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“There was an incident.”

“There was a pothole.”

“It looked suspicious.”

“It was a hole in the ground.”

“You could have broken an ankle.”

I stared at him until he had the decency to look only slightly ashamed of himself.

“My point,” I continued, “is that Carolina must choose what she wants. If she chooses Logan, they deserve the chance to figure out what the bond means without her mother using torture as a parenting technique.”

“And if Carolina rejects him?”

“We help Logan survive that too.”

Mack looked toward the empty doorway. “Jacqueline may escalate the curse if she finds out they’re seeing each other.”

“Then we prepare for it.”

“How?”

“You tell me. You’re the supernatural-security expert with an entire building full of expensive toys.”

“Most of those expensive toys aren’t designed for a pissed-off High Priestess.”

“Then adapt. Let’s figure this shit out.”

His expression sharpened as he began mentally sorting threats, defenses, and resources. It was one of the things I loved most about him. Mack could brood with impressive dedication, but give him a problem he could fight and the man became terrifyingly efficient.

“We can’t break the curse,” he said. “But we might be able to contain a flare long enough to keep it from killing him. I have portable ward emitters in storage. They’re designed for rogue spell containment, but I can modify the frequency.”

“I’ll assemble a medical kit.”

“He’s a vampire.”

“Vampires still have bodies, and bodies are annoyingly committed to malfunctioning. I’ll include blood, burn dressings, restraints that won’t damage his skin, and enough sedatives to drop anything short of a dragon.”

“Sedatives won’t work normally on him.”

“That sounds like information you should put on a label.”

Mack released my hand and crossed to the equipment cabinet. He opened it, stared at the neatly arranged cases, then reached for a compact black one on the top shelf.

“Jacqueline will know if we activate this inside her territory.”

“Then let’s hope we don’t have to.”

“She’ll also know who built it.”

I smiled. “Make sure you spell Kingston correctly.”

His answering grin was slow, dangerous, and entirely too pleased.

“We’ll need Dean,” he said. “His bar has independent wards older than Jacqueline’s position. If Logan and Carolina need somewhere to disappear, the upstairs room might hold.”

“Will Dean help?”