Hell might be heavenly...

...for one of the Sisters in Sin

Lucien Smok is heir to the Smok fortune. He’s also the crown prince of Hell, a legacy he despises. Clairvoyant Theia Dawn tries to convince herself that she’s only interested in Lucien because of his family’s role in the persecution of her ancestor, not because he’s the most beguiling man she’s ever met. The attraction that burns between them might be her downfall. Or it might be his salvation.

JANE KINDRED is the author of the Demons of Elysium series of M/M erotic fantasy romance, the Looking Glass Gods dark fantasy tetralogy and the gothic paranormal romance The Lost Coast. Jane spent her formative years ruining her eyes reading romance novels in the Tucson sun and watching Star Trek marathons in the dark. She now writes to the sound of San Francisco foghorns while two cats slowly but surely edge her off the side of the bed.

Also by Jane Kindred

Waking the SerpentBewitching the DragonThe Dragon’s HuntSeducing the Dark Prince

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Seducing the Dark Prince

Jane Kindred

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08204-4

SEDUCING THE DARK PRINCE

© 2018 Jane Kindred

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Like the ethereal substance his last name evoked, Lucien Smok was breathtaking—literally. The moment Theia saw him across the temple reception hall, the air rushed from her lungs as though it had been sucked into a vacuum. Pale blue eyes like pieces of ice locked on hers from beneath long lashes, dark brows in an ivory face lifted in amusement above them as if he was well aware of the effect he was having on her.

She’d seen him before somewhere. In a dream or a dark premonition. Beneath the reception hall’s Baroque quadratura-painted ceiling—invoking the blessing of the gods of Olympus—he reminded her of a painting by Waterhouse, Narcissus winking just for a moment at the viewer before returning to his reflection.

But beautiful or not, this wasn’t some breathless lust at first sight. She really couldn’t breathe.

Theia clutched at her throat and tried to make a sound, but nothing came out. Her lungs were locked in a spasm, convulsively trying to take in air against some obstruction.

Her dark-haired Narcissus crossed the reception hall in two swift strides and embraced her from behind, arms wrapped around her waist and hands clasped tight beneath her breasts, a gesture of intimacy. Vertigo swam over her, making her feel as though she were floating within herself, a lighter-than-air balloon encased in a human frame, bobbing against its edges.

He hugged her forcefully, jolting her against him, almost off the ground—once, twice, thrice.

Another spasm of her diaphragm forced what remained of the air in her lungs through her windpipe and dislodged the champagne grape she’d swallowed wrong. Such a small thing to cause so much trouble.

Air rushed in so quickly that she choked on it, gasping and coughing until tears ran down her cheeks.

“All right now?” The soft voice at her ear brought her fully back to herself. His hold around her hadn’t loosened and was decidedly more intimate than it had been when he’d been performing the Heimlich on her.

Theia realized she’d relaxed into his embrace, her arms sliding around his, and she let go with a jolt and bolted from his grasp. Though the moment had seemed epic and prolonged, none of the other guests were paying any attention.

His smile was one-sided—a slight leftward lift that combined amusement, smugness and a hint of offense. “You’re welcome.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to... I mean, thanks. I appreciate the—”

“Don’t strain yourself, darling. It’s okay. I’m used to this reaction.”

Theia’s embarrassment dissipated, and she narrowed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. “What reaction?”

“Women going weak in the knees and tongue-tied around me. I expect it’s being this close to money.” His voice had the lazy, sardonic drawl of James Spader’s bad boy Steff in Pretty in Pink. “Does that to some women, I understand.”

“Wow. I take it back. You’re a complete ass.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that, either.” He held out his hand. “Lucien Smok, heir to the Smok Biotech fortune and your hero today.”

Theia kept her hands tucked under her arms. “Gosh, how fortunate for me. And I’ve heard of you.”

“Of course you have. Hence the reaction.” His hand dropped casually to his side. “Are you going to reciprocate?”

Theia blinked at him. “What?”

“Your name. Not going to give it to me? Then let me guess.” Before she could react, Lucien had drawn her left arm from where she’d tucked it, his fingers stroking the crescent moon and descending cross tattooed on her inner forearm. The slow, sensual touch sent a shiver down her spine. “The mark of Lilith. You must be a Carlisle. I’m going to guess Theia.” He let her go, and Theia wobbled a bit from having planted her feet so firmly to steel herself against him.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “How do you know that?”

“I cheated. I asked the groom.”

“No, I mean Lilith. How do you know about Lilith?”

A fleeting look she couldn’t interpret crossed his features. “I’ve studied astrology. I’m familiar with the symbol.”

She was sure he’d meant something more than just the astrological symbol—a representation of the Black Moon Lilith, the elliptical focal point opposite the earth at lunar apogee. He’d associated it with the Carlisles. But Lucien didn’t elaborate.

“Well, you’re wrong,” said Theia. “I’m not a Carlisle.”

His brow furrowed, as though he didn’t care much for being wrong. “Oh?”

“My name is Dawn. Theia Dawn. My sisters are Carlisles.” She’d taken her middle name as her last after learning about the second family her father had kept hidden until his death. She didn’t want the name that belonged to a cheater and a liar. But Theia didn’t bother to explain any of this to Lucien Smok. Let him wonder. She turned on her heel and left him staring after her.

Gliding up beside her, her twin put her arm in Theia’s. “Who was that?” Luckily, she’d taken Theia’s right arm. Theia wasn’t about to let Rhea anywhere near that Lilith tattoo, especially now that Lucien had touched it. Where Theia occasionally had prophetic dreams and visions, Rhea could cut right through the annoying interpretation of symbolism with her “pictomancy” readings to see the future in tattoo ink. And Theia absolutely did not want to know any specifics about her future.

“Lucien Smok. His family owns the biotech firm that recently partnered with Northern Arizona University. I think he’s a friend of Rafe’s.”

Rhea wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t say friend. Phoebe was telling me about the Smoks. Rafe’s family knows them, but she doesn’t remember sending them an invitation. Some uncle of Rafe’s must have brought Lucien along.”

Before Theia could speculate on what Lucien was doing there, a commotion broke out at the front of Covent Temple’s reception hall. A tall, Nordic hunk of beefcake was literally thumping his chest at the best man, who stood coolly observing the former and looking perfectly at home in his Armani tux, graying temples adding to his sophistication against the rich hue of his skin.

“Looks like your man is fighting with Dev.” Theia nudged her sister. “Go get him, sweetie. We don’t want Kur getting out and eating the guests.” Dev Gideon, their sister Ione’s boyfriend, had an unfortunate tendency to transform into an ancient Sumerian dragon demon when provoked.

Rhea sighed. “Leo must have been celebrating a little too enthusiastically.” Like the thousand-year-old Viking he was, Leo Ström was fond of a good, hearty drink.

Theia watched Rhea weave through the guests to get to Leo, the shin-length red chiffon of her bridesmaid’s dress swinging and swishing gracefully. It was odd to see Rhea in anything but pants. Not that Theia was much for dresses, either.

She glanced down at her own, smoothing the fabric beneath the crisscross bodice. Only Phoebe could have gotten her and Rhea cleaned up this good. Well, Ione had, really. But Phoebe had chosen the fabric as part of her red rose-themed Beltane wedding—red, blush and white ribbon draped the room, woven around the support at the center of the hall like a Maypole and fanning out to form a latticed canopy.

Theia had to admit the dress looked fantastic with both her natural dark bob and Rhea’s short, bleached-blond cut sculpted into points—the dead giveaway for those who had trouble telling them apart. Rhea had curled her points at the tips for the occasion, adding a dab of cherry-red dye. She’d added some of it to the points of Theia’s bob, too. It was more difficult to see against the dark color, but Theia preferred subtlety.

With Ione officiating as high priestess in her longer, dusty-rose version of the dress, the twins’ red had made Phoebe stand out. She’d been absolutely gorgeous in a fairy-tale bone-white off-the-shoulder sweetheart gown with beaded lace and a vintage mantilla from Rafe’s own grandmother.

Theia glanced around, realizing she hadn’t seen Phoebe in a while. Or Rafe. God, you’d think they could wait a few hours for the honeymoon.

Her glance fell once more on Lucien Smok, flirting with one of the younger members of Ione’s coven. An unfamiliar irritation prickled along Theia’s skin as his hand rested on Margot’s shoulder while he leaned close, Margot laughing at something he’d said. Theia shook off the sensation. No. Absolutely not. This couldn’t be jealousy, because she had absolutely zero interest in Lucien Smok. Or the heart-stopping contrast of his pale eyes with his nearly jet-black, effortlessly messy hair.

He caught her watching him and winked.

Theia looked away deliberately, her eyes on Rhea leading Leo away from the open bar. It was always amusing to see Rhea, her form slight beside him, managing the Chieftain of the Wild Hunt. Having spent the last thousand years under the control of a Valkyrie, he seemed perfectly content to let a woman take charge despite his outward bluster.

On the opposite end of the room, where the reception hall connected to the temple nave by a breezeway, the Sedona winds had apparently kicked up, and the doors blew open with a bang. Ione moved to shut them, her long, ironed-straight hair whipping about her head in a halo of setting-sun ombré, but paused and stood deathly still, staring at something on the other side of the doorway. Theia moved around the support column that blocked her view.

With the wind had come an uninvited guest—the necromancer who’d made more than one attempt on the lives of both bride and groom in recent months. Theia’s jaw dropped open, and she sensed Rhea’s shock echoing hers from across the room. Carter Hamilton was supposed to be rotting in prison.

His overly whitened smile flashed in his overly bronzed face as he stood bracing his hands between the double doors like Maleficent making an appearance at Sleeping Beauty’s first birthday. “Am I too late to toast the happy couple?”

“How the hell are you here?” Ione’s voice seemed icy calm as she faced her psychotic ex, but Theia knew she was barely keeping it together.

Carter’s gaze acknowledged Dev as he appeared at Ione’s side. “And there he is, like a good little cur, looking for a pat on the head.”

A low rumble came out of Dev’s throat—too low to be human.

Ione took Dev’s hand. “Don’t trouble, love. He isn’t worth it.”

Their newly minted brother-in-law emerged from the stairwell to the bell tower that was doubling as a dressing room, moving toward Carter in a way that ought to unnerve the other man. Even without the Quetzalcoatl tattoo visible at his shoulders beneath the white linen wedding shirt, Rafe Diamante was imposing. And the knowledge that Rafe possessed the necromantic power Carter had killed to try to get should have had the slighter man quaking in his boots. But Carter’s smile persisted.

“You have no right to set foot on Covent property,” Rafe warned.

Carter’s gaze flicked over him. “Nor have you, my friend. I understand you’ve been formally expelled from the Covent for oath breaking.”

“I’m not your friend. No one here is your friend.”

Phoebe, descending the staircase behind Rafe, paused on the bottom step with one slipper-clad foot wavering over the floor, her face a white mask of shock. She’d been the one to put Carter in prison while she was still practicing law.

Ione’s hand tightened around Dev’s. “What do you want, Carter?”

“Just to see your faces when I tell you my good news. The conviction for the crimes you framed me for has been overturned. I’m a free man.”

Cake and champagne churned in Theia’s stomach.

Phoebe voiced her shock. “How is that possible?”

Carter’s eyes settled on her, bitter amusement dancing in them. “So you don’t deny you framed me.”

“No one framed you,” Rafe growled. “You murdered four people.”

“Well, the state doesn’t seem to agree. Nor does the Covent.”

Preceded by a flourish of his hand in the air, a champagne flute materialized in Carter’s fingers. “To the bride.” Carter raised the glass toward Phoebe. “Who looks almost as lovely in white as she does in nothing at all. And I have the pictures to prove it.”

A collective gasp rustled through the hall.

As Carter drank, Rafe charged him, the snake tattoo twisting and roiling beneath his shirt, but Carter’s physical matter seemed to dissolve into smoke at Rafe’s contact with him, leaving Rafe’s fingers to close around a nonexistent collar. The bright grin was the last thing to go, like an evil Cheshire Cat.

Chapter 2

Ione was livid. “That was an astral projection. He’s out of prison and accessing powerful magic. What the devil is going on?” She was staring at Dev, as if he ought to know.

“I don’t know a thing about it, love, I promise. I haven’t been privy to Covent business since I resigned my commission as assayer.”

Rafe closed the adjoining doors forcefully and turned back to face the hall. “I, for one, am not going to waste a moment of my wedding day thinking about that insignificant, third-rate sorcerer. He wasn’t really here, and that’s precisely the way he should be treated.” He stepped toward Phoebe and took her hand. “Care to dance, Mrs. Carlisle-Diamante?”

Phoebe smiled gamely. “I’d love to, Mr. Diamante-Carlisle.”

The mariachi band Rafe had hired—its members all magical connections of the Diamante family—began to play, and Rafe led his wife out onto the floor.

Theia took a step toward Ione, intending to try to reassure her, but a hand on her shoulder made her turn.

“May I have this dance, Ms. Dawn?” Lucien’s smile was mischievous. How did he manage to make an offer to dance sound dirty?

Before she could decline, he’d tucked her hand into his and slipped his arm around her waist, turning her toward the dance floor.

He pulled her closer as she started to draw back. “You wouldn’t embarrass me in front of all these people by turning me down, would you?”

“I might.”

“I’ve never been turned down before. It might damage my confidence. Could set me back years emotionally.”

“Then I definitely should.”

Lucien grinned. “But you won’t.”

“Won’t I?”

“I fascinate you.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Theia shoved away from him and stalked to the bar.

Like a persistent mosquito, he was buzzing at her side as she ordered her drink. “What if I blackmailed you? Would you dance with me then?”

Theia whirled on him. “Excuse me?”

“That was an odd little display from the groom. And I swear I saw the best man’s eyes glow with their own fire. Not to mention the fact that someone just dematerialized right in front of us, and everyone is acting like nothing happened.”

“Who the hell are you, anyway?” Theia narrowed her eyes. “Do you even know the Diamantes?”

“Of course I do. I’m exactly who I say I am. You can ask Rafael. Our families go back a long way. And there have been rumors about the Diamantes for just as long. Looks like today I’ve seen evidence that those rumors are true.”

“Then maybe you should take up your concerns with Rafe himself, if you know him so well. I’m sure he’d find them very interesting.”

“Ooh.” Lucien gave a sexy little shiver that Theia tried not to physically respond to and failed. “It sounds like you’re suggesting something untoward might befall me. Are you threatening me? I suppose you’re one of them, too.”

Theia’s fists clenched at her sides. “One of what?”

Lucien leaned in intimately close. “Witches, of course.”

Theia laughed. “That’s what you’re planning to blackmail me with? We’re standing in the reception hall of the temple of the Sedona branch of the world’s largest organized coven. It’s not exactly a secret that there are witches here.”

“But it is something of a secret that Rafe Diamante is a necromancer, isn’t it? And that Dev Gideon is the host for a demon?”

It hardly seemed useful to argue the finer points of Rafe’s incidental command of the dead or Dev’s shared physicality with an enslaved dragon from the underworld. The fact was that Lucien’s statement was irrefutable.

Theia hoped the look she was giving him was as murderous as she intended. “What do you want?”

Lucien’s eyes widened and he let out a laugh of pure surprise. “Did you think I was seriously going to blackmail you? Sorry. I have a tendency to take a joke too far. I was just having a little fun with you.”

“Oh, well, I’m so glad it was fun for you. Now you can fuck off.”

“There is a little something I was hoping you could help me with, though.”

Theia sighed, steeling herself for more innuendo.

“I understand you’re working on your master’s in molecular biology at NAU.” That wasn’t creepy-stalkery at all.

“So?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard that Smok Biotech is undertaking a joint venture with the university microbiology lab.”

Theia acknowledged this with an uninterested lift of her eyebrows, even though the new lab actually interested her a great deal. Smok was just the sort of corporation she didn’t want the university to be associated with, a for-profit pharmaceutical giant. At the same time, it offered unprecedented funding opportunities for expanded research.

“I need someone I can trust to provide some oversight on a special project—someone who won’t be fazed by...odd goings-on.” Lucien flashed his crooked smile again, trying to charm her, but seemed to realize the smile wasn’t working on her and let it fade. “To put it bluntly, someone familiar with the supernatural who also understands the science.”

Theia crossed her arms and studied him. “And are you? Familiar with it?”

Something dark seemed to cloud his vision for a moment, but he shook it off and smiled. “Not quite as familiar with it as you are, I’m sure. You might say my family is magical adjacent. Our business intersects with the magical community. It’s sort of a quid pro quo.”

“Unless you’re implying that I owe you for saving me from choking on a grape, there’s no quo I could possibly want from you or your organization. I’m sorry, Mr. Smok, but I’m not interested.”

Lucien met her gaze with a reproachful look. “Mr. Smok? Really?”

“Pretty much.” Theia caught Rhea’s eye across the room and moved away from the bar, but Lucien stepped in front of her once more.

“Talk to Rafe. Before you write me off completely, ask him about the mutually beneficial relationship the Smok family has had with the Diamantes for ages.” He took a card from his shirt pocket, crimson with black lettering, and handed it to her.

Theia thought about refusing it, but that would just prolong the “dance.” She snatched it out of his hand and walked swiftly away before he could say anything else, meeting Rhea halfway as she came to her twin’s rescue.

“I saw your signal.” Rhea glanced at Lucien still standing by the bar. He raised a glass of champagne toward them. “I wasn’t sure you really wanted rescuing, though. He looks tasty.”

“He’s a creep, and I’m not interested. I’m more concerned about Carter’s little magic show.”

Rhea glowered. “Yeah, what was that? How the hell did Malibu Ken get out of prison?”

“I’m guessing one of his dirty friends in high places fixed it for him.”

Lucien’s words about quid pro quo and his family’s relationship with the magical community came back to her. Both Rafe and Dev had spoken of connections that helped keep Covent business—and other supernatural events—from the public eye. Could that be the connection with the Smok family? Maybe she should talk to Rafe after all. Not because she had any intention of getting involved in Lucien’s project, but because she and her sisters had a right to know who else knew about their business.

It wasn’t until she was helping clean up after the reception ended that Theia found her opening. Phoebe and Rafe were about to leave for the Yucatán, and she wouldn’t have another opportunity.

Theia stacked the folding chairs as Rafe collected them, his thick, dark waves tied back in a high, bobbed tail. “What do you know about Lucien Smok?”

Rafe paused in picking up a chair. “Was he bothering you? I saw him talking to you, but I figured you could handle him. I’d keep him at arm’s length if I were you.”

It wasn’t quite the answer she’d expected. “So your family doesn’t have some kind of simpatico relationship with the Smoks?”

Rafe’s look was guarded. “I wouldn’t call it simpatico, exactly, but there is a relationship. It goes back centuries. To the time of the founding of the Covent, in fact.” The Diamantes had been founding members.

“You mean they’re a Covent family?”

“No, not exactly.” He handed her the folded chair. “There were no witches among the Smok family—that I know of. But I read a lot of Covent history in my father’s records after his death. Information that isn’t generally known.”

It was unlike Rafe to be so cagey.

“What kind of information?”

Rhea’s laugh rang out from the stairs as she came down with Phoebe after helping her change. Rafe set another chair on the stack and smiled at the sight of Phoebe in her usual bouncy ponytail, bangs across her forehead instead of swept back as they had been under the mantilla. “My father kept several volumes on Covent history and politics,” he murmured, still smiling at Phoebe. “Ione has the keys to his house. Tell her I left some books for you in the library.”

* * *

After seeing Phoebe and Rafe off with much ribbing and a fair amount of sisterly tears, Theia and Rhea flopped together onto the bench by the door, and Rhea kicked off her heels with a groan.

Theia removed hers more sedately. “Where’s Leo?”

“I told him to go ride with the Hunt for a while and work off some of his buzz. It’s weird. Alcohol doesn’t usually affect him this much. He’s got a pretty high tolerance.”

“I thought the Wild Hunt only appeared between Halloween and Yule.”

“It does, normally. But now that he’s mortal, he’s not bound by the Norns’ rules and he can conjure the riders when he likes. There’s always some sicko out there that needs a one-way ticket to Náströnd.”

Theia poked at her décolletage. “It seems a little like playing God. How does he determine that someone is deserving of having their soul ripped out and escorted to hell?”

Rhea shrugged. “It’s a scent or something. I don’t ask too many questions. He gets all Gunnar the tenth-century Viking on me sometimes, like his soul is taking the reins even though he’s no longer under the curse, and Gunnar can be a little...pompous.”

“But you’ve ridden with him.”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t feel weird about it? About taking somebody out of the earthly plane?”

“And having one less pedophile or rapist walking the earth? Not so much.”

Theia had to admit she didn’t exactly hate the idea. As long as their guilt was certain.

When Ione and Dev came back from closing up the temple, Theia could see the tension on Ione’s face. Carter had really gotten to her. She couldn’t blame her. Carter Hamilton was like a nasty rash that just kept coming back. It hurt to see his manipulative bullshit affecting Ione like this.

As Ione picked up one of the plastic bins of supplies, Theia hopped up from the bench and grabbed another. “Do you need any help getting things back to the house?”

“No, I think we’re good. Dev’s already loaded up the car with the rest.”

Theia followed her out with her bin. “By the way, Rafe mentioned something about getting the key to his dad’s place from you. He wanted me to take a quick look in on it while I’m watching Phoebe’s.”

“His dad’s place?” Ione set the bin on top of the others and loaded Theia’s next to it. “I thought he was selling that.”

“I assume he still is, but I guess nobody’s been by regularly except the gardener, and he wanted me to take a look around.”

Ione could always tell when one of them was bullshitting her, and the fact that she didn’t push back on the request spoke volumes about her mental state.

She took a set of keys from her purse and handed them to Theia. “Just make sure you get them back to me.”

As Ione got into the car, Dev took Theia aside. “She didn’t want me to tell you this, but our unwanted guest pretty much ruined her plans for the reception.” Dev glanced at Rhea leaning into the car to block Ione’s view. “It was supposed to be ours as well.”

Theia stared at him, confused. “Your what?”

“Reception. Don’t react. She might snap if she realizes I’m telling you. But we drove up to Vegas a few weeks ago and tied the knot.” He allowed himself a little grin while Theia suppressed the urge to squeal and jump up and down.

“You complete bastard. I can’t believe you’re telling me this now when I can’t do anything.”

“I suggested to Tweedledum that you and she could plan a little celebration for Ione later when she’s cooled down.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t say Tweedledee. Because Rhe is definitely Dum.” Theia grinned but kept it subtle. “And you can count on us.”

Rhea joined Theia as Dev and Ione drove away, waving like Stepford wives only to start jumping and squealing in unison the second the car was out of visual range.

“Can you believe the ovaries on that one?” Rhea laughed as they spun around. “Eloping and stealing Phoebe’s thunder? Phoebe’s going to be furious.”

“I don’t know how she kept it to herself all this time.” Although Ione was certainly better equipped to keep a secret than the rest of them. Theia glanced at Rhea as the dance died down. “You’d better not tell me you and Leo are up to something similar.”

“Me?” Rhea laughed. “Right. Like I’d get married.” She winked, which wasn’t reassuring. Everyone in the family was pairing off, and Theia was the odd one out. Rhea, as usual, could see what she was thinking. “Why don’t you just let me read you again?”

“No. There’s no reason to rehash what I already know.”

“Which is what? That your love life is cursed? I think you’re being way too literal about it. Just let me ask a more specific question.”

The night was getting chilly now that the sun was down. Theia pulled the shawl she’d borrowed from Ione around her shoulders, tucking her tattooed arm underneath it. “I’m good, thanks. So, takeout?”

Rhea sighed through her nose, her mouth in a thin line of annoyance, but shrugged her acquiescence. “Indian?”

Theia gave it a thumbs-up. “You order. I’ll drive.” She held out her hand for the keys.

“You’re not driving Minnie Driver.”

“Your car is not a person, and yes, I am. I saw how much champagne you had.”

Rhea tossed her the keys and got in on the passenger side, patting the dash. “Don’t listen to her, Minnie. You are too a person.” She pulled up the delivery app on her phone and started making selections. “Whose house are we going to? Phoebe’s or Rafe’s?”

“Neither, actually.” Theia ground the gears, and Rhea swore, gripping the seat. Theia ignored her, putting the car in gear properly. “Do you still have the address for Rafael Sr.’s place in your phone?”

Rhea glanced over at her. “The Ice Palace? Yeah, why?”

“There’s something I need to pick up. We can pretend we’re filthy rich, like Phoebe.” She grinned without looking over.

“Ha. Phoebe, married to the richest man in town, and still keeping her little bungalow.”

“I think she’s still freaked out about those reporters outside Rafe’s window filming him going spelunking in her cave that time.”

“He is quite the cave diver. Oh, dammit.”

“What?”

“We totally missed the opportunity for cave-diving puns. They’re visiting cenotes on their honeymoon.”

“Ah, damn. We’re off our game.”

Driving the labyrinthine route from Covent Temple back to the highway was much easier than driving in. A proximity glamour kept passersby from noticing the otherwise startling white byzantine spires against the sienna red hoodoos and hills of Sedona, and the disorientation spell on the road was an extra measure to confound those who might be purposefully looking for it.

Rhea’s red and white Mini was a blast to drive up Highway 179 through the walls of rocks and around the curves threading through the pines on the way to the secluded community hidden in the hills. Theia drove an automatic hybrid, which didn’t quite have the same kick.

“So what did you want to pick up, anyway?”

“Some papers Rafe’s dad kept. He said there’s some stuff about the original Covent and Madeleine Marchant I might want for my genealogy research.” There was no point in giving Rhea ammo to tease her by letting know she was researching Lucien Smok.

“Don’t we know all we need to about her?”

“Nothing is ever all you need to know about anything.”

Rhea rolled her eyes. “Right. I forgot I was talking to Brainiac’s daughter.”

“So you’re not at all curious about the origins of our Lilith blood.”

“I just think you can overanalyze things. A little mystery in life is nice.”

Mystery was exactly what Theia didn’t want. She liked to know the whys and wherefores of things. Knowledge was power. And mystery... As far as Theia was concerned, mystery was danger.

Chapter 3

Lucien watched the revenant from the rooftop. Starlight lent a pale, unearthly glow to the proceedings as it swallowed up the dusk, leaving the red landscape sepia toned and casting flat, colorless shadows. The demon wore cowboy boots and a leather duster with a gambler-style cowboy hat, his horse tacked up in the Western style, but this was a Hunt wraith, an undead revenant of the Viking era who roamed the earth in search of dark souls. Less substantial wraiths rode beside him, their mounts, like themselves, phantoms. No one would notice them, even staring at them head-on. No one but a black-souled phantom like himself.

But the leader was different. He was no phantom but flesh and bone, unnaturally maintained, living tissue that ought to have perished centuries ago. And Lucien had seen him before. Just hours before—at the wedding of Rafael Diamante to Phoebe Carlisle.

Lucien followed the horse’s trajectory, tracking the revenant with the scope on his crossbow. He’d slipped a little something into the Viking’s drink to see if he could trigger him. The most it had done was to get him arguing with Dev Gideon, the eldest Carlisle sister’s faithful companion. Rumor had it Dev was a shape-shifter, part man, part demon himself. The entire Carlisle family seemed to be magnets for unnatural beings. Not surprising, given their bloodline.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d decided to check out the Carlisle sisters for himself, but Theia’s large, passionate eyes challenging him with far more moxie than her slight frame warranted was certainly not it. He hadn’t expected someone witty and intelligent who took no shit. She hadn’t fallen for his player persona. And she hadn’t been impressed by his name—if anything, there’d been a little sneer on her face when she’d heard it—or acted impressed by his family’s money. But maybe it was a different kind of power that impressed the Carlisle women. The kind that was infernal in origin. If only she knew.

Lucien turned in a slow arc to follow the horseman with his scope. Leo Ström’s origins were what concerned him right now. How had he come to be the leader of the Wild Hunt? And what was the Hunt doing appearing on a lovely spring evening in Sedona, Arizona? Traditionally, it was said to appear around the winter solstice and was better suited to snowier climes.

They’d scented someone now, it seemed, and even from this distance, Lucien thought he heard their victory hoots as the phantom storm that followed them swallowed up their victim and they disappeared into the night, leaving it calm and warm.

He’d have to find out more about this Leo Ström. The man was involved with Theia’s twin, Rhea, which could mean anything in terms of unnatural origin. It might even be Rhea’s own magic animating him. It was unlikely she’d created the revenant herself, since the long dead were nearly impossible to give a convincing living appearance to, no matter how much magic the practitioner had. So perhaps she’d taken possession of a revenant created by some other unnatural power. And Lucien just happened to have access to information on any of a number of unnatural powers.

He stashed his gear and changed into something more appropriate. People might talk if he showed up at Polly’s dressed like a cat burglar.

* * *

Polly was entertaining in her booth when Lucien walked in. Aware of her out of the corner of his eye, he made a point of not glancing in her direction, knowing it would drive her crazy. His ploy worked, and in less than five minutes, she’d ditched her patrons and sauntered over to the bar where he stood waiting for his drink.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” She lifted her drawn-on nearly crimson brows with a little smirk as she leaned back against the bar beside him and raised her voice for the bartender’s benefit. “Whatever he’s having, it’s on the house.”

Lucien put down a twenty as the craft beer arrived. “That’s sweet, but I’ve got it covered.”

Polly pushed the bill across the slick wood toward the bartender. “That’s a tip.”

Lucien sipped his beer. “You’re such a control freak.”

“I like to treat my friends well.”

“Oh, we’re friends now?” Lucien turned to mimic her stance, elbows back against the bar.

Polly flipped her cherry-red hair over her shoulder, nails painted a dazzling sapphire blue. “Well, maybe frenemies.”

“Seems fair.”

“So what brings you back to my neck of the woods?”

“Edgar does.” He always used his father’s first name, never calling him Dad or Pop. “Smok Biotech is partnering with Northern Arizona University on a new venture. He sent me to supervise.”

“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing in Sedona. NAU is in Flagstaff.”

“I know where it is.” Lucien took a swig of his beer. “Went to a wedding.”

Polly’s eyes sparkled with interest. “The Diamante wedding? Lucky you. Those invitations were highly coveted.”

Lucien shrugged. “I didn’t say I was invited.”

Polly laughed. “Of course you weren’t. So you crashed the quetzal’s wedding and now you’re slumming at my joint. Who are you after?”

“Who says I’m after anyone?”

Crimson waves swayed as she shook her head. “Darling, don’t grift a grifter.”

He finished his beer and set the bottle on the bar. “What do you know about the Wild Hunt?”

Polly pushed away from the bar and grabbed his hand, drawing him with her through the jostling patrons trying to get the bartender’s attention. The joint was hopping tonight.

She led him to her booth, where the patrons she’d ditched were still waiting. “Meeting’s over, boys. I’ll get back to you when I hear anything.”

The two pale twentysomething men with slicked-back blond hair shrugged and scooted out of the booth.

One of them frowned and hung back as she slid onto the seat. “Don’t make us wait too long. The consequences may be dire.”

“Stop being so dramatic, Kip.”

Lucien sat on the bench. “Kip?”

Polly grinned. “Preppy vampires turned in the ’80s. Eternally embarrassing.” She gestured to one of her staff, presumably ordering a bottle of something. “So why do you want to know about the Hunt?

“Because I saw it tonight. And unless I’ve been doing way too much molly, it’s May, not December.”

“You saw it?”

“Why does that surprise you?”

The woman she’d signaled arrived with a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass, despite Lucien shaking his head.

“Generally, only someone who’s a target of the Hunt is treated to that sight.” Polly sipped her wine with a curious lift of her brow. “Have you been very naughty, Lucien?”

“No naughtier than usual. Why is the Hunt still in town at this time of year?”

“What makes you think I’d know?”

Lucien played with the rim of his glass. “Pols. You make it your business to know everything of interest—everything paranormal—that happens in the entire Southwest. Information is your business. Are you really going to make me pay for it? After what we’ve meant to each other?”

Polly laughed, her eyes twinkling in the wavering light of the candle on the table. “Don’t push it, Hellboy.”

“Ouch. Below the belt.”

Beneath the table, the pointed toe of her shoe stroked the side of his leg. “Best location.”

He moved his leg, and she uncrossed hers and crossed them the other way.

“But in the interest of our continued frenmity, I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.” She paused to top off her glass. “Last winter, the Hunt blew into town to deal with some riffraff, and the leader of the Hunt struck some kind of a deal that let him remain in the mortal realm indefinitely. Word is, it’s because of—”

“Rhea Carlisle.”

Polly tipped her glass toward him. “The quetzal’s sister-in-law, yes. And today you crashed the quetzal’s wedding. I take it Leo Ström is the reason.”

“One of a couple of reasons.” Lucien swirled the wine in his glass, thinking about Theia’s large eyes. And the way she’d held on to his arms after he’d saved her from choking.

“And would another of those reasons be Rhea Carlisle’s identical twin?”

Lucien glanced up, caught off guard. “Why in the world would you say that? I just met her today.”

Polly shook her head knowingly. “Those Carlisle women have a way of getting under a man’s skin. I’d be careful of that one if I were you. She’s deceptively humdrum.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s very normal.” Polly said the word as though it were a terrible insult. “Very sweet. People think of her as the least talented of the bunch, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near her with a secret I didn’t want found out.”

It was a warning he’d be wise to pay heed to.

“As for Ström, he used to come in here with a redhead years ago. A real redhead.” She grinned and flipped her hair. “Not like me.”

“And?”

“And apparently she’s a rogue Valkyrie. A couple of regulars knew her—also Valkyries—and didn’t care much for her.”

That was the missing piece. The Valkyrie must have been the one to create the revenant. And somehow she’d made a deal with Rhea Carlisle.

* * *

Full of mango lassi and sweet Kashmiri naan, Rhea wasn’t interested in reading an old man’s treatises about the history of the Covent written in longhand. Which suited Theia just fine. Alone, she wouldn’t have to hide what she was looking for. She drove Rhea back to her car before heading to Phoebe’s place with Rafael Diamante Sr.’s archives.

Puddleglum, Phoebe’s Siamese tabby, curled up with her in the guest bed while she pored over the materials, looking for anything about the Smok family. As she turned the pages, she noticed a peculiar effect when she lingered on an entry: the text on the page began to shift beneath her touch. Rafe hadn’t mentioned anything about magically enhanced pages, but here it was. Like clicking a magical hyperlink to load a page of related content, touching a reference in the text made the copy on the page transform into the detailed document to which Diamante referred. When she lifted her finger off the page, it returned to the original journal entry.

Fascinated, Theia thumbed through an entry on the Smok family’s history. But it wasn’t about the Diamantes at all. It was an accounting of Madeleine Marchant’s belongings, given to the nobleman who had been her benefactor—none other than one Philippe Smok, Vicomte de Briançon. And among those “belongings” were Madeleine’s children: seven daughters, in fact. Seven sisters.

The Lilith blood allele—a hypothesis Theia had formulated when she and Rhea had first traced their genealogy—was passed down through recessive genes, only resulting in the Lilith phenotype when daughters were born to two carriers of the gene in Madeleine’s direct line. And this always seemed to result in the birth of seven sisters with the gifts. But she hadn’t realized that the first set of sisters were Madeleine’s own daughters.

Puddleglum plopped down in the middle of the journal to announce that Theia was done reading. She hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. Lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling, she tried to work out what Lucien Smok’s game might be. There was no way his appearance at Phoebe’s wedding was a coincidence. Rafe was right. She should keep her distance. But if his family had a connection not just to the Covent but to Madeleine herself, then Lucien surely knew it and had sought them out deliberately. Theia had to find out what he was up to. Particularly with regard to Smok Biotech.

The arrival of the vision was the first indication that she’d actually fallen asleep.

It flew out of the night like a carrion bird, circling overhead, waiting for death, casting a heavy shadow on the creatures below: the crow. The wolf. The dragon. The flying thing drew closer, and now she was looking up at it, standing with her sisters. It was both a vulture and a reptile, a prehistoric lizard with wings—a pterodactyl, perhaps—its head birdlike, with glowing red eyes, bat-like wings stretching out from the lizard body.

In the distance, a rooster crowed, and the sound became a screech in the thing’s beak, a scream of laughter as it dived, talons outstretched.

The rooster crowed again. Light blazed through a crack in the blinds. Dawn light. The rooster was somewhere outside. Nice. Phoebe hadn’t mentioned the built-in neighborhood alarm clock. Theia pulled the pillow over her head and rolled onto her side.

Before the cock crows twice. What was that from? Something in the Bible, she thought. New Testament. She hadn’t been to church in years, but she remembered it now: Peter’s denial of Christ. The cock outside had crowed twice. Not that unusual, probably. But why was that sticking in her head? Cock, not rooster. Theia giggled, knowing what Rhea would have to say about it.

Cock crows twice. The vision came back to her in a rush. It wasn’t the Bible phrase she was thinking of, after all. The flying thing—it hadn’t been a pterodactyl like she’d speculated in the dream. It was a cockatrice. And it was coming for them.

In middle school, she’d once gone with a friend to her church, an evangelical one. The preacher had spoken of some mad theory about human-animal hybrids and the evil plot of godless scientists who wanted to bring back such things as griffins, harpies and cockatrices. His theory claimed such creatures had roamed the earth before the Great Flood because of the sins of unnatural men who’d bred them, and God had wiped them out.

Theia had barely been able to contain her laughter, and her friend had been furious. Even at twelve, Theia understood enough science to know how idiotic such a theory was. Nobody was trying to splice genes across species to create monster hybrids, and even if they did try, it wouldn’t work.

Except... Lucien Smok had said Smok Biotech’s research at NAU was both scientific and supernatural. And what was more supernatural than mythical creatures that turned out to be real?

She certainly hadn’t believed dragons were real until recently, when she’d seen two of them with her own eyes. Dev Gideon shared his form with the dragon Kur, and Rafe was a scion of Quetzalcoatl who sprouted iridescent feathered wings and snake flesh and commanded the dead. And she hadn’t seen Leo shift, but according to Rhea’s account of their time battling another ancient dragon in the Viking underworld, he could transform into a serpentine creature with the destructive energy of the mythological Jörmungandr—who maybe wasn’t so mythological after all.

What if the Smok family’s “magical-adjacent” connection was that they were bioengineering other such creatures?

Theia unhooked her arms from the pillow, and her eyes focused on the crimson business card on the nightstand. If she wanted to get to the bottom of this, she was going to have to take Lucien up on his offer.

Chapter 4

Lucien’s phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He’d been out on a job all day and had turned his ringer off. He took it out and glanced at it, surprised to see a voice mail notification from Theia Dawn. And annoyed that it seemed to make his heart beat faster.

Theia’s message was brief: “We should talk.”

Somebody else had talked, obviously. From the tone of her voice, he could tell she was better informed about the Smoks than she’d been yesterday. Lucien lay on his back on the Berber rug on the floor of his penthouse suite while he returned her call.

He grinned when she answered. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“I can resist you just fine. It’s your company I find intriguing.” There was a pause as she apparently realized how her word choice sounded. “Your firm,” she said quickly, followed by an adorable, mortified gasp.

He put her on speaker and crossed his arms behind his head. “So what can my...firm...do for you, Ms. Dawn?”

“I thought we were going to talk about what I can do for your...” She swore softly at herself in the background. It sent a little shiver down his spine to know how flustered she was when he wasn’t even standing in front of her. “About the job. With Smok Biotech,” she hastened to add. He wondered how flushed her skin was right now. With the chocolate-brown hair bobbed sharply at her chin and those little points of cherry red at the ends, it would make her eyes seem even larger.

“You want the job at the lab.” He spoke lazily, imagining her large gray eyes blinking at him.

“If the offer’s still open. And it depends on exactly what the job is.”

“The offer is most definitely still open. Why don’t we meet for dinner tonight to talk over the specifics?”

“Tonight?” Her voice went up slightly at the end, a little squeak of surprise.

Lucien smiled. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s almost eight o’clock.”

“Too close to your bedtime? I’m sure I can accommodate that.”

“No, it’s just—it’s short notice. I wasn’t planning on going out tonight. It would take me a little while to get ready.”

“It’s just a business dinner. You don’t need to impress me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Her tone was clipped.

He loved getting under her skin. Lucien grinned at the thought. He’d like to get deep under it. Or inside it. In a manner of speaking. Lucien shook himself out of his little daydream. That wasn’t going to do him any good.

“Why don’t we meet at Cress at L’Auberge in an hour? Is that enough time?”

“Are they open that late?”

“They will be for me.”

* * *

The last time he’d seen her, she’d been dressed as a bridesmaid in a bloodred chiffon dress that swung around her hips when she walked. Undeniably flattering, but he’d suspected it wasn’t the sort of thing she normally wore. Neither was what she had on tonight—a conservative navy blue pencil skirt with a cream-colored blouse buttoned up far too high. It was an interesting look, perhaps something she thought a scientist would wear to a business dinner. The one departure from the conservative style was the pair of red crushed-velvet heels that drew attention to her fantastic legs.

“You really didn’t have to dress up for me,” he said as he pulled out her chair at their al fresco table above the babbling Oak Creek.

Theia sat almost suspiciously, like she wasn’t sure what he was doing. “I didn’t. I mean, this isn’t for you. It just didn’t seem like Cress was really a jeans and Tinker Bell T-shirt kind of place.”

He smiled, picturing her in a Tinker Bell T-shirt. That seemed a lot more her style.

“It’s whatever kind of place you want it to be, darling. Seriously. They know me here, and you may have noticed the place is empty.”

Theia’s eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t impress me, you know.”

“Of that I have absolutely no doubt.” Lucien laid his napkin in his lap. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve ordered ahead. I should have asked if you had any food allergies, though. Is filet mignon all right?”

“No. I mean, yes, filet mignon is fine. No, I don’t have any food allergies.” She was gripping her water glass tightly.

“You don’t have to be impressed, but there’s no need to be so tense, either. Would it help if we dive straight into business?”

“Yes.” She’d answered almost before the words left his mouth. He was really enjoying how flustered he seemed to make her.

“Okay, so to start, I take it you spoke to your brother-in-law about us.”

Theia took a sip of her water as if trying to buy time. “I got some information from him, yes.”

“So you know what it is we do. Outside the lab, that is.”

A questioning look appeared on her face for a moment before she masked it. “I do.” She didn’t. But she knew something. Something that was making her very nervous.

“As you know, there are two main divisions of Smok International: Smok Consulting and Smok Biotech. Let me explain how the consulting side of things intersects with the biotech business. Part of cleaning up other people’s messes is dealing with what triggers those incidents in the first place.”

Theia nodded, pretending to follow. The first course had arrived, and Lucien paused to try the bacon-wrapped lapin.

Theia’s face lit up as she took a bite of hers. “Wow. This is fantastic.”

“It doesn’t suck,” he agreed with a wink. “There are some perks to having too much money.”

“Do you?” Theia took another bite, visibly relaxing. “Have too much?”

“Me personally?” Lucien shrugged. “I don’t have any, as a matter of fact. This is all being expensed.” He smiled at her dubious expression. “Still unimpressed? My inheritance is all held in trust, and it’s dependent upon a few conditions I haven’t met yet, so I get to represent my father’s business, but everything I have belongs to him. Or to the company.” He indicated the suit he was wearing. “This thing? Expensed.” He flicked some mustard from his fork onto the jacket.

Theia laughed, the laughter obviously surprised out of her as she tried to cover her mouth, still full of rabbit. He liked seeing her laugh. It changed her whole face, like she’d let him in for a moment and let down her guard—something that was in place not just because she didn’t trust him but a guardedness that seemed ingrained in her.

“You said something about triggers.” Theia tried to go back to her frosty demeanor, moving beet curls around her plate. “What kind of triggers were you referring to?” She was obviously trying to get him to explain more about what she was pretending she already knew. He figured he’d oblige.

“Your brother-in-law, for instance—Rafe Diamante. I noticed that the uninvited guest at his wedding reception—the other uninvited guest—triggered a partial transformation. Strong emotion is often a trigger for such things. Most shape-shifters learn to control when they shift. Or to adapt, if the trigger happens to be out of their control, such as a full moon.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about Rafe.”

“I know an awful lot about everybody, darling.” He noticed her visible flinch at the familiarity, and he tried not to react. Part of being able to indulge in his extracurricular activities depended on making sure people saw him as a spoiled brat who’d never grown up. And part of him was a spoiled brat who’d never grown up, so it wasn’t all that hard to pull off. “I know a lot about a lot of influential people with unusual problems, I should say.”

The waiter arrived to take their starter plates and replaced them with calamari salad. Theia picked up a set of little tentacles, holding them up in the light.

“Not a fan of squid?”

“Hmm?” Theia had popped the calamari into her mouth, and she chewed for a moment before responding. “No, I love squid. I was just admiring it. I love it when they include the tentacles instead of just the rings. They’re the best part.” She took another bite, this time with her fork. “So these unusual problems.” She paused to chew and swallow. “Shape-shifting.” She’d lowered her voice on the word. “It’s actually fairly new to me, so I’m not used to people talking about it so openly. Are there really a lot of them?”

“More than you’d suspect. The job of Smok’s consulting arm is making sure no one does suspect. Sometimes it’s literally cleanup—which I don’t do.” He showed her his hands—no calluses, manicured nails. “We have crews for that. People who don’t mind getting their hands dirty and who can be counted on to be discreet. We had a crew out to your sister Dione’s house a few months—”

“Ione,” Theia interrupted him with her mouth still partially full.

“Sorry?”

She swallowed and wiped her lips with her napkin. “She goes by Ione. It drives her crazy when people pronounce her name wrong, like you just did, so she dropped the D.” Theia paused, apparently only just registering what he’d said. “You were at her house?”

“Not me personally. Like I said, I’m not big on cleaning things. But we sent a crew at Rafe’s request to do some repairs after a certain dragon demon stomped around in her living room. And I understand his trigger was, well, fairly intimate.”

Theia reddened slightly. Dev’s transformation was reportedly triggered by sex and blood.

“My point is that responding to unwanted supernatural activity, whatever the trigger, by cleaning up after the fact may be lucrative, but it’s inefficient. At Smok Biotech, we develop technologies to suppress unwanted transformations. Among other things.” He figured any more information would just overload her if she’d only recently learned that shifters were real. “And people will pay a lot of money for that kind of control. Particularly people in the public eye. Entrepreneurs. Actors. Politicians. Imagine how the public would react if the president turned into a poison-spitting were-newt in the middle of a White House press conference?” Lucien glanced up with a smirk. “Bad example. He’s clearly not bothering to use our tech.”

Theia laughed again, her nose wrinkling. He definitely liked making her do that.

The main course arrived, and they were distracted for a bit by both the presentation and the flavor, truffle and fungus in wine sauce drizzled over the top of the perfectly grilled steak and an artful swirl of béarnaise surrounding mashed root vegetables with edible flowers on top. Lucien found he liked watching Theia eat food that delighted her almost as much as he liked making her laugh. But not quite as much as he was sure he’d like tasting her mouth the way she was tasting that filet mignon.

Lucien focused on his own food for a moment, trying to think more appropriate thoughts.

“So what is it you’d want me to do?”

He glanced up sharply, nearly choking on a mouthful of mashed turnip as he inhaled at the wrong moment. It would really be something if she had to return the favor from the wedding reception by performing the Heimlich maneuver on him.

“At the lab,” Theia clarified, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why do you need me?”

Managing not to choke, Lucien set down his fork to take a drink of mineral water. “We have an excellent staff of researchers but only a handful of lab techs who know the full extent of what we do. I thought it would be good to have someone on staff that I don’t have to hide things from.” Not those things, anyway. He’d gotten used to hiding everything else. “And you’d be well compensated,” he added. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

“You want me to be a lab technician?”

“More than just a lab technician. I mean, that, too. But...” He hadn’t really thought about how he was going to broach the subject of her gift. They’d talked around the reputation of the Carlisle sisters, but he hadn’t actually mentioned clairvoyance outright. “Someone with both technical and esoteric knowledge would be invaluable. Someone who could make...educated predictions of the likely outcomes.”

Theia’s body language had loosened up significantly over the course of the meal, but in an instant she was back to being stiff and tight and on guard.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“What exactly is it that you think I can do, Mr. Smok?”

Oh, crap. He was Mr. Smok again.

“I...understood you had oracular powers.”

“Oracular.” Her forehead creased with irritation. “You think I can see the future. That I can just look into my little crystal ball and tell you how Smok stock is going to do tomorrow.”

“Well, not exactly—”

“Who told you I had these oracular powers?”

Lucien was beginning to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. She might not have oracular powers, but he was starting to think she could burn a hole in his family jewels with those eyes.

“It’s common knowledge in the community. The magical community.”

“And the magical adjacent, of course.”

Lucien shrugged helplessly. “Sorry. I’ve obviously stepped in it here, and I’m not really sure how.”

“Let me ask you something, Mr. Smok.”

“Fire away.”

“Do you and your kind think my sisters and I are some kind of magical Pez dispensers? Is there a creep board out there on the internet somewhere, some ugly little masculinist corner of the deep web where you guys swap stories about how to hit on magically gifted women?”

Lucien nearly choked again at the word masculinist.

“I’m not sure what you think my kind is, but I think you’re taking my interest the wrong way.”

“So you don’t want to sleep with me to get your magical rocks off.”

Something in her words made him snap, like a percussion grenade had gone off inside him. “Listen, sweetheart, if all I wanted to do was sleep with you, I wouldn’t have wasted the company money on a fancy dinner. I would have just done it, and right about now is when you’d be gathering your clothes and making your exit so I could roll over and go to sleep.”

Theia pushed back her chair and stood, her napkin falling to the floor. “Thank you for the dinner, Mr. Smok. Enjoy rolling over and sleeping next to your hand.”

Still suffering the effects of the mental percussion grenade, he wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but it was both delightful and painful to watch her walk away in those heels and that skirt.

Chapter 5

Theia ordered a car on her way outside, and in fifteen minutes she was back at Phoebe’s ranch house yanking off the skirt and kicking off her shoes and grabbing a startled Puddleglum for a forcible cuddle in the papasan chair by the picture window.

Who the hell did that asshole Lucien Smok think he was, anyway? God’s gift to women, obviously. Showing up at Phoebe’s wedding trolling for Lilith blood was bad enough, but making up a job offer to get into her pants was pathetic.

Her phone rang underneath Puddleglum, and she ended up accidentally answering as she wrested it from under him before she saw who was calling.

Lucien’s voice carried from the speaker as she stared at it. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“I didn’t. It was my sister’s cat.”

“Her...cat?”

“His butt. Some people butt dial. He butt answers. Goodbye.” Her finger was poised over the button.

“Wait. Please hear me out.”

For some reason, she did.

“I’m calling to apologize. I screwed up.”

“Ya think?”

“I really did ask you to dinner to talk about the job. There was no ulterior motive. I’m sorry I handled the topic of your gift badly. I didn’t realize it was a touchy subject and maybe not for public consumption. And I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m not sure why I overreacted. But what I said was inexcusable.”

Well, damn. That was an unexpectedly sincere apology. But maybe this was part of his game. She wasn’t going to be stupid enough to fall for it twice.

“Okay, well, thanks for calling. Have a nice evening.”

“Theia?”

Something about the way he said her name, almost a plea, made her hesitate.

“Are you still there?”

Theia’s thumb hovered over the button. “Sort of.”

He laughed softly. “Sort of? Listen, the job offer was genuine. I realize I made assumptions, but I think you’d be an asset to the enterprise, gift or no gift. Is there any way we can start over and discuss it?”

She did need to learn more about the Smoks, and the whole trigger-suppression concept was intriguing.

Theia sighed. “I’m not a psychic, I don’t read people’s fortunes and I don’t perform on command.”

“Of course. That’s perfectly understandable. Can I ask...” There was a rustling sound as he changed position. “Can you tell me how it does work? If it’s none of my business, that’s perfectly cool.”

Theia hesitated, and Puddleglum jumped down to wander to the kitchen, offended at no longer being the center of attention. “I’ve been known to have dreams. Visions. But honestly? I don’t even know if they’re anything.”

“I think you underestimate yourself.”

“How would you know?”

“Just a feeling.”

Theia smiled despite herself. “That’s usually my line.”

“Why don’t we put the feelings and intuitions aside then? I’ll be at the lab tomorrow around two o’clock. Just come by and take a look around, see what we do. If it doesn’t interest you, no harm done. You can walk away. And if you do get any impressions of a possible prophetic nature, I’d be happy to hear those, too. But no pressure.”

“No pressure.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Let’s not go that far.”

Lucien gave her that soft laugh again. “I get the feeling you doubt my sincerity. Suppose I can’t blame you. So will I see you tomorrow?”

The word tomorrow seemed to float before her in brilliant blue letters. Synesthesia wasn’t unusual for her, but it was often a precursor to a waking vision. Either way, it seemed to indicate that tomorrow was significant. A sign she should heed. Interpretation, of course, was always the tough part. Was her gift telling her she should go tomorrow? Or stay away?

“Theia? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Tomorrow it is.”

The same brilliant blue haunted her sleep. Not letters or words this time, but blue in the form of a small dragon. Like the cockatrice she’d dreamed of before, it had webbed, bat-like wings, the joints ending in sharp claws, and stood on two legs, the head and barbed tail the classic shape of a dragon from fantasy—the sort Rhea had collected as figurines when they were kids. But there was something wrong with this dragon. It dragged itself along the desert floor the way a wounded bat might, using its winged forelimbs to “walk.” And above it, the shadow of the carrion-eating cockatrice circled as before. And it was growing closer.

* * *

She forgot about the dream images by the time she’d finished grading papers from her Friday morning class and headed over to the lab.

Smok was using the university biotech labs while a larger, permanent facility was being built off campus. Theia already had an access card for her own research, though she’d never been in the biotech section.

Lucien greeted her in the atrium, looking almost surprised that she’d actually shown up. “Theia. Welcome.” He squeezed her hand like they were old friends. “It’s nice to see you in something more comfortable.”

She’d worn ruby plaid skinny jeans and a black fitted T-shirt—not exactly something she’d just thrown on, but she wasn’t trying to look good for him. The words of Violet Bick from It’s a Wonderful Life popped into her head: “This old thing? Why, I only wear it when I don’t care how I look.” Theia, of course, couldn’t pull off the sassy hair flip.

She just wanted to feel confident, and looking exceptionally cute made her feel confident. So did the approving look he gave her as his eyes lingered over her curves for just the briefest moment. Not so long that it was obtrusive and objectifying, but long enough that she knew she’d chosen well. And as much as she hated to admit it, that little feeling of breathlessness was back.

She’d tried to ignore it at dinner the night before, tried not to think about how his arms had felt around her, like he was protecting her from the world—or like there was no one else in it but her. But every time she’d looked up from her food into those depthless ice-blue eyes, her lungs had tightened like when she was a kid and had felt an asthma attack coming on. She’d had to chew very carefully to make sure not to end up in a repeat performance of the moment they met.

Today, of course, she’d gone with comfortable black cotton Mary Janes instead of the velvet heels, which made Lucien seem exceptionally tall, though he was probably just under six feet. She’d been wearing heels both times they’d met before, but now she was at her full height of a whopping five foot two.

Beside Lucien, an older woman in a lab coat held out a clipboard. “Before you go in, we’ll need you to sign a standard confidentiality agreement.”

Lucien gave her an apologetic smile and a little shrug.

Once Theia had signed it and returned the clipboard, Lucien led her into the Smok wing of the lab, which required a special passkey. “I can have them add the access code to your existing card right now if you like.” He held out his hand as if expecting her to put her card in it.

Theia kept her arms crossed. “I haven’t agreed to your offer yet.”

Lucien smiled. “You will.”

Researchers were hard at work despite the lab only having been in operation for a few days. The equipment—and presumably the technology behind it—was cutting-edge. Theia had microscope envy.

Lucien seemed pleased by her reaction. “This is our pharmacogenomics division.”

“Pharmacogenomics?” Theia wondered if she’d heard wrong. “Not pharmacogenetics?”

“Nope. Genomics. That special project I told you about is particularly dependent on genome-wide study. Smok is currently trying to pinpoint variations in a single nucleotide within the genome to understand the pharmacokinetic and pharmacodynamic effects for our newest drugs in development.”

Theia’s heart skipped a beat at the way the words rolled off his tongue. Most people’s eyes glazed over when she talked genetics. She was starting to see Lucien in a new light.

Encouraged by her interest, he gave her a little smile and went on. “The market for this drug is unique, as you know, and every patient responds differently. Understanding the epigenetics involved is crucial.”

Epigenetics. Now there was a term that was near and dear to Theia’s heart. The Lilith blood phenotype she’d postulated was epigenetic in nature, not caused by changes in the DNA itself, but by changes in gene expression.

“Have you been able to isolate the autosomal mutations responsible for the...condition?”

“We have, indeed. We’re well past that stage.” Lucien looked thoughtful before moving toward an isolated room at the rear of the lab. “Let me show you something.” He used his key card once more on the door. “Another access code I’ll provide you with. This one’s highly classified, since it has to do with our special research.”

He held the door for Theia and she stepped in, not realizing at first the significance of what she was looking at. Cages lined the walls of the small room, containing what seemed to be perfectly ordinary specimens—mice, rats, a snake.

Lucien closed the door behind him. “These are all animals in which we’ve been able to induce lycanthropy through gene manipulation.”

“Lycanthropy?”

“As a generic term, it doesn’t refer strictly to wolf-human forms but to any kind of trans-species shift.”

Theia moved closer to the snake—a juvenile albino ball python—to get a better look. “You mean...they all shift?”

“It makes it easier to study the triggers and suppression mechanisms when we know exactly what genes we’re dealing with.” Lucien pushed a button next to the glass of the python’s cage.

“What does that do?”

“Triggers the shift by introducing a mild toxin into the sealed environment.”

Theia bristled. “A toxin?”

“It won’t harm it. It’s more of an irritant. We’ll remove it and rebalance the environment in a moment.”

Theia was about to give him a piece of her mind about humane lab practices, but the snake had begun to uncoil, raising its head as if sensing them or perhaps just sensing the change in its air. And as it lifted its snout, the yellow and white pattern of the scales began to ripple and grow, becoming feathery, while the snout elongated into a beak. The reptile shuddered as it morphed, although she’d seen much more violent transformations. This, at least, didn’t appear to be painful.

The body shortened. Limbs grew—a pair of legs with talons. Soon it was covered in feathers, wings bursting from the flesh at its sides and a comb and wattles elongating out of the remaining scales on the head. A rooster...a cock. Theia shivered.

“Amazing, isn’t it? And just as we’ve triggered the metamorphosis, we can trigger the reverse.” Lucien pressed the button again, and in moments the creature was shuddering back into its original python form and curling up into its previous coil. “The gene manipulation is a shortcut, of course. We can’t exactly experiment with genetic modification on human subjects. Although human trials for the serum are the next phase. We’re not quite there yet, but we’re actively recruiting volunteers who already have the shifter gene.”

Theia turned to stare at him, thinking he might be pulling her leg, but his expression was serious.

“You see why we have a need for ethical oversight from someone familiar with the sensitive nature of the work.”

“You expect me to help you experiment on human volunteers?”

“Like I said, the actual clinical trial comes later. Probably at least a year away. What you would be doing is helping us map triggers based on genome. And making sure confidentiality is maintained as well as helping to establish a sensitivity protocol for screening volunteers. Which is where your special skills would come in.”

There was something unsettling about the idea of people volunteering such information to a large, profit-driven corporation, but she supposed someone with lycanthropy who was desperate to control it might be willing to sacrifice some privacy for the promise of a cure. Or at least the promise of a regimen for managing it.

The idea of mapping triggers, however—mapping them to genes—it almost made her toes tingle with giddy excitement.

Lucien smiled knowingly. “It’s a lot to take in all at once. I don’t expect you to answer right away. Take your time and think about it.”

Once he’d started talking pharmacogenomics, there wasn’t really any question of what her answer was going to be, and she suspected he knew that. But it wouldn’t hurt to sleep on it and think it over rationally. Or pretend to.

Theia held out her hand and gave him what she hoped was a businesslike handshake. Her palm felt small in his. Despite his claim that he didn’t do physical labor, his hands were surprisingly muscular. Not in an unpleasant way, but like he was used to using them for more than just writing checks from his trust. Maybe he worked out a lot and it was from gripping weights or something. As with his earlier greeting, his grasp was warm and familiar. Not businesslike at all.

Theia tried to keep from blushing at the contact. “I’ll definitely think it over. Thanks for taking the time to show me around.”

After holding her hand a moment longer, Lucien winked as he let it go. “Anytime, darling.” There was something in the way he said darling combined with the wink that seemed deliberately alienating, as though he’d realized he’d been behaving much too civilly. Like he was reminding her that he was a jackass. Well, it worked, buddy. She didn’t feel flushed or breathless anymore, just annoyed.

Chapter 6

For some reason, the meeting with Theia had agitated him. Lucien took the company Maserati and drove south from Flagstaff with the top down, deliberately speeding, taking the switchbacks and hairpin turns down Highway 89A without slowing, just to hear his tires squeal.

He liked her more than he wanted to. He didn’t really want to like anyone. Wanting something—wanting someone—made you vulnerable, and that was something Lucien didn’t intend to be. He needed to be vigilant. The family curse might be nothing more than a legend, but he wasn’t about to be caught with his metaphysical pants down. The last time a firstborn son of the Smok family had been required to pay the price demanded by the witch in Briançon before she burned, the Smoks had only just immigrated to the New World. Every seven generations, so the legend went. The last Smok to pay it had fought against the British in the American Revolution.

Lucien wasn’t going to be the next.

At the same time, he kind of hated himself for turning on his manufactured “Lucien Smok, spoiled brat” persona just as he’d parted ways with Theia. He could see the disappointment in her face. She’d been warming up to him, and he’d yanked the rug out from under her on purpose.

When he got back to his rented suite, he found an envelope had been slipped under his door. It was a little unsettling not knowing who this “helpful citizen” was, but the source had been right on the money every time. It was better intel than he could get at Polly’s—at least not without her expecting something in return. Then again, everything had a price. He just didn’t know what it was yet. It ought to worry him more, but right now he needed to send something to hell.

He opened the manila envelope, expecting another name, maybe an active vamp who preyed on the living—unlike the pasty poseurs at Polly’s—or an animated corpse. Instead, it was a URL. Lucien was surprised to find it took him to a genealogy website. The page was for the Carlisle family. What was the point of this? He already knew their history. They were descendants of the witch, and they’d inherited her gifts. Witches might have the potential to create supernatural havoc, but they weren’t supernatural themselves. It wasn’t like they were demons.

Lucien closed the browser just as a message appeared on his phone from Polly.

Got something juicy for you, hon. Come by tonight.

* * *

He headed to Polly’s after dark, trying for low-key in a tan Versace suit.

Polly laughed when she saw him. “What is this, the Obama surprise?”

“Hey, that was a damn fine suit. So’s this. Just because some people have no appreciation for style...”

“Whatever you say.” She was at her usual booth, surrounded by pretty-boy vegan bloodsuckers and assorted half-shifted weres, and she gave no indication that she intended to dismiss them.

“So what is it you wanted to tell me that you couldn’t just text me?”

Polly pretended to pout. “Now you’re just being mean. Is it so terrible to have to see me in person?”

Lucien sighed. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. It’s just that you look awfully busy, and I wasn’t really planning on hanging out and drinking tonight. I felt like shit the next morning after the last time we chatted.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t handle your liquor. Anyway, I thought you might want to be here tonight, because there’s someone special visiting.”

“Who?”

She nodded toward a table near the stage, partially lit by the spillover of the spotlight on the singer. “Check out the Amazon with the short bald guy.”

Lucien noted the tall, leggy blonde and her considerably less impressive companion. “So? Who are they?”

“Who cares who he is? Probably a snack. She’s Brünnhilde.”

Lucien’s brows drew together. “Who the hell is Brünnhilde?”

Polly gave him a smug grin. “She’s a Valkyrie, baby. I found you a Valkyrie.”

The bloodsucker beside her frowned. “Who’s this asshole? Why does he get a Valkyrie?”

Polly slapped his hand. “I’m not giving her to him, you idiot. She’s a freaking Valkyrie. And have some respect. This is Lucien. He’s the—”

“Thanks, Polly. You can quit there. A little discretion?” He turned toward the table where the Valkyrie sat, but Polly put her foot in his path.

“Hey. No thank-you? Not even a little kiss?” She tilted her head and pointed to her cheek.

Lucien smiled, remembering his manners. He’d be wise to keep Polly on his good side. And she had done him a favor. He leaned in, but instead of kissing her cheek, he lifted her hand from around the vamp’s shoulder and kissed the back of it, to the annoyance of both parties.

Polly flipped her hair, black this evening, over her shoulder. “Come by tomorrow at two. You can thank me properly.”

Lucien approached the Valkyrie’s table, realizing halfway there that he didn’t know what to offer for information from a Valkyrie. What did Valkyries want? Souls? They didn’t need him for that. And he wasn’t likely to be able to give them any valiant, heroic ones. He lucked out, though, as she seemed thoroughly bored with her companion.

He smiled winningly at her as she glanced up. “Pardon the intrusion, but would you care to dance?” No one else was dancing, but Brünnhilde rose and accepted as if eager to escape.

The song that had been playing was more on the swing spectrum, but the band switched to something slow and melodic. Lucien put his arm around her waist and took her hand, feeling like an adolescent next to her. It was like dancing with a tree.

“I’m Lucien,” he offered.

“Brünnhilde.”

“That’s a lovely name.”

Brünnhilde’s brow arched. “Is it? In 2017 in the Southwestern United States?”

Lucien laughed. “Well, Lucien isn’t exactly in fashion, either. Your name stands out. And it suits you.”

“I get the impression you want something from me, Lucien.”

“Can’t a guy ask a beautiful woman to dance?”

She gave him another brow arch, this time without amusement, and he laughed.

“All right. I’ll cut to the chase, since you’ve been gracious enough to indulge me. I understand you’re a Valkyrie. I hope that’s not out of line to say.”

Brünnhilde shrugged noncommittally. “Perhaps.”

He wasn’t sure if she was half-heartedly confirming her identity or agreeing that he was out of line, but he forged ahead. “I wondered if you might have heard anything about the Wild Hunt.”

“You speak of Odin’s Hunt.”

“I believe so, yes. But one that’s out of season.”

Brünnhilde’s green eyes flickered with annoyance. “Indeed it is. The Chieftain of the Hunt defies propriety. No surprise, given his protector.”

“His protector?”

“A mortal who wields peculiar magic. She somehow bested one of my sisters to win him.”

“That’s surprising. Why does he need protection? And from a mortal, no less?”

“Because his body is meant to sleep while he rides. But when Kára removed her own protection from him, she also gave him the power to ride while in his skin. It’s a disgrace. Of course, Kára was a disgrace long before this latest stunt.”

“Kára? She’s your sister?”

Brünnhilde nodded tersely. “She calls herself Faye these days. She was once a great warrior, but she defied the Norns to coddle this man, fallen in battle. Instead of taking him to his reward in Valhalla, she kept him as a pet. In exchange, he was cursed to lead Odin’s Hunt.”

“This man, the chieftain—you say he was fallen. You mean he died?”

“Precisely. Died in battle, but Kára broke the laws of the Valkyries, the laws of Odin himself.”

“So he shouldn’t be here. His life is unnatural.”

Brünnhilde shrugged. “Well. None of the wraiths of the Hunt should be here. And yet they are. They are all unnatural. That’s what makes them wraiths, does it not? How else would we have the Hunt?”

The music ended, and Lucien thanked her for the dance.

Brünnhilde glanced back at the table where her inexplicably dull companion was waiting for her. “I suppose I’ll have to take him now. Warriors aren’t what they used to be. She sighed and headed back to her table.

Lucien had the answer he needed. Leo Ström was as unnatural as a man could get. His soul might once have been destined for Valhalla, but now it belonged in hell.

* * *

He donned his hunting attire and made sure the arrows in his quiver were all equipped with his specially designed arrowheads. Having Smok labs at his disposal had come in handy in his quest to rid the world of revenants and demons. The exploding tips were filled with a serum known at the lab as the Soul Reaper. Developed for those dangerous and recalcitrant creatures they occasionally came across on their consults, it was deadly to the inhuman. And if the inhuman creature it struck happened to have a human soul remaining in it, the remnant was dissolved and relegated, presumably, to hell.

In all honesty, Lucien wasn’t sure he believed in an afterlife of reward or punishment, but he’d seen plenty of evidence of an underworld—or perhaps underworlds—a plane where the supernatural elements of living things, whether spirit or soul or something else, could travel. Virtually every religious tradition had its own version of this soul realm—and a ruler of it.

He took a more discreet car this time and drove to the home where Rhea Carlisle and Leo Ström were staying. No point waiting to see if the Hunt would ride tonight. He knew what Leo was. And if the revenant was already out for the evening, Lucien would wait. He’d brought a ski mask to avoid revealing his identity to Theia’s twin.

A little twinge of conscience tugged at him, reminding him that an insult or injury to one twin was likely to be felt by the other. Not physically, necessarily, but in terms of emotional harm, regardless of how close they were. And these two had seemed particularly close when he’d seen them together. He and his sister Lucy didn’t see eye to eye—after years of sibling rivalry fueled by their father’s vagaries, sometimes they downright hated each other—but he knew that if anything happened to Lucy, if anyone dared to hurt her, he’d be furious. He’d want retribution.

But he couldn’t allow his feelings to get in the way of his mission. This wasn’t about him, in any event. It was about the kind of people the Smoks had cozied up to for hundreds of years. No, not people, but things. Lucien felt it was his duty to make up for the evil his family enabled.

Helping a foolish family that had invited a demon into their home was one thing, and the routine cleansing of unwanted spiritual activity was a necessary service, but Smok Consulting had covered up depravities—cleaning up blood-spattered rooms after a nest of bloodsuckers had engaged in a Caligula-style orgy and fed on their half-dead victims for days; disposing of bodies when a shape-shifter lost control and slaughtered its own family, and then allowing that shape-shifting abomination to start a new life somewhere else with no consequences. The thought of how many lives his own family had allowed to be destroyed, looking the other way in the name of professional reputation and profit, sickened him.

One of the key sources of tension between Lucy and him was her blasé attitude toward all of it, her seeming acceptance of the status quo. She was ambitious and had made it her life’s goal to show Lucien up and prove to their father that he’d made a mistake in choosing his heir. It was never going to do any good. Edgar was immovable, but Lucien was happy to let Lucy take the lead and the credit, to let himself seem lazy and spoiled. The longer his father was motivated to keep putting off retirement, the better. And Lucy was just better at business, which didn’t interest Lucien in the least.

Rhea and Leo were staying at one of Rafe Diamante’s properties in his absence—Lucien had been tracking them since the reception—a gated community in northeast Sedona. Luckily, the Smok family connections gave him access to any of a number of exclusive communities here and around he world. He had no problem getting in. Rhea’s car, a red Mini, wasn’t parked in the drive at Diamante’s house, which could mean they were both out. But the lights were on inside.

He pulled his ski mask over his face as he got out of the car, loaded an arrow in the crossbow and lined up the sight on the scope.

Luck was on his side tonight. The revenant walked in front of the large picture window, looking down at something on the coffee table in the great room. Sheer curtains were drawn across the window, giving Lucien the advantage. He could see Leo perfectly through them but wouldn’t be visible from within.

The image of Theia’s face popped into his head, making him hesitate just for a moment. But Lucien wasn’t responsible for the fact that the Valkyrie had created an abomination Theia’s sister happened to be dating. This creature had stalked the earth long enough. It needed to be put down. Forget about Theia. Easier said than done, but anger at himself propelled Lucien forward, and he took his shot straight through the glass, not wanting to waste the opportunity.

The split second between the penetration of the glass and the arrow’s impact in his target wasn’t long enough for a normal person to react, but the revenant turned, causing the arrow to hit him in the shoulder. It had missed bone and gone straight through. Lucien grabbed another arrow, but Leo moved faster, charging through the broken window, and the arrow wasn’t fully loaded as he came at Lucien.

Lucien dropped the bow, ready to defend himself in hand-to-hand combat. He only had to hold the revenant off for a little while. Despite the miss, the arrow tip would have delivered its poison, and it should be taking effect any minute.

But Leo didn’t even seem impaired. Lucien bobbed and wove as Leo grabbed for him, throwing a right hook. Leo was faster, his fist catching Lucien on the jaw. The revenant barreled into him as he tried to take another swing, flattening him on the ground. Gravel and cactus tines from a decorative cholla ground into Lucien’s shoulder as the revenant pummeled him. The Soul Reaper wasn’t slowing this guy down a bit.

A knee to Lucien’s groin ended any chance of regaining the upper hand.

Leo climbed on top of him, hands around Lucien’s throat, the shaft of the damn arrow still skewering his left shoulder. “Who are you? Who sent you? Was it that necrophiliac?”

The lack of oxygen to his brain as the large hands constricted his airway must be impairing his understanding. That couldn’t have been what the revenant said.

Lucien’s vision was going gray.

“Leo! What the hell are you doing?” Theia’s voice rang out as a car door slammed, and she was running toward them. “What’s going on?”

But it was Theia’s twin, not Theia herself—which made a lot more sense, Lucien realized before he lost consciousness.

Chapter 7

Rhea’s message was baffling.

That guy you pretend you don’t want just went rogue. Get over here. NOW.

Theia tried calling, but it went straight to voice mail, and her texts weren’t being read. That was unnerving. What was going on? She hopped into her car and drove straight to Rafe’s place, rattled enough to speed. Normally, according to Rhea, she drove like a granny.

A car Theia didn’t recognize was parked out front, so she had to park farther down the drive. As she approached the house, she tripped over what looked like a quiver of high-tech arrows among scattered gravel and broken cactus littering the normally immaculate walkway. Theia dashed to the door and burst in without knocking after seeing shattered glass around the front windowpane.

“Rhea? Are you okay? Are you here?” She hadn’t had any visions about Rhea being in danger, but her Spidey-sense was triggered like crazy.

“In here.”

Theia breathed a bit easier at the sound of Rhea’s voice. She hurried toward it and found her sister and Leo in the kitchen—with Lucien Smok tied to a chair. He looked like an angry bull had trampled him. Lucien glanced up at Theia out of one eye, the other swollen shut, and quickly looked down.

Leaning against the counter with his arms folded, Leo had a bandage around his shoulder and blood soaking his white T-shirt. And there were bruises on his knuckles.

Theia found her voice after a moment of what was becoming a familiar sense of breathlessness, except this was breathlessness of disbelief. “Lucien? What in the world is going on? What happened to you? What are you doing here?”

“That’s what we’ve been asking him, but he won’t talk.” Rhea kicked at the leg of Lucien’s chair. “He shot Leo with a goddamn arrow.” She indicated Rafe’s large oak table with her gaze. A crossbow with a high-powered scope attachment lay on it.

Theia rubbed her forehead. “Lucien?”

He didn’t glance up, but he finally spoke. “I’ll talk to Theia. But not with him in the room.”

Leo made an angry noise that sounded like a wolf growling, but Rhea took his hand. “Come on. Maybe she can get something out of him.” Reluctantly, he went with her, and Theia closed the kitchen door.

She took a breath and turned around to find Lucien staring at her, his one open eye bloodshot and defiant. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Did you really attack Leo with a...” She glanced at the table. “A crossbow?”

Lucien’s voice was calm and measured. “Your sister is living with a man who ought to have died a millennium ago.”

Theia crossed her arms. “I’m aware of that.”

“You’re aware.”

“How is this any of your business?”

“Because that’s my business. My real work. Putting unnatural creatures down. Demons. Revenants.”

“Revenants?”

“That’s what the reanimated dead are called.”

Theia laughed, but Lucien wasn’t kidding. “Leo is not a revenant. You can see that, can’t you? I mean, I know your vision is a little limited right now, but, seriously, Lucien.”

“He died over a thousand years ago.”

“He was supposed to die over a thousand years ago. I take it you’re aware of the Valkyrie’s bargain?”

“Dead is dead. The Valkyrie created a revenant in defiance of the Fates.”

“Even if she did, what does that have to do with you? Why do you care?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah. You said. It’s your job. Is this why you showed up at Phoebe’s wedding?”

Lucien inclined his head. “One of the reasons. The other reasons were a demon and a necromancer.”

Theia’s temper flared in the face of his calm composure. “So your bullshit job offer was just that. Something you made up on the spot as an excuse to get close to my family so you could go on some purity crusade against them. Are you working with Carter Hamilton?”

Lucien opened his mouth but paused as her words registered before he spoke. “Hamilton?”

“The actual necromancer who crashed the reception. The man who murdered Rafe’s father and apprentice along with at least two innocent women.”

“I’m aware of who he is. Why would I be working with him?”

“Because he’s made it his life’s work to destroy my family, and you seem to be very conveniently helping his cause.”

“I’m not trying to destroy your family. This isn’t about your family at all.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Lucien sighed, glancing down at the floor, where droplets of blood had dried around him. “First of all, my interest in having you join the genome project at Smok Biotech was genuine. Is genuine. That has nothing to do with any of this.”

“Any of this? You mean the trying-to-kill-members-of-my-family this? Did you think I’d just be like, ‘Oh, that’s okay, Mr. Smok, let me map these triggers for you. I don’t need time off for the funerals. Can I get you a coffee?’”

“I didn’t think you’d find out,” Lucien burst out.

Theia unfolded her arms and clenched her fists, tempted to add to his bruises.

He had the sense to look embarrassed. “I mean, this is what I do. It has nothing to do with anything else. I compartmentalize the Lucien I have to be for the company so I can do this. You have no idea how dangerous these inhuman abominations are. Revenants rip people limb from limb. They’re unstoppable. They’re not human, and they do not experience empathy or remorse. My work with Smok Consulting means letting creatures like these walk free, and I was tired of being the cause of it, so I decided to take matters into my own hands—unofficially. I’m sorry it happens to affect you personally, but I can’t let my feelings for you get in the way of what has to be done.”

Through the haze of anger, Theia’s airway did that funny tightening thing again. “Feelings for me?”

“I didn’t mean feelings, I just meant—I mean, of course I’m attracted to you, that’s not... Fuck.” Lucien threw back his head in frustration but clearly regretted the movement as soon as he’d made it, judging by the sharp cry.

“What was that? What’s wrong?”

Lucien looked a little green. “Nothing. I think I might have... I just have a little...” His eyes fluttered shut, and his head slumped forward.

“Lucien?” Theia tried to rouse him with a gentle shake, to no effect. She raised her voice as she turned her head toward the door. “You guys? I think I need some help in here.”

The door opened abruptly, Rhea’s palm flat against it as though she’d been standing just on the other side with her ear pressed against the wood. “What did he do now?”

“I think he passed out. He moved his head sharply and it jarred some injury.”

Leo grunted from the doorway. “Probably his broken arm.”

Theia whirled on him. “You broke his arm?”

“Arrow,” Rhea reminded her. She pointed at the table with a glare. “Crossbow.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t warranted, but you don’t tie up a guy with a broken arm and torture him for information.”

Rhea snorted. “Nobody tortured him. He’s a big goddamn baby.”

“You have to take him to the hospital.”

Lucien stirred and groaned. “’M fine. No hospital.”

Theia rolled her eyes. “You’re not fine. You got the shit beaten out of you by a Viking. Deservedly, it sounds like.”

Lucien gritted his teeth like he was struggling to stay conscious. “Call Lucy.”

Theia looked at Rhea, who shook her head and shrugged, then glanced back at Lucien. “Khaleesi?”

Lucien groaned, this time a sound of frustration rather than pain. “Call. Lucy. My sister. Number’s in my phone.” He paused for a breath. “Under ‘Bitch.’”

“Um...” Theia raised an eyebrow.

Rhea picked up the cell phone lying next to the crossbow. It was a bit dented, and the glass cracked, but apparently it still functioned.

“Password?” Lucien gave it to her and Rhea typed it in. “Yep. Here it is—Bitch.”

“She’s my twin,” said Lucien.

Rhea shared a look with Theia. “Seems about right,” they said together.

* * *

Lucy Smok was at the door twenty minutes later. She had the same ice-blue eyes and long lashes as her brother. The same dark brows and darker hair—though Lucy’s was considerably longer and hung in a loose braid—contrasted starkly with the porcelain-fair skin in a slightly more feminine frame.

Lucien’s twin leaned casually against the entryway, a black leather attaché case in her hand, glancing from Rhea to Theia as they opened the door. “Which one of you is the biologist?”

“I’m Theia.” She stepped forward and shook Lucy’s hand as though they were meeting in a normal social situation. “This is Rhea. Please come in. He’s in the kitchen, through here.”

Rhea had agreed to let Theia untie Lucien, but he still sat in the chair, guarded by a scowling Leo.

Lucy took in Leo’s size with a glance and burst out laughing at her brother. “God, you’re an idiot.”

Lucien glared, holding his right arm awkwardly in his lap. “Thanks.” His voice was tight and clipped. “Knew I could count on you.”

“You’ll have to forgive my brother.” Lucy smirked at him from the doorway. “He thinks he’s some kind of vigilante superhero.” She stepped into the kitchen and set down the bag to look him over, clucking her tongue at his bruises.

He swore loudly when she touched his arm. “I think it’s broken,” he said through gritted teeth.

“That’s what they told me.”

“Did you bring it?”

“I did. You sure you want it?”

Lucien nodded curtly.

Lucy straightened. “We’re going to need to get that shirt off.” She looked around. “Got any scissors?”

Rhea rummaged through the kitchen drawers and dug up a pair. “Looks like you’ve got this covered.” She handed them to Lucy. “I think Leo and I should leave you to it.” She nodded at Leo, who pushed away from the counter with a sigh and followed her to the door. Before she left, Rhea turned back to Lucien. “And by the way? He’s not a revenant, you jackass. He’s mortal.”

Lucien hissed in pain as Lucy cut the black sweater up the side, muttering something under his breath.

Lucy shook her head, continuing to cut without pausing. “You shot a mortal with that thing, idiot. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

The sleeve came away, revealing an odd twist to Lucien’s elbow that made Theia’s stomach churn.

From the black case, Lucy retrieved a small glass vial and a disposable syringe and ripped open a sterile wipe, which she used on his elbow. “This is going to hurt.”

Theia peered over Lucy’s shoulder as she opened the vial and filled the syringe. “What is that?”

“It’s like Fix-a-Flat for bones.” Without a warning, Lucy jabbed the needle directly into the joint, and Lucien let out a barrage of obscenities.

Theia had to turn away to keep the sudden lurch of her stomach from becoming something more. When she turned back, the twist in Lucien’s arm seemed to have magically straightened.

“It’s a little something we make at Smok Biotech.” Lucy nodded to her brother as he cautiously flexed the joint. “You’ll need to have it set properly before it starts to mend wrong. But for now, you should be able to use it.”

As Lucien pulled off what remained of the sweater, Theia caught a flash of blue ink on his back just below the right shoulder. Brilliant blue, like the color she kept seeing everywhere—in her dreams, evoked in sounds and words.

Lucien glanced at Lucy. “Did you bring me—”

“Of course.” She handed him the sweater she’d taken from the case, the same as the one he’d been wearing.

He turned as he stood to pull it on, giving Theia a good look at his ink.

It was a tattoo of a small web-winged dragon in flight.

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