Rainwater drips through broken boards above, each drop echoing between the walls like a ticking clock. I press the flat of

e," I demand, vo

t heaving. He gurgles on his own blood. I lean closer. "And Ash," he croaks. His knife hand spas

e he's gone. I drag my blade free and shove the body into the open hallway. Rainwater seeps in from the br

on concrete, and push through the front door into the drizzle. The night smells of diesel and mildew

-

too parlor. I press the buzzer and wait while her light flickers on. Seconds later, the doo

ng aside. Her voice has that familiar

sies herself loading a syringe of silver tracer into her portable spectrometer-

"Got a name. Ash Draven." I hiss as I unwrap it agains

this isn't just lycanthrope damage. There's something ritualistic about it."

I repeat. "S

talks about. Rumor says their alpha-Sebastian Draven-fell in with vampires. Became some kind of oc

enched. "So he's back.

ou need backup. You can't keep doing this solo." She gestures a

I don't want him a

u twice. Admit it-he kno

bending to slip my knife back into

pulls out a small, engraved talisman. "This belonged to your sister. It bears the same

ol's worry seeps into my bones. "Fine," I say. "But if Lucian shows up,

-

re through smoke: "THE IRON JAR" beckons in flickering red. Patrons lean close to hear each other, tattoos and scars gli

ender. His face is a roadmap of faded scars. I slide a bill

olishing a glass. "Name's not i

ng bonuses, lone figures trading stacks of cash. At the

chairs. Renzo sits in one, muscular arms folded. He's got a

recent pack murders," I say, lean

amused. "Ash Draven's been back for months. Hit three minor packs, left no su

ow scrapes the table

with a latent bloodline. A broken prophecy, old curses. If you

unders. "Te

ce you're here-Draven's hunting the "silver key." He believes it unlocks powe

the talisman beneath my

opping. "He's Draven's greatest fear-and greatest prey

ists in my gut. "Whe

Club. Only his inner circle knows. But I've got a friend on the inside." He

eave, but Renzo's hand clamps my wrist, voice low. "B

p back. "I can hand

go, eyes dar

-

ainst my chest, a subtle warmth that hums with possibility-or danger. I lift my hea

, half-burned letters spelling "MARQUIS" above a line of blackened skul

in tailored suits and women in sequins move like predators in silk. I spot Rita-short platin

e and PAs into a private room lit by candelabras. The air smells of expen

ow me, none care. But in the dim glow, a silhouette leans forward in a silk suit: long legs crosse

"I'm here to see

e." The woman stands, stepping into candlelight. Her emeral

my ribs. Betrayal tast

g like fireworks. In that splintered reflection behind her, I see Ash Draven