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LUCIAN

“ N o.”

A simple word. Two letters, one syllable. Most toddlers understood it, and yet I’d already said it three times. It wasn’t computing.

I was stuck in a ridiculously small, overcrowded office, paying for my crime by way of the worst ordeal I’d ever lived through: employment.There was no escaping from the blond brute’s nagging. At least not for another three hours.

Though inarguably privileged as a Regis, I’d always worked. I would have been incredibly bored otherwise. But I used to fill my days laboring for myself —and bathing in a ridiculous amount of money for my effort.

Now I was a member of the Guard. A government official. I had a shiny gold badge and everything. It read, “Lucian Regis, Protector, Level Two.”

I could have vomited.

I would have gladly taken a few months of prison instead of this farce, if that had been an option on the table for me. Then I could have worked on the damn rune translation I’d meant to carve out some time to look at, or finish submitting patents for some of the potions I developed.

"Come on, Regis, don't be a spoilsport. You're leaving us forever in mere days. You have to let me throw you a party."

At long last, this nightmare was almost over. The reminder nearly brought the ghost of a smile to my lips, but I stopped myself. Gideon didn’t need any encouragement. The half year of labor my brother condemned me to would come to an end next Friday, in less than two weeks.

I shouldn’t indulge the ridiculously friendly coworker I’d gotten to know—and didn’t actually dislike—but I decided to attempt reason. “And who, pray tell, would attend the farewell do of Lucian Regis on this side of the city?”

“Everyone,” he retorted with a dismissive snort. “Out of curiosity if nothing else.”

All right, I had to concede that point. He wasn’t as blind and naive as he seemed.

“Besides, you literally saved my life today. Again . What kind of a man would I be if I didn't buy you a drink or ten?”

I sighed, thoroughly exhausted. That must be his method: attempt to wear me down until I gave up simply to make him stop speaking. But after yet another half week full of inane research projects, deadlines, and paperwork, the last thing I needed was to spend more time with my “coworkers.”

Gideon wasn’t the worst company, and there were a few members of the Guard that I wouldn’t have qualified as a complete waste of space. That did not make us drinking buddies. I had my own crowd in the underside.

Unders were simpler, more honest, and more fun than their uptight valers counterparts.

"I accept direct deposits, mountains of gold, unnamed favors, and thralls, in exchange for life debts. Pass on the drink."

"I owe you like, three of each so far.” Gideon seemed to find the fact that he would have literally perished had he been alone, on multiple occasions, hilarious.

Watching him laugh, I wondered how long he’d survive after I left.

The thought made me frown. He truly wasn’t the worst.

“Jokes aside, the department will miss you. You sure you don't want to stay on? The job suits you."

I grimaced. The genuinely annoying thing was, Gideon wasn’t…entirely mistaken.

All right, the job did not suck. It wasn’t like I was a lowly runner—the officers patrolling the city, throwing their weight around—or worse yet, one of the inquisitors in charge of figuring out inner-city crime.

Highvale was home to three million people, and most were too dangerous to live anywhere else.

Stash enough vampires, shifters, witches, fae, demigods, within five square kilometers, of course there was going to be plenty of rumpuses.

Running around after miscreants would have been torture.

I assumed that would be my position when I started here, but the Guard assessed my abilities and promptly bumped me up to their highest rank, the elite guard who had the sole mission to seek out dangerous threats to the world.

The protectors of the Highvale Guard handled major paranormal disturbances, from feral fiends, to occasional demons trying to make their way into the city, to desperate cries of help from mortal dealing with objects or individuals they weren’t equipped to face.

Various governments called for aid when they couldn’t handle the things that went bump in the night.

At the very least, being a protector wasn’t boring —though I despised the overly formal paperwork I was currently drafting.

I was man enough to admit it: it could be fun.

Just this week, Gideon and I sent two full-blooded demons back to one of the hells, brought in a coffer luring mortals into a mansion and promptly assassinating them—not a mimic, I checked.

Then there was that ogre stash full of amusingly cursed relics. And that was by Wednesday.

The job in and of itself was fine. If I were anyone else, I might have seriously considered staying on.

It was the endless forms to fill in, the company—Gideon excluded—and the simple principle of being employed by the council of elders that I couldn't abide for one second longer than legally necessary.

That and the fact that I could earn thousands of golds per hour in my other ventures. I didn’t need to work for anyone but me.

Strictly speaking, I didn't even need to submit myself to the last six months of...community service? I let my brother bully me into throwing the council a bone, so they could pretend they were in charge of me. I could have argued the assignment. Instead, I had a better plan in mind: revenge.

Damian knew it was coming. He just wasn’t sure of the details: when I would strike, or what I would do to get back at him for this.

The fact that I could make Damian squirm for ans extended time was the one single reason why I didn’t submit an appeal—which would have required a vote by all five founding families, and they would have gotten me out of it because none of them wanted the precedent.

There was no other reason why I didn’t make a fuss. Certainly not the fact that I knew she'd be here.

In fact, I wasn't certain at all that I'd see her.

Granted, last I heard, she had entered enslavement—pardon me, employment —as a Guard trainee, but there were several departments, divided between each of the twelve gates of Highvale, and the Guard itself—an amphitheater next to the Hall of Truce, right at the center of the city.

She could have been assigned to a gate. I didn’t know. I wasn’t that much of a stalker. I just happened to…observe her when she was in my general vicinity. It was instinctual. I just wasn’t accustomed to the presence of a threat, and all my instincts tingled when she was near.

Usually, I was the apex predator in the room.But that girl? She was something else.

I was curious.

“But you have to come to my club,” Gideon insisted again. “You’d love it. It’s just like you: all dark and mysterious.”

Will he ever drop this?

I crunpled a blank piece of paper into a ball, willed it to catch fire, and tossed it at his head to vent some frustration.

Gideon caught it without even looking up.

The blond colossal pile of muscle looked dumb enough to be called Chad, but after getting to know him I could attest he was of perfectly average intellect, if a little too courageous for his wellbeing.

“You saved my bloody life,” he repeated. “Least I could do would be buying you a damn drink. Why won’t you let me?”

“Do you know how much paperwork I’d have to file if I let you die?” I pointed out. “It was entirely self-serving. No drink needed.”

Ordinarily, I would have cashed in a favor, but as the warrior insisted in repaying them at the bar, I passed.

He might genuinely have wanted me there, but he’d be the only one this side of the city.

All right, that wasn’t quite accurate. Plenty of valers liked me just fine in dark alleys, secluded corridors, or in closets.

I was the guy they wanted to touch, whisper to, and make deals with in the dark.

But if I showed up in one of their bars, the hypocrites would gasp, faint, and give me a wide berth.

Several times per year, I was forced to mix with their kind, because the new bloods sitting on the ruling council of Highvale loved nothing more than to appropriate the traditions of the founding families.

Solstice balls, Samhain fetes, the smaller and greater Dionysia, the Sabbats…

Starting all these celebrations in the Hall of Truce was written in the city charter, which meant we had to be there.

Yet the valers acted like we were the interlopers, when they didn’t even begin to understand the significance of each of the celebrations.

Still, we weren’t about to go against the edicts of our patron gods, so we began in the Hall, before moving the party down to unders.

It was no exaggeration to say I’d happily poke out my eyeballs with a fork rather than endure the valers’ contempt of my own free will. My time uptown was mandated by the magistrate. The end.

“Don’t make me do it,” Gideon said, his tone changing a little. “I don’t want to, but I will.”

Ihad to wonder if the bloke had finally lost his mind. One too many spells cast his way. Why else would he attempt to threaten me?

I turned my full attention to him, mildly curious. He didn’t show any outward sign of insanity, though I couldn’t help but notice an alarming degree of smugness.

All right. Curiosity piqued. “Do what, exactly?”

“We both know I can make you tag along, Regis.”

I was about to tell him that not even my mother had ever attempted to make me do anything I wasn’t inclined to, when he continued.

“I’ll just call her .”

I swallowed, leaning back in my seat as I took in my partner with a newfound degree of begrudging respect.

So, he noticed the girl made me squirm, did he?

It was the first time he mentioned it, but there was no question who he was referring to.

There was only one woman in the entire city whose simple mention made me pause.

I scrutinized at Gideon, jaw tight. That was plain blackmail, and Gideon was a self-proclaimed good guy. He wouldn’t actually resort to that.

Would he?