organization?” the Immortal grunted.

Cortes frowned. “Hard to tell right now, but that would be at the top of my list.”

Vlad had to concur.

“What were you doing in there anyway?” Jared asked the Colombian suspiciously.

Cortes sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yuliy Vissarion asked my ex-boss if I could act as an external observer for the proceedings.” He made a face. “It’s a good thing he did. An all-out war could have broken out tonight if something had happened to Giovanni or Wei Chen. As it is, Giovanni’s son got shot.”

Jared cursed. “Is he okay?!”

“He will be.”

Jared’s troubled gaze switched to Vlad. “You have any idea who could have attacked the building?”

“If you’re asking if the Black Devils made any new enemies lately, the answer is no,” Vlad said tiredly.

He reached for his powers again, desperately hoping his earlier attempts had been a fluke. The void where his magic should have been yawned back at him.

Vlad swallowed as he came to terms with the bitter truth.

“We may not know who they are yet, but I’m pretty sure I was their target.”

Jared lowered his brows. “How so?”

“Because I can’t use my powers.”

Jared blinked. Cortes’s eyes flared.

“What do you mean, you can’t use your powers?” the Colombian said in a haunted voice. “Did they do something to your core?!” His gaze dropped to Vlad’s stomach.

Vlad knew Cortes was thinking back to the time when he had lost his first familiar and his ability to use magic after his aunt attacked him and cracked his core.

“I don’t know.” Vlad curled his hands into fists. “The only thing I’m certain of right now is I can’t access any of my demonic abilities. Neither can Tarang.”

The tiger whined softly and pressed closer to him in the stunned silence, their potent bond reduced to a whisper.

“Shit.” Cortes slammed a fist against the door, jaw tight and eyes burning. “It must have been that weird magic we felt!”

Jared stared. “What weird magic?”

Cortes told him about the strange power they’d sensed during the attack.

Bile burned the back of Vlad’s throat when he recalled the pain that had rendered him senseless.

Jared lowered his brows in the tense hush that ensued. “Vlad’s powers are part of his demonic heritage. They’re literally woven into his DNA. How could they suppress it?”

A bitter sound left Vlad. “They appear to have done just that.”

“But how?” Cortes insisted. “And more importantly, why?”

A knock on the window made them jump.