He searched the room for signs of his wife and son. They were by a far-off refreshment table, surrounded by adoring spectators. Good, they were safe for now.

An old woman’s tone reached him, drawing him back to the present. “You see, it would mean the world to me if my son could become an intern or apprentice at your company. He graduated from Yale, and⁠—”

“Excuse me,” he cut in tersely. “I must handle a matter. You can direct your concern to my secretary and set up an appointment.”

“But I⁠—”

Victor left the woman standing by a piano where an expert pianist was playing a soft tune, far more soothing than how he felt inside. He feigned going to the men’s room, then veered into a private sitting space through a concealed doorway. It was dimly lit and occupied by several men wearing black. His guards waiting for his command. One had a bandaged hand.

Victor glared. “What the fuck happened?”

“That bitch Greentree got away,” the bandaged man growled. He pointed to a slumped figure in a corner. “They knocked Smith out, too. I came around not ten minutes ago.”

Victor’s jaw tightened. Amy Greentree had come here knowing she would be a distraction while her witch friend Stacy made the true assault. Bait. Victor snapped his head toward a man standing by the door. “Ensure that my wife and son are taken upstairs and stay safe. I want men guarding their rooms all night, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Victor’s speech grew faster, slightly higher-pitched than with his initial question. “Send all of my guards to the Aurora estate but five. Security has been breached. I want those men defending it.” He turned to leave, then spun back. “And someone find out where the fuck Garth is! I told him to come back!”

It took everything Victor had not to boil over in rage.

“And the other five?” his henchman asked.

“Send them after Greentree and her friend. Don’t bother bringing her in. If she’s not dead by dawn, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Victor strode from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Stacy felt like she was going to pass out.

She wobbled, and a hand caught her arm, steadying her. “You’re okay,” Rowan soothed.

She managed to remain on her feet. The magic had crested like a wave, bursting from her with a force she had never felt before. She intended to strike the guards, but in unleashing her magic, she had released too much. “I—” She fumbled her words as she surveyed the damage before her.

Her magic had hit the guards with a strong enough blast to put all of them flat on the floor. Some were unconscious or dead. Kiera surged forward to deal with those who weren’t. Shadows rippled around her. Her knife swung in the moonlight. Her work was quick and quiet. Stacy felt like she could watch the sidhe fae forever.

“You still want to get into Victor’s office?” Rowan asked with concern.

“Of course. That’s why we came here,” Stacy answered.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want you fainting.”

Stacy smiled. “I’m not a fan of fainting, either. Let’s go.”

“Kiera will go with you. I’ll keep watch out here.”

Stacy nodded at the dryad, then headed toward another closed set of doors. These were smaller and made only of wood. Kiera finished with the guards and followed her.

The office was smaller than Stacy expected. The curtains were open, revealing the estate beyond and the night sky. The desk was ornate, and shelves full of books lined one wall around a fireplace. The room was cozy, something Stacy couldn’t imagine Victor Corbinelli sitting in. She doubted he was here often.

“What are we looking for?” Kiera asked.

“Anything,” Stacy told her. “Especially if it’s incriminating.”

She jerked open a drawer and found several papers stored in files. She opened one while Kiera scanned the room. The papers were written in a code or a language Stacy had never seen before. Either way, she couldn’t read it. She found another file in the bottom of the drawer with small print at the top reading Project Pack 013.

What did that mean?

She flipped it open, only to find more of that coding. It matched the files Amy had found. We have to figure this out, she thought. The files seemed to be reports, and the only words she could make out were that they seemed to come from someone named Garth. The words on the front of the file stuck out. “Pack” made Stacy groan. If this has to do with fucking werewolves…

She didn’t finish the thought because Kiera spoke up.

“There are runes and sigils all over this room. Protective enchantments. Victor must be paranoid about something. I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

“Something or someone?” Stacy wondered, suspecting there were many secrets in this room.

Rowan suddenly interjected in Stacy’s comm. “Best you girls come back out here. We have company.”

Stacy’s heart stilled. Shit.

It seemed Victor had figured out she wasn’t coming to his gala. Was Amy okay?

Kiera moved swiftly to the window and cursed under her breath. Wanting to see, too, Stacy moved there with her. Several armed men were below, approaching the house.

“I was hoping we’d finished shedding blood tonight,” Stacy muttered.

Kiera cast a wicked smile. “Is that so? I feel the opposite. The fun is just getting started.”

Amy’s feet were sore from walking in heels as she and Spencer hustled through the parking lot behind the hotel. Where the hell was their vehicle?

“We should have parked ourselves,” Spencer stated grimly. “Who knows where the fuck the valet took it?”

Amy remained silent as she searched the lot. At one point, she thought she saw theirs, but it was a similar car owned by someone else. Gods, why did everyone here have to be so damn rich and have a nice car? She half wished Stacy had sent them in a beater. That way, they’d at least have no trouble getting it back.

She strode past several more cars and paused at the mouth of an alleyway. Instinct grabbed her, and she glanced between the two tall buildings. A dumpster was shoved against a fence at the end of the alley. At first, she thought the moving figure beside it was a shadow or animal, but she realized it was a person. He was watching her.

Fuck.

The man was dressed in all black, nicely enough that he wasn’t some guy on the streets. One of Victor’s goons, probably.

Amy whirled, taking two strides before she was in front of Spencer. “We’re being follow⁠—”

She didn’t get the full word out. Someone stepped from the hotel through a back door, scanning the lot as if searching for someone. For us, Amy thought.

She grabbed Spencer’s arm and jerked him down so they were concealed behind a red Maserati. “What do we do?” she whispered. “I think we should fucking face him and make sure no one comes after us.” She was sick and tired of running.