Page 6

“Why are you standing outside this establishment?”

“Because inside smells like wet dog and regret.”

Delia made a choking noise that she disguised as a cough.

Jacqueline’s gaze narrowed. “You felt something.”

Not a question. Of course it wasn’t. My mother had never needed answers from other people. She preferred extracting confirmation of what she had already decided.

“Bad whiskey,” I said.

“You don’t react to whiskey.”

“Maybe I’m branching out.”

She moved closer. Power rolled off her in cold waves, testing my shields. I kept them locked even as the mate bond clawed at my chest, desperate to reach the vampire ten yards away.

“Stay away from him,” she said quietly.

My blood chilled. “From whom?”

“Do not insult me by pretending ignorance. Logan Richards is reckless, disrespectful, and beneath your notice.”

“He looks more uncoordinated than dangerous.”

“Because I made him so.” Satisfaction warmed her voice. “He required correction.”

The casual cruelty of it knocked the breath from me. She spoke as if she’d adjusted his posture instead of stealing a year of his life.

“What did he do?”

“He forgot his place.”

“That’s vague as hell.”

Magic snapped across the space between us, a warning sting against my cheek. Delia straightened, but I caught her wrist before she could do anything heroic and terminally stupid.

“Mind your tone,” my mother said.

I tasted blood where my teeth had nicked the inside of my mouth. “Of course, High Priestess.”

The title pleased her. It always did. She glanced at the bar again, and I saw the moment Logan looked up. Even through dirty glass and neon, his green eyes found mine.

The bond flared.

Jacqueline felt it.

Her head snapped toward me. I saw genuine fear cross my mother’s face. It vanished beneath fury so quickly I might have imagined it.

“Go home,” she ordered.

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“And you are my heir.”

“Those aren’t the same thing.”

“Tonight, they are.” Her power coiled around my wrist, cold and invisible. “Go. Home.”