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"Lynn Draven, meet Darius Morvane." I keep my tone level despite the irritation crawling up my throat. "My... security consultant."

"Security consultant." Lynn prowls around Darius, her fingertips painting a trail of icy friction across his shoulder as she passes. "How wonderfully... protective."

Darius remains statue-still, though I pick up on the subtle tension in his jaw. Professional composure wars with something more fervent in his eyes.

"We need information about recent disappearances," I cut in before Lynn can complete another circuit. "Paranormals with dormant bloodlines."

"Straight to business. How disappointing." Lynn's pout could melt steel, but she nestles back onto her chaise gracefully. "Though I suppose urgency has its own appeal. Tell me, Mr. Morvane—do you always let your clients dictate the conversation?"

The possessive edge in her tone ignites a spark of magic against my skin, lively and bright. I contain the rush, yet the subtle flare of Darius’s nostrils shows that his enhanced senses miss nothing.

"The missing paranormals," I push, fighting to maintain a clear head. "What connects them?"

Lynn's smile sharpens. "Ah, now that's the interesting question, isn't it? They weren't random at all."

Lynn's smile turns carnivorous as she leans forward, fingers steepled. "The missing paranormals were selected for specific, hidden genetic markers."

My blood chills. "Genetic markers?"

"Old, dormant traits that usually go unnoticed." Lynn's eyes gleam with the satisfaction of delivering valuable intelligence. "Your coven friends have been systematically tracking and collecting them."

"That's impossible. How could they even track something so obscure?"

"They have access to old registries." Lynn examines her perfectly manicured nails. "I managed to intercept their primary target list. It took considerable effort to unearth exactly what they're looking for."

Darius shifts beside me, tension radiating from his frame. "What would they need with these specific markers?"

"Power multiplication." It leaves a bitter, ashen tang on my tongue. "Ancient ritual magic requires specific genetic keys to unlock greater wells of energy. If they're gathering these specific people..."

"They're preparing for something catastrophic. Something that would require enough power to level half the city."

The implications rupture my thoughts, shattering the foundation of everything I previously understood. This is a highly calculated escalation. They are actively building toward a grand ritual that will eclipse anything achieved in modern paranormal history.

"We need those names." My voice is calm despite the fear clawing at my chest. "All of them."

Lynn produces a slim data drive from seemingly nowhere. "Consider it a professional courtesy. The encrypted files are all there—along with their family histories. Though I'd suggest leaving through the back exit—my sources indicate certain interested parties have been asking uncomfortable questions about recent visitors."

I place the glamour back over my features as we navigate through the maze of corridors, the bass thrumming through our bones as we emerge onto the main floor. The crowd has thickened, bodies pressed closer together in the strobing lights. I adjust my glamour, ensuring the auburn hair and brown eyes remain convincing.

Near the bar, a woman with platinum-blonde hair catches my peripheral vision. Her metallic gaze locks onto mine, impossibly intimate and knowing, as a cold whisper slides directly into my mind: Soon, little vessel. I blink, and she's already melted back into the mass of dancers.

A brush of fingertips against my wrist makes me glance down. A faint tingle spreads across my skin, a sensation so subtle it blends seamlessly with the natural static of the glamour magic.

"Move," Darius yanks me from my thoughts, his hand finding the small of my back.

We're halfway to the exit when raised voices explode near the bar. A vampire in an expensive suit has a shifter slammed against the dark surface, fangs bared in a snarl. The shifter's eyes flash yellow—wolf, like Darius—and his muscles bunch beneath his shirt.

"Payment was due three days ago," the vampire hisses.

"Circumstances changed when your boss decided to alter our agreement."

The tension forces a vacuum around us, driving the surrounding patrons back until they form an uneasy, expectant circle. Lynn's security moves to intervene, but they're stuck pushing through the crowd.

Darius freezes beside me, his entire frame coils for violence. Sharply vigilant, he tracks the confrontation, and I find myself watching him instead of the brewing fight. Broad shoulders shift subtly beneath black fabric. Then the rhythm of his breathing changes, remaining controlled but ready. A subtle flare of nostrils follows as he reads the room through instinct alone.

Heat pools low in my stomach, unwelcome and undeniable.

The vampire strikes first, supernatural speed blurring his movement. But the shifter anticipated it, rolling sideways and coming up with a broken bottle in his grip. Glass catches the neon light, deadly and bright.