It’s been almost a full year since Dmitri’s sister went missing the night of her birthday. When Taryn didn’t show up for her surprise party, he turned Los Angeles upside down searching for the smallest clue as to what happened to her. But vampires don’t have the ability to disguise themselves with a glamour like the fae, which makes covert investigations difficult. And if the others they “questioned” had any information, they weren’t giving it up to Taryn’s clan.
Normally, vampires would use their unique power of compulsion to get answers out of people. Except, for reasons I’m still not clear on, the Romanov vamps don’t have the ability to compel like the other clans.
After several months of hitting dead ends, Dmitri became desperate enough to seek out help from someone who can disguise himself: me.
For the last nine months I've fought in the UFCO as a random Dark Fae, hiding my true identity with a glamour. I’ve strategically won and lost fights in order to gain the trust of other fighters in various supernatural factions, trying to gather any information about her disappearance. From the few leads I did get, not one of them panned out. Dmitri and I started to worry we might never find her.
Until the very person who took her dangled a single clue in front of us like a godsdamned carrot on a stick. Talek Edevane—Day Court king and dickbag at the top of my Shit List—left it for us. His way of taunting us as he made his next move in this fatal chess game he’s forced us into.
The move? He did the impossible and escaped his Night Court prison cell and stole an artifact from our Temple. In its place, he left a silver-colored rectangular pendant hanging on a chain, and on the pendant was an engraved fae symbol. It’s called an Armas, and similar to a family crest, it delineates a fae’s family line, but more specifically, the member within that line.
And that particular Armas said it belonged to the only daughter of Aine Emory of the Summer Court and One True Queen of Faerie.
That's when I learned that Dmitri Romanov's sister isn't his sibling by birth, and she’s sure as fuck not a vampire. She's Taryn Emory. A Fire Fae princess who left her home and everything behind in Faerie to live incognito in the human realm up until she was taken last year.
Since his escape, Edevane hasn't set foot in Phoenix—the city the Day Court established after they and the Night Court were exiled from Faerie more than four hundred years ago. In the absence of their king, the Light Fae have been ruled by their high council who recently communicated with us that they don’t wish to break the Treaty of Two Courts that established peace between us for the last few centuries.
They’ve renounced Edevane’s actions and voted to take his crown, but he doesn’t give a shit about his crown or his people. He told me so himself. The only thing he cares about right now is getting revenge against Aine for our exile. And there’s no doubt in my mind he plans to somehow use her daughter to do it if we don’t get to her first.
The silence in the locker room is broken by a deep voice with thick Russian accent. “I am beginning to think you have an unhealthy relationship with my sister’s Armas, comrade.”
I grab onto the top of my locker and hang my head between my shoulders on a sigh. “You wouldn’t be the only one,” I grate out. “I don’t know how to explain it, D. But it’s like when I’m wearing it, I can sense her.”
Turning to face him, I rest my bare back on the cool metal of the locker doors and try to guess at his thoughts. Standing at six-five with a warrior’s frame, the vampire looks as dangerous as he is, thanks to his imposing size, the scar bisecting his left eyebrow, and the intricate tattoos snaking up his neck and across his hands. Dressed in his signature designer suits in all black, he exudes a menacing elegance. But a Romanov in Armani is just a well-dressed monster, and those who deal with him do well to remember it.
When his expression gives nothing away, I continue. “It sounds crazy, but I think I’d know it if she…” I can’t bring myself to say it, and I know he damn well doesn’t want to hear it. “If something happened.”
I wait for him to react like I’ve lost my mind and demand I give him the Armas, but he merely shrugs. “Maybe as fae you share a connection with her that I cannot. Perhaps it is fate that I saw you sparring in my gym that day and thought of asking for your help.”
I chuff as I grab the black T-shirt from my locker and pull it on. “I don’t believe in fate. At most, it’s called being in the right place at the right time.”
His scarred brow raises. “Was it not fate that brought Bryn into your oldest brother’s life, against all odds?”
“No. It was Talek-fucking-Edevane, setting them up after discovering she was the Darklight changeling who could put his plan for assassinating Caiden into motion. Fate had nothing to do with it.”
He crosses his arms and leans back against the lockers, staring me down. “Or perhaps it was fate who put Talek’s plan into motion so that Bryn and Caiden could at last find each other and prevail.”
I hear the door to the locker room open, signaling our guest’s arrival. Slamming my locker shut, I give the vampire a droll look. “You want to debate fatalism some more or do what we came here to do?”
Garvey comes into view as he walks around the corner. Without taking his eyes off me, Dmitri’s arm shoots out and yanks Garvey over and shoves him down until his ass hits the long bench between us. “What the fuck—”
He goes to stand but stops dead when Dmitri takes his gun out of his shoulder holster beneath his jacket and presses the barrel against Garvey’s skull. Fae can heal from just about anything. But no one comes back from getting their brains splatter-painted onto a wall.
“Easy, General,” Dmitri says. “Forgive the theatrics, but your reputation for being, shall we say, unreasonable, when cornered precedes you.”
Garvey glares in response. “Then why is it you’re trying to fucking corner me, Lord Romanov?” He said the word “Lord” like he takes Dmitri’s title about as seriously as he takes Burger King’s, but the unflappable vampire doesn’t rise to the bait.
Dmitri drops his arm but doesn’t holster his gun. “We are calling in the debt from tonight’s fight, effective immediately.”
The fae’s guard visibly falls as he looks from Dmitri to me and back again with confusion written on his face. “Okay. What do you want? Allowed access into Phoenix for a vacation or something?”
Now I’m the one confused. I didn’t expect such a blasé response. Dmitri catches my gaze and smirks. “You are not currently you.”
I glance at the mirror on the wall and see a shaggy redhaired male with an oval face, prominent nose, and thin lips. The only features I share with this glamour are the pointed ears, fangs, and the bright golden-colored eyes of the Dark Fae.
“My bad.” I drop the magical disguise and my true appearance—which has been featured in multiple media outlets’ sexiest celebrity bachelor pieces—comes through. Black hair that’s shaved close on the sides and longer on top, straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and square jaw with my usual three-days growth beard.
If the Verran brothers were magazines, the oldest, Caiden, would be Maxim, Tiernan would be Playgirl, and I’d be Men’s Fitness. At 6’7” and 330 pounds of muscle, most people are intimidated by me. I’m not an intimidating person by nature—ask my sisters-in-law and they’ll tell you I’m more teddy bear than grizzly—but I’m not afraid to use my size and station to my advantage when necessary. Like now.
Turning back to face Garvey, I watch as he realizes who he really fought—and lost to—in that cage.
“Prince Finnian.” His shock quickly morphs into disdain. “The lone Verran who will never be king.”
Because fae are so long-lived, the eldest child in any royal line is the only one who ever ascends the throne. But Caiden was forced to abdicate after only seventeen years as king to prevent further attempts on his mate’s life, which meant Tiernan, as the next in line, had to step up.
The Rebel Prince hadn’t wanted to be king, but eventually he rose to the occasion, inspired by our father’s legacy and the love of his mate, Fiona Jewel, who was a human raised to believe she was Dark Fae until recently.
That leaves me, the baby brother and unplanned third son born fifty years after Tiernan, as the lone Verran prince who has not been king.
“You need to work on your trash talk, Garvey,” I say calmly. “For example, I could say that you’re supposed to be the general of an elite group of warriors and yet you just got your ass handed to you by a guy who fights as a hobby.”
Garvey scowls. “Get to the fucking point. What do you want?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I step directly in front of him and speak the words that will magically bind him to honor the contract we signed before the tenth round.
“Garvey Alsandair, I hereby call on you to fulfill your debt to me…” His electric green eyes narrow in suspicion as beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. “You, General, are going to help us rescue Taryn Emory.”
And there it is. The horrified expression of a male who knows he’s completely fucked.
