Stacy flashed a smile. “He’s a man who is super fucking dedicated to his hobbies. It keeps me safe, though, so I won’t complain.” She gestured at the vehicle. This one wasn’t like the sleek, armored sports cars Khan had gifted her before. It was large enough to hold several people and plenty of armor and weapons.

“I suppose this is better than my mom’s cars getting shot up,” Stacy remarked at last.

“Her cars haven’t been driven in more than three decades anyway,” Rowan remarked. “Even when she was here, she preferred…other modes of transportation. Magical ones, of course.”

Stacy’s face lit with curiosity. “Tell me more.”

Rowan was more than willing to share anything about Catherine, but he would often peter off with a wistful expression in the middle of telling her. He still struggled with her loss despite all the years that had passed. Grief worked like that. It sprung up at moments when one least expected it.

“She had rune points throughout the property. Most of them are carved into stone and covered by vines now, but she used to move between places by stepping onto them and invoking the enchantments inside the carvings.”

Stacy’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

Rowan nodded, his gaze far off. “She also was known to create portals from time to time, but those can be straining for someone who is not…well, mega-powerful.”

Stacy laughed to hear Rowan saying the word “mega.” “I don’t think I’ll be using runes or portals anytime soon.” Again, an image of a dragon flashed into her mind. This time, it was enormous, with scaled wings. The image flitted away. “Maybe we should make a note to get our own operational vehicles. Make them dark red. Harder to see at night.”

“Not black?”

“I like red better.”

“There’s a reason your father is called the Red Dragon.” Rowan arched a brow. “Are we planning more operations?”

“Never hurts to be prepared,” Stacy admitted.

The dryad chuckled. “You sound like someone I know.”

“My mother?”

“Your father.” Rowan’s lips twitched into a wry grin. “I wouldn’t mind more operations, though. It’s gotten boring around here for the last few decades.”

In the grand foyer, Kiera glided across the marble floor, her eyes reflecting the soft evening light streaming through the doorway. She noticed the two figures standing before a shiny, new vehicle. A gift from the Red Dragon, no doubt.

Neither Rowan nor Stacy could hear her. She had moved toward the door as silently as a soft wind. She removed a sleek blade from the elegant folds of her attire and held it up to the dying light.

The sigils carved down its curve made her smile. A gift from Rowan. It was an old gift, and Kiera didn’t like using it because it was so pretty. She pocketed it, resolving that this ordeal with Corbinelli might be the time.

Rowan and Stacy were talking about operational vehicles. Rowan smiled, then laughed. This made Kiera smile, too. It had been too long since she’d seen her dryad friend so happy. While living here with Catherine, she’d seen him only once. Kiera didn’t like remembering that time, the bitterness that had been so strong between them. Since Catherine’s death, he’d been a shell of his true self. And now…

He’s coming back to the Rowan I know so well, Kiera thought. It made her heart ache, which was not a feeling she allowed often.

Rowan turned toward the house. Kiera slunk back into the shadows as his gaze swept the hallway, searching. He didn’t see or hear her, but he sensed her presence. He always had, and Kiera didn’t doubt he always would. Sometimes, it irritated her. However, right now, she figured it was best to let them see her lingering.

She stepped onto the front porch, where the sun’s last light of the day washed over her. Rowan opened his mouth as if to say something, but Stacy spoke first. “You look like a fucking badass! Deadly, yet pretty. How do you not have men falling over around you?”

Kiera raised a brow, her gaze flicking from Rowan to Stacy. “For real?”

“I’m not flattering you,” Stacy replied. “I mean it. You might have to teach me tricks about dressing for combat, too.” Her laughter rang into the night.

Kiera met Rowan’s gaze. He knew she’d had few people she could call friends in her life, let alone other women. Let her be your friend, his look seemed to say.

She turned back to Stacy with a cunning smile. “Let’s get you ready to storm that bastard’s home. I have a few things you can add to your look.”

Spencer whistled. “Amy Greentree, you clean up quite nicely.”

It took everything in Amy not to blush at his appreciative survey. She turned in front of the floor-length mirror in the hallway. She had chosen a deep blue, long-sleeved dress accented with silver shoes and jewelry. She’d curled her golden hair so it fell in soft waves down her back and over her shoulders.

Spencer offered her a hand and turned her. “How am I supposed to focus on my job with you looking like this?”

How could he keep up this shameless flirting without asking her on a fucking date? Amy wondered. She didn’t say it, though. Instead, she laughed and commented that he cleaned up nicely, too. His dark hair was combed back, brown eyes glittering. He’d worn a suit, simple and dark and sleek. They made a lovely pair, and Amy knew it.

“I’m surprised you own a suit,” she remarked. “I thought all your attire was bodyguard and personal trainer shit.”

Spencer feigned offense by putting a hand on his chest. “Please, Amy. You should know I have many sides.”

“Let’s hope I’m distracting enough to keep Victor from knowing what’s really going on,” Amy murmured as Spencer led her through the hallways of the Thorn house. Rowan, Kiera, and Stacy were off somewhere, preparing for the night.

Only the groundskeeper Miles was around, and he was working a patch of roses as if his life depended on it. He shot up from the rose bush as they emerged from the house, red-faced and frazzled. Still, he produced a beaming smile and waved them off as they got into the car Stacy had appointed them tonight.

“Ready?” Spencer asked as he started the car.

Amy inhaled deeply. “Born ready. The only part I’m mad about is that this is for work, and I can’t drink. Some white wine would be perfect right now.”

Spencer winked. “After. I promise to get you the best bottle of white wine you’ve ever had.”

Her laughter trailed with them from the house, joining the car’s revving engine. The sun was close to setting, the lingering rays turning the road a burnt orange. Spencer spurred the car onward, taking the many twisting turns through the countryside toward the city. The numerous glimmering buildings soon appeared, the city sprawled out like a case full of stars.

Amy had grown to appreciate her quiet life in the country, but sometimes, she missed the bustle of the city, especially at night when she had events like this to attend. Damn, she wished this wasn’t for work. She could be drinking and dancing instead. Wasn’t that the sort of thing people like Victor wanted her distracted by, though? Frivolity and lavishness while menacing darkness lurked out of sight?

She steeled herself, remembering the purpose of tonight’s event. Soon enough, the ritzy hotel came into sight. It was exactly the sort of thing Amy imagined Victor would own. A tall white building, several decades old, with huge golden chandeliers, marble entries, sprawling staircases, and food catered by the best in the city.

Amy remembered her meeting with her friend from the day before and hoped the woman had passed word along about what they’d discussed. Another thing to make Victor think Stacy would attend. Plan is in place, she thought. Now we have to fucking execute it.

Spencer handed off the keys to a valet, then led Amy up the stairs with a gentle hand at her waist. Amy presented her media badge at the door, then was ushered in along with Spencer. Lavishly dressed patrons packed the hotel’s main foyer.

The room screamed of wealth, from the women’s furs to the men’s sleek suits, the drinks in their hands, and the chatter around her. They spoke of business ventures and vacation homes Amy could only ever dream of. It made her want to shake her head and laugh. She didn’t, though. She went into journalist mode. She wanted to do this for Stacy, but she also had to turn in an article for her boss.

“We’ll look suspicious if we don’t drink,” Spencer murmured, reaching for two glasses of bubbling liquid as a man with a tray swept past. He handed one to Amy.

“Only one,” she replied. “And drink it slowly.”

“I’ll have my wits about me,” he promised.

They ambled from room to room, observing the attendees and several art pieces lining a wall. An auction of some sort seemed to be in the works. A string quartet played in a corner. The pair finally emerged into a large ballroom. At the front of the room was a dais and a podium with a banner hung behind it, picturing Victor. The image made him look like the king of the world. Amy suppressed a snort of laughter by drinking.