“I’m going to kiss you.”

  Cassia stood at the threshold of the ritual chamber, her eyes fixed on the circle Mei and Neru were drawing in the dust. She felt the weight of the moment—the culmination of years of planning, of centuries of grief. She touched the locket at her throat, the one Tevon had given her long ago, and let herself hope.

  For a moment, she allowed herself to dream of a mate’s touch, of laughter in the dark, of a future where she was not alone.

  But the dream faded, replaced by the cold certainty of what she must do.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Ishould probably stop staring like a creeper. But then again, I’m an incubus demon . . . which is pretty much the definition of a creeper.” ~ Raphael

  Raphael watched as Nico paced the narrow kitchen, thumb flying over his phone. The patchwork linoleum floor of the back room living area of the laundry mat creaked under each anxious step. Verion leaned back against the chipped counter, arms crossed and brow furrowed in that way that meant he was about to say something unwelcome.

  “The longer you wait to contact Fur, the worse it’ll get. Trust me,” Verion said. “Sebastian might be out of the game, but his king won’t like finding out you’ve had his subject’s mate in hiding.”

  Raphael, sitting at the edge of the battered table, ran a hand through his hair. “We can’t risk Morgan being snatched up or used as a pawn, but we can’t keep this quiet forever. If we go to Reese, maybe we can keep it from turning into a bloodbath.”

  Nico didn’t answer at first. His mind was a whirlwind: the photos of Wolfgang’s treachery locked on his phone, the three females—Morgan, Miryam, and Akira—each with their own recent revelations, and now, the texts from Lyric growing more urgent by the hour. He hadn’t listened to her voicemail yet. He hadn’t called Taras, Callon, or even Gage, with the details they’d uncovered.

  None of it felt right. But duty was duty, and shaman law was clear: a discovered mate must be delivered to her kingdom and her fated bond, no matter how tangled the politics. Anything else risked open war. And Morgan . . . well, she deserved more than being a secret, a liability, her life on perpetual pause.

  He forced himself to slow down and scrolled through his contacts for Reese—the Kingdom of Fur’s shaman, a man Nico respected for both his sense of order and his dry, Montana humor. He tapped the number and waited. The phone rang twice before a gritty voice answered.

  “Yup,” came the familiar greeting.

  “Reese,” Nico said, his voice heavy with the weight of everything on his shoulders.

  “What’s wrong, Nico? You sound like someone’s died and then the body was dragged through the streets and you were the one forced to do the dragging.”

  “That is oddly specific, and how the hell does anyone ‘sound’ like that?” Nico asked.

  “Ignore me,” Reese sighed. “I’ve been watching way too many period documentaries lately. I think it’s causing me PTSD.”

  “Fantastic, then what I’m about to tell you should get that off your mind.” Nico glanced at Raphael, who gave him an encouraging nod. “Listen, I have a situation. We found an animus that happens to belong to one of your males. Her name is Morgan. She was taken—” he paused and then shook his head, “That’s a long story. But, she’s safe. I have to bring her to Montana to meet Sebastian.”

  There was a long stretch of silence on the other end of the line, then a quiet whistle. “Sebastian? You’re sure? Do I want to know how long you’ve had his mate?”

  Nico kept his voice neutral. “Confirmed. Verion did her tattoo, and he said it’s the same one he gave Sebastian. We haven’t known long, a few days.”

  He coughed. “A few days? Seriously, Nico? To a male as old as Sebastian who’s been looking for his mate, a few days is going to sound like a few years. Why didn’t you call the minute you knew?”

  “It’s complicated,” Nico said, attempting to keep his temper under control. “There are things going on that required me to make sure she was safe before I could just get up and bring her to Montana. Not to mention council crap.”

  “Council crap,” Reese huffed. “I’m assuming you're going to fill me in on this council crap?”

  “I’ll be calling a meeting ASAP, once I connect a few more puzzle pieces.” Nico still needed to talk to Lyric and see what information she had for him.

  “Alright, I’ll make arrangements,” Reese said, his voice brisk now. “When are you flying in?”

  “Plan to leave within the hour. I’ll text you the details. I want this as low profile as possible. These girls have been through hell.” Nico’s voice had dropped lower as he considered the danger Akira had been in—was still in.

  “There’s more than one?” Reese asked, his voice raising.

  “The other two aren’t Kingdom of Fur,” he clarified. “Raphael and I are taking care of them.”

  “Understood. I’ll call Sebastian. He’s . . . well,” Reese sighed, “you know how he is. I’ll tell him to keep the knives sheathed.”

  Nico managed a half-smile. “Appreciated.”

  He hung up and turned to the others. Morgan stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself, but her chin lifted in a show of bravado Nico couldn’t help but admire.

  “It’s time,” he said gently. “Are you ready to meet your mate?”

  Morgan’s eyes flicked to Miryam and Akira, then back to Nico. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  He forced a reassuring smile. “You’ll do fine. Sebastian’s a legend for a reason. And you’re tougher than you look.”

  She rolled her eyes, but Nico saw the gratitude beneath her bravado.

  He glanced at his phone again. Still nothing from Lyric except those two messages and the voicemail, which he couldn’t bring himself to play yet. There was an itch between his shoulder blades—a warning, or maybe just guilt. But for now, his duty was clear. Get Morgan to Kingdom of Fur. Then he’d deal with the rest.

  The clock on the wall ticked down the minutes until their flight.

  Reese exhaled and set his coffee aside, pulling up Sebastian’s contact. He doubted the man would bother to answer—he usually didn’t unless there was blood on the wind—but the news of a fated mate might rouse even a sleeping bear.

  The phone rang once before a gravel-streaked baritone answered. “Reese. If this is about the den’s boundary dispute, I already told you⁠—”

  “It’s not,” Reese cut in. “You might want to sit down.” He paused and considered how to tell a male who’d been waiting for his mate for several centuries that she was finally here. Was there really any special way to do something so monumental? Reese didn’t think so, all he could do was simply put it out there. “Nico’s on his way in, flying in now. He’s bringing a female.”

  “Does she need protection?” Sebastian asked.

  There was a long, loaded silence, broken only by the faint hum of the ceiling fan in Reese’s office in the background. “No. She needs you.”

  “Why?” The former assassin’s tone was clipped as he spoke. “Does she want to hire me? Because you all know I am no longer⁠—”

  “Where are you right now?” Reese asked, cutting him off.

  Sebastian’s voice was unreadable. “The airport.”

  Reese forced himself not to smile because he knew the bear shifter would sense the smugness through the damn phone. “Going on a trip?”

  “Don’t be a smart ass,” Sebastian snarled.

  “You keep insisting you’re out of the game, yet you’re at the airport watching the planes fly in because it relaxes you? Or could there be another reason? Maybe you got a feeling?” Reese didn’t want to push too hard for a couple of reasons. One, he didn’t particularly feel like becoming Sebastian’s next target, and two, he knew that there were times when being a killer wasn’t necessarily a choice. Sometimes it was a divine task. Sometimes there was evil in the world that had to be taken out, and Sebastian had been the weapon Visata used. Reese had watched the almost friend, if anyone could really call Sebastian a friend, shoulder the great burden at much personal sacrifice. Sebastian didn’t speak right away and Reese didn’t push him.

  Finally after several minutes, the bear shifter’s rough voice came through the phone. “Just got a feeling.” That was it. No further explanation. “When’s Nico landing?”

  Just as the question was asked, Reese’s phone vibrated in his hand. “One sec,” he said, and then looked at the screen to see he’d gotten a text from the shaman in question. Reese tapped the screen and opened the text. The first message was a time: 8pm. The second text was an image: a picture of a tattoo of a bear. And then right after the image came another message: Because I know he’s going to want proof.

  Reese made a copy of the image and then pasted it into a text to Sebastian. He held his breath as he hit send. Then released it and said, “He’ll be there at 8 p.m.”

  “Is that a text from you?” the bear shifter asked.

  “Yes,” Reese responded. “And you’re going to want to look at it now. I’ll wait.”

  There was a long pause and Reese could hear Sebastian’s breathing increase. After more than a minute, the bear’s voice came back on. “Who gave her the tattoo?”

  “Who did your tattoo?”

  “Verion,” Sebastian growled. “A male inked her skin?”

  “That’s the question you’re asking right now?” Reese rolled his eyes. He’d never understand the possessiveness that Damarian shifters felt toward their females. It bordered on absolute lunacy.

  “She’s my female, it’s a completely valid question,” Sebastian said calmly, a little too calmly. “Will Verion be accompanying them?”

  “You can’t kill Verion for tattooing Morgan when he didn’t even know she was your mate until he put the tattoo on her.”

  “Morgan?”

  “That’s her name,” he confirmed. “And I don’t think Morgan would appreciate you killing anyone simply because they saw her upper arm.” Reese felt like he was talking to an unstable toddler who could explode at any moment.

  “And touched her,” Sebastian added.

  “Visata, save me from hard-headed idiots,” Reese muttered.

  “I’m not that retired, Reese,” the assassin said in a low, deadly voice.

  “Noted,” Reese huffed. He’d just need to remember to stay out of his way until he’d forgotten about this little exchange. “Just remember, this is a transfer, not an extraction. Nobody has to die.”

  There was a dry laugh. “No promises, Reese. But I’ll try not to scare the shaman. Too much.”

  Reese rolled his eyes. “And what about your female? Are you worried about scaring her?”

  “Visata would not have blessed me with a female that was easy to scare. My Creator knows exactly who and what I need.” The words were so quiet Reese almost didn’t catch them. “Thank you, Reese.”

  The line went dead. Reese sat back, running a hand through his hair. He trusted Sebastian to handle himself, but the man’s reputation was earned, not given. If anyone could terrify a room with a look, it was him.

  Reese opened a file on his laptop and started preparing the official paperwork for Morgan’s arrival, thinking, not for the first time, that shaman work was often more about managing personalities than about policing the crazies–or maybe it was actually the same thing.

  He leaned back and stared out at the sweeping Montana dusk, already picturing the chaos about to unfold at the airport.

  At least I won’t be there to deal with it, he thought with a wry smile.

  Sebastian had ended the call with Reese nearly an hour ago, and still he sat in the quiet of his truck, the world outside painted in the bruised purples and blues of early Montana twilight. He could smell the tarmac—jet fuel and pine, a strange combination that should’ve felt foreign but didn’t. Not after all these years. Airports were always liminal spaces, doorways for fate and violence alike. Tonight, apparently, he was supposed to be waiting for his future.

  He stared at the rifle case on the passenger seat. He hadn’t brought it because he expected trouble, but because old habits died hard and he’d never trusted fate to do more than throw him a curveball or three. Besides, there was something reassuring about the weight of a well-balanced weapon. It was simple and honest—a rare quality in his world.

  He pulled out his phone and dialed his king.

  Bjorn answered on the first ring, as Sebastian suspected he would. “Sebastian?”

  “At the airport,” Sebastian said, voice low, even. “Reese says my mate’s on her way in with the Chaos shaman. I wanted you to know I’ve got it handled.”

  There was a pause—Bjorn’s heavy, thoughtful silence. “And how do you feel about that?”

  Sebastian glanced out the windshield, watching a pair of young shifters unloading a cargo plane, laughing, oblivious. Jealousy stabbed him—stupid, pointless, but sharp. He knew these males, knew they’d met their mates, years ago. He’d watched them be able to shift and build lives with their females. He’d spent centuries waiting.

  “I feel . . . ready,” Sebastian replied after a moment. “And if I don’t, it doesn’t matter. It’s happening.”

  Bjorn’s voice softened, just a shade. “You’ll do right by her. Call me if there’s trouble.”

  “Always,” Sebastian said before ending the call.

  He glanced at his watch, noted the time and then stepped out of his vehicle, locked the truck, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He moved through the shadows at the edge of the small terminal, boots silent on concrete, until he found the perfect vantage—halfway up the rusting fire escape of a hangar, overlooking the private arrivals gate. From here, he could see the landing lights, the stretch of empty tarmac, the terminal windows. And, in the distance, the plane.

  His heart thudded in his chest—not the frantic, mindless beat of battle, but a deep, seismic pounding that made him want to snarl at the world. Finally. Every rumor, every whispered “maybe this time,” every story about shifters finding their mates had led to this moment.

  He set up the rifle, checked the scope, and switched on the laser. He wasn’t planning to shoot anyone. Not unless they gave him a reason. But he was also not about to meet his mate unarmed, or unprepared. He’d spent his life surviving by being a ghost in the dark. Tonight, he’d be both shadow and judge.

  The sharp roar of the engines stung his sensitive hearing as the plane rolled to a stop, lights flashing. He watched as the door opened, the stairs descended, and a cluster of figures appeared at the top. Two males and three females. Nico led the way striding down the steps—Sebastian recognized him immediately, not just from his wild appearance, but that air of “I’m so tired of your shit” that only came with years of wrangling supernatural politics. He recognized the incubus demon next. Raphael. He should have known the male would be along for the ride. He and Nico were often seen together. Sebastian didn’t trust the demon, but then he didn’t trust anyone. Still, he’d never had a reason to kill him, at least not yet.

  Two of the females walked together behind the first group. The third female was in the middle of the two males. That was Morgan. He could feel it in his bones. Her stride was proud and sharp as her eyes took in her surroundings. She was tall, curvy, and had long, dark hair that had a streak of blue in the front. Her eyes were bright blue, and her skin was slightly sun kissed. Sebastian drank in the sight of her—a jolt of electricity straight to the center of his soul. The mate bond snapped into place, not overwhelming but undeniable. She was his. The world shifted, and for the first time in a very long time, Sebastian felt something like hope.

  And then he watched as Nico’s hand wrapped around her elbow. Just a guiding touch, nothing more, but Sebastian’s vision narrowed. The rational part of him—the one that had kept him alive all these years—knew it was nothing. The rest of him, the part that was all teeth and claws and possessive instinct, wanted to put a hole through the shaman’s chest just to make a point.

  He steadied the rifle, and let the red dot drift until it centered perfectly over Nico’s heart. He wouldn’t do it. Probably. But it was a nice thought.

  Down below, Raphael caught sight of the laser and stopped dead in his tracks. “I’m just going on a hunch here, Nico. You might want to let go of the female,” Raphael said, his casual tone traveling to Sebastian’s ears.

  Nico glanced down, saw the red dot, and slowly released Morgan’s arm, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Assassin humor. Got it. A warning shot in the air would have sufficed.”

  Morgan looked up, eyes blazing with curiosity and a spark of challenge. She couldn’t see him, but she was searching. Sebastian’s lips curled into a smile—dark, dangerous, and just for her.

  “Did he seriously just have a rifle laser pointed at you?” the female with long black hair asked. She was pretty but didn’t hold a candle to the woman he knew was his.

  “You can’t take the assassin out of the male,” Raphael offered.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  “Morgan, are you sure about this?” Another female said, presumably the one who looked like a librarian, but since Sebastian wasn’t looking at them anymore, he could only trust his ears.

  “I’ve always liked a challenge,” the husky voice of his mate said.

  Sebastian chuckled as he dismantled the rifle with practiced ease and stepped into the light spilling from the terminal, boots echoing on the concrete. He stepped out of the shadows, letting himself be seen.

  The group tensed, every eye snapping his way. Sebastian moved with slow, deliberate menace—not because he wanted to frighten them, but because he couldn’t quite turn it off. He was a weapon, always had been. The difference now was that he was a weapon with more than a purpose for just killing. Now, he had a task greater than any target.

  He stopped a few feet from Morgan, met her gaze, and let everything else fade. Excitement, fear, the jealous ache at the knowledge that others had known her first—all of it burned beneath his skin, but none of it showed in his voice when he spoke.