“Vivian, you will restrain the wolf. Liam,” Edmund said, “you will open your wrists and hold them over the wolf’s mouth. Rebecca, you will stand aside and wait your turn.”

I rose, straightened my shoulders, and backed away, moving at glacial speed. I didn’t want to incite their hunting instincts by any movement or gesture that looked like running away or as if I was afraid. I let Beast enter the forefront of my brain and glow through my eyes.

I am Beast. Beast is not prey.

You tell ’em, baby.

Am not kit.

I meant— Never mind.

When I was standing near Bruiser, arm to arm, the warmth of his body heating me through my clothes, I spoke softly. “You cannot tell me that Edmund lost his clan to Bettina. That vamp is crazy strong, and crazy controlled.”

“Not everything is about physical and metaphysical power, my love. And not every battle is won through Blood Challenge. Some are won hours or days before that, in other battles, or in parley, in exchange for favors rendered or promised.”

I thought about that as the scent of vamp blood grew in the closed garden. “Punishment. Being forced to fight while drained or grieving. Trickery. A big honking boon.” But I’d heard nothing about a clan blood-master being punished, and though the vamp war was in full swing when Edmund Hartley lost his status and his clan, I’d heard nothing about him injured or suffering the loss of someone close to him. Bettina wasn’t tricky enough to defeat this guy. I wasn’t sure that even Leo was tricky enough to beat him. And then I understood. “Politics. He gave up his position to gain something else.”

“We had an agreement, Onorio,” Edmund said, his voice barely a whisper but laced with threat. “Do not renege.”

“I abide by my word,” Bruiser said.

Silence fell on the garden. I’d lost my chance to learn the secret of Edmund’s change in status. The sky warmed to a golden hue, rosy at the horizon. Sirens sounded in the distance. The beginning of early morning traffic. The clank of a garbage truck in the next block. From beneath the banana plant I heard Brute’s breath ease; the faint wheeze disappeared. His heart rate steadied.

“Liam, you may desist and heal,” Edmund said, “while I get us out of the sun.” Edmund lifted Brute and carried him inside, out of the sun’s rays, and laid the wolf on the carpet, heedless of the bloodstains in the new construction. The vamps, Bruiser, and I crowded in after him and I pulled the fancy new blinds. “Liam, assist Vivian to hold the wolf. He will be stronger now. Rebecca, you will open your veins and feed the wolf.”

“And if it bites me?”

“You are being well recompensed in blood-meals.”

“Yeah. We are, aren’t we?” The female vamp knelt in the bloody carpet, her back to me. I smelled her blood when she opened her wrist.

“Edmund,” I said. “Thank you for this. I know vamps don’t generally like weres.”

“I detest them. I’d see them all in hell if I could. But. As I said, I am being well recompensed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yesss,” he said, drawing out the word. “I am no longer the lowest scion in servitude to the Master of the City. I have gained in status and my twenty-year bondage is now only nineteen. A small price to pay for a room without a view.”

I grinned in the dark, remembering Edmund’s lair, the room on an outside wall. And though the window was well covered by day, it couldn’t be a happy thought to know that the sun was only a foot away. “Leo gave you that?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice sly. “My master is generous to you.”

“Oh.” My grin fell away. “Yeah, Leo wants in my pants. That ain’t happening.”

Edmund chuckled lightly, the tone sly. “My master is patient.”

I ignored that, but I could tell by a faint shift in posture that Bruiser didn’t ignore it. “Is Brute stable?” I asked.

“He will be awake soon. Then I will set his limbs. It will be painful and we will have to restrain him. It might be better if you are not here then.”

“Try not to hurt him. I may need him.” I thought back over the local vamps’ past relationship with the weres and added, “And he’ll tell me how you treated him.”

Edmund chuckled again, the devious tone morphing into something darker. “Werewolves do not talk. They growl and yip and whine, but they do not talk. They scream with pain and howl for help, but they do not talk.”

I walked closer to Edmund. “That sounds like experience talking. It’s no secret that Leo had someone interrogate werewolves in his possession once. And that they didn’t survive the Q and A. So just to be clear, this werewolf talks. He talks to me. I may need him to track the Fifty-two Killer. So make sure Brute can still talk when he gets to me, make sure he’s out of pain and healed up nicely and not afraid. Or the second I take back the job, the Enforcer will put you back into an outer room.” I leaned in. “This time without draperies.” I turned my attention to Bruiser, standing impassively, his hands at his sides, his feet spread, his weight balanced, his eyes watching Edmund. Ready for a fight. Ready to protect me from Edmund. Which was just so cute.

I pivoted on one heel and left the house, giving Edmund my back, letting both men see that I had no fear of the vamp behind me. Dawn had officially arrived. I was exhausted. I needed sleep. But sleep was not on the menu for my day. I had to make it to vamp HQ for a little chat with Leo, a chat of an unpleasant nature, which would be even less pleasant with him up after dawn. He got bitchy then. And I had to contact the witches. And I had to deal with Molly and the problem with the blood diamond. So much to do, none of it fun. But first, I needed a shower and a change of clothes. And I didn’t have a car. Dang it.

* * *

I took a taxi home. Rinaldo, the friendly taxi driver who made me a priority, picked me up on the street and took me back to my house, where I intended to change from the bloody clothes, have a quick debrief with my team, and decide what to do next. Because I had no idea what to do with all my problems.

* * *

The Molly problem met me at the front door with a sleeping, purring cat draped around her neck and Eli at her back. Mol was fully dressed in ironed jeans, a severe, button-down white shirt, and blue loafers, and I instantly could see the fine quiver running through her, strongest in her hands, her fingers tremulous. She looked exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes; her pale skin had a yellowish pallor; her hair was pulled back in a scalp-wrenching bun. I would have almost rather had her meet me with her hair hanging wild and free. The tight, binding bun said too much about her state of mind.