A long pause followed before Khan spoke. “Of course I will help you, Stacy. And you should not blame yourself for what happened.”

She was surprised this was his first response. She had expected a lecture and a stern warning about proceeding.

“What happened was Victor’s doing, and he will pay,” Khan added.

Stacy glanced at the clouds. She could have sworn she heard a dragon’s wrath in her father’s voice. He kept his voice calm and controlled as he continued. “I will send Reginald and some others to your home to guard it while you are away. I have some…other ideas about how to help, but you have a lot going on now, and I won’t bother you with them. Trust me, Stacy.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I do trust you.”

“You must be careful. Allow Rowan and the others to protect you as they see fit. Your mother appointed Rowan to the estate for a reason.” His warning was firm, but earnestness edged his voice.

Stacy remembered Rowan threatening to drag her ass out of Victor’s house so she would not get killed. It made her bristle, but in the end, Rowan was right. “I will,” she murmured into the phone.

She heard her father shift as if he was taking a seat in his library. She imagined him surrounded by candlelight, old books, and quiet. “Now, Stacy, tell me what you have planned.”

When his call with Stacy ended, Khan remained sitting in his library. Candlelight flickered around him, illuminating a space full of books and relics of a life spanning several centuries. Anyone who stepped into the room would have thought he was a hoarder of arcane heirlooms. He supposed this was true. He was a dragon, after all.

Khan’s head filled with the broken voice of his daughter. She’d told him her plan with firm resolve. It was a good one, he had to admit. She had the wits and strategic mind of her mother. He only hoped her magic would match it.

He sank further into the leather chair that seemed to swallow his formidable frame, his green-gold eyes reflecting the firelight from the hearth. His gaze drifted to the mantle above, where a portrait of Catherine hung.

In it, she stood among brambles and briars, roses blooming against a tall stone wall in the background. She smiled with a cheek perched on her fist. Her eyes danced with mirth. The sight of the portrait made Khan want to laugh and cry at the same time.

He remembered the day it was painted well. It had been shortly before they’d discovered she was pregnant with Stacy. They’d gone to her manor house to enjoy some time alone. The garden had been in full bloom, and Khan had insisted a painter come and capture Catherine in it. The house and garden were her favorite places in the world. He had wanted her likeness painted there before their lives changed forever. Before Anastasia was born.

He smiled as tears gathered in his eyes. “Your daughter is much like you,” he told the painting. “I am glad of it. I feared she was too much like me for a long time.”

The dancing amusement in the portrait’s eyes seemed to say, She still is much like you. That dragon wrath may get her into trouble.

That was what worried Khan, though he chuckled at the thought of Catherine saying it. He did not fear so much for his daughter’s safety. She had a team of people who would lay their lives down for hers. He feared she would access more power than she was currently capable of handling.

She must forge her own path, a voice spoke into his mind.

I know, Catherine.

You must protect her, but she must move forward of her own accord, too.

Khan had known this for a long time. The difficulty was in accepting it. Stacy could not replace him one day as the head of the Drakethorn estate if she could not handle her own enemies.

The Red Dragon considered all the ways he’d handled his enemies in the past. Some methods he regretted. Others had proven effective time and time again.

Khan remained still and quiet for a long moment, then reached for his phone. Stacy would pave her path, but he would protect her along the way. As long as I am able, he thought. And it starts with making a few phone calls.

A knock came at Stacy’s bedroom door.

“Come in.”

Rowan entered, holding an encrypted tablet that washed his face in a white glow.

“I didn’t want to bother you since we both need rest, but I have intelligence reports on Victor’s defenses at the stronghold from the files. I’ve asked Kiera to confirm them when she’s there.”

Stacy nodded. “Good.”

“Did you speak to your father?”

“He will send defenses over in the morning. I trust the estate will be well protected while we’re away.”

Rowan nodded. “I will summon the estate guardians and request their aid as well. Stacy, you must know that the risks of this mission…”

“I know.” Stacy swallowed. Trust me. The sting of Spencer’s death was still as fresh as a knife wound. Her fear for Amy hovered around her.

The dryad’s face softened. “I am with you all the way. So are Kiera and Miles.”

“I know,” she said again, softer this time.

The location was secure and undisclosed to anyone but those currently sitting at the conference table. The low lighting in the room made it so Victor could hardly make out the faces of the men gathered. The room had no windows, thus no gleam of early morning light.

Victor checked his watch. It was barely past dawn. He did not feel like he’d slept enough, but he’d awoken, unable to shake thoughts of Stacy’s assault from his mind. Shortly after waking, a representative of his father had called, having learned of the assault on the Aurora estate.

It was safe to say Victor Corbinelli II was pissed off. He’d threatened to move everything belonging to Victor to someone else. A useless nephew or something. The Aurora estate was the oldest piece of property the Corbinelli clan owned. Its age was only one aspect that made it valuable. The magic running beneath the land in its natural ley lines made it useful for many matters.

Victor had known the moment he heard the threat that his father was bluffing, but it ignited a motivation to see the death of Stacy Drake through. As soon as fucking possible. He’d called the police chief already to ensure Turnbower made certain Amy Greentree’s friend’s death did not lead to him. If the bitch journalist died too, great, but Victor needed it covered up. Much work remained.

In this room, surrounded by his most trusted advisors, Victor led a tense poring-over of security protocols.

If you don’t get this figured out, there will be consequences. The voice in Victor’s mind was his own, but it was also his father’s, his grandfather’s, and the slimy representative who had called and spoken those exact words earlier.

Victor’s face was a mask of cold fury, his fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on the table. One man, his head of security, stood to his right, clearing his throat. He spoke in a low, monotone voice. “We have some vulnerabilities in the stronghold to take care of before we can lay the bait. Rest assured, it will be done as soon as possible.”

“You must be vigilant,” Victor replied. “No word of such vulnerabilities must leave this room.”

The head of security nodded. “You have my word.”

“That stupid bitch will go there,” Victor went on, the control in his voice slipping. His hands balled into fists on the table. Several men shared glances. “She should have reached a state of maturity by now to realize each soldier is a tool, not a reason to rain vengeance on her foes.”

One man snorted. “The man who died in the hospital isn’t close to her. Not really. We know she’ll lose her shit over it, though.” He smiled slyly. “At least that part of the plan went well.”

Victor ground his jaw. “We can only hope the journalist bitch dies, too.” He rolled a shrug off his shoulders, a forced show of nonchalance. “Oh, well. Miss Drake won’t live long enough to learn the lesson. I won’t spare her any pity.”

The men discussed further protocols for security and defense before Victor dismissed them. Only the head of security remained behind. When the pair were alone, he laid a file in front of Victor. “I didn’t say this before in case we have a mole, but the bait being bred is nearly finished. The prototypes await your inspection and investment.”

“I’ve invested a lot already,” Victor nearly growled.