Sage reacted first. His large ears pricked forward as he cocked his head listening.

The creature inside me uncoiled...then paused, still as death.

And all the fine hair on my body rose.

I shot to my feet, my heart in my throat.

Graysen followed suit, standing beside me a blink later. "What is it?"

Get rid of the alcohol in my blood, now!—I inwardly hissed. The power inside me obeyed, burning through the alcohol, and I instantly sobered.

"Little bird?" Graysen frowned, with urgency to his tone. Every inch of his tall, formidable figure was on edge and alert. One of his hands hovered near the pocket of his pants where I was sure he'd stashed a blade.

Terror squeezed my chest.

A Horned God.

I felt him coming well before the smoky doors to our room opened. It was the distant rumble of thunder rippling over clouds swollen with moisture—immense power—a strumming sensation pulsing in time with footsteps drawing nearer. The lighting in the room flickered, an almost imperceptible shimmer to the golden light spilling down from the chandelier.

The creature slithered, raking along my bones, recognizing what was coming—likeness singing to one another.

I practically shrieked—Hide! Hide! Hide!

It roiled and roared—NO!

NOW! Do it now before we're discovered!

Snarling with displeasure, it withdrew, coiling like a snake in the pit of my stomach bringing up a shield of magic to cloak itself.

"Shit," Graysen hissed. His gaze had arrowed straight to the smoky doors just before they swung open and a man stepped into the room.

It stole my breath, the power radiating from him, encased in a tall, lean figure wrapped up in an exquisite bespoke pin-striped suit. Italian leather shoes. Debonair tie.

Beautiful.

A silvery light shimmered around his rich brown skin as if he was blessed. And he was. But not by a glorious, benevolent god. He was kissed by darkness. By the shadowed world.

Master Sirro.

He was a Horned God and my father's superior. This was the chain of command that linked our servitude to the echelon we served.

Every single person lowered themselves with a graceful sweep to one knee. Everyone but the Wychthorns. We stood aloft in a sea of bended knees. Of reverently bowed heads.

If Master Sirro didn't terrify me, I would have enjoyed seeing Graysen kneeling beside me in a reminder of his placement within the Houses. He might lord over me with our impending marriage, but right this moment, he was nothing. It grated on him. I could feel him seething that I should see him like this.

It was me he wanted kneeling at his feet.

"Master Sirro." My father greeted the Horned God with a slight incline of the head. "I wasn't expecting you tonight."

"No. But I think you should have." Master Sirro looked to be in his early thirties but he was over a thousand years old. There was an elegant sweep to the shape of his eyes and his irises were a golden hue. Dark brown hair, a perfection of tousled locks, was pushed back from his brow. His glance took in my mother, my sister. "Marissa. Evelene." Eyes, ancient and cunning, slid my way.

I inclined my head, grateful to avert my gaze from him down to my patent leather heels, to the cross of buckled straps over the bridge of my feet.

But Master Sirro was still staring at me when I dragged my gaze back up. His full lips curved into a sublime smile. "Nelle. I haven't seen you in years." His voice was rich and polished.

"Master Sirro," I replied, trying to make my smile genuine; failing dismally.

It only seemed to amuse him. He rubbed his fingers over his chin, brushing over his neatly trimmed beard. And still, he didn't look away. His intense interest thrummed, keeping tempo with the rapid pulse of my heart.

I clenched my adamere beads in a tight fist. I wasn't sure why he was staring at me like that, his golden gaze drifting from my face to slither down my figure. There was nothing to see, just swathes of ivory cloth that swamped my body.

A snarl. Softly given, but every single person heard the sound rumbling from Graysen.

Master Sirro clicked his tongue—a tut-tutting sound—his gaze slicing to the crown of Graysen's black hair, bowed in subjugation. "Rise," he commanded.

Everyone stood. Graysen went to step in front of me, stopping as I latched a hand on his arm. "Don't," I whispered. "Don't provoke him."

His jaw ticked, dark eyes blazing with anger.

For me? Was this for me?

But he did as I asked, moving right beside me. For once his presence was welcome, and I let my pent-up breath hiss out.

"Please, enjoy yourselves, this is a celebration." Master Sirro smiled, gesturing toward my sister and her fiancé. "Evelene, Corné," he politely greeted.

My sister was breathtaking, but I felt Master Sirro's interest sharpen and return to me.

The violent flare in his golden eyes was the only warning I had.

His power lashed out. A snap of the whip, that wrapped around my body with not strands of leather, but dark magic.

The gathering of families and the Heads of Upper Houses reared back.

It was a split. A divide across the room. My family, servants, and guests parted in a rush, as that power, a roiling mess of silver light and strands of magical filament, slashed from Master Sirro and arrowed straight to where I stood. Binding me. Trapping me. Thrusting me backward.

I hit the wall with an oomph that knocked the breath from my lungs.

A shriek—my mother.

"Nelle!" My sister surged for me—held back by my father.

And then Sage. We were bonded, he and I. He'd been raised with one instinctive role—to protect. He lunged. His powerful body rippling with savage muscle and feral rage, bounded across the room, right for Master Sirro, for his throat.

"SAGE!" I screamed in terror.

But my wraith-wolf didn't listen. He kept going for the Horned God.

He'd kill Sage!

I shrieked again, yelling for Sage to back down, fighting against the magic pinning me in place.

Master Sirro's powers speared out—straight for Sage. The wolf shimmered, his misty shadowed form flowing through the magic with the ease of passing water.

The wolf sprung with a vicious roar that rattled my bones. Fangs bared, mouth yawning. Right for Master Sirro's throat—

In that brief moment, a flare of surprise in golden eyes—

A black blur of unnatural speed—

Sage was knocked aside. His bulky body tumbled over and over and over and crashed against the opposite wall. The heavy collision rattled oil paintings; tipped a thin-legged antique table over; a ceramic urn smashed upon the wooden floor.

Graysen's entire body pinned the wraith-wolf beneath him. He had his arms locked around Sage's head, and his biceps strained to keep the beast down. The wraith-wolf growled and snapped and barked, writhing and fighting against Graysen's strength. Every atom in his ghostly form was trained to protect me.

"Sage, please," I begged, "stop, now."

He gave a whine of protest as he finally gave in and fell limp beneath Graysen.

My father spun around. "Master Sirro—"

The Horned God raised a slender hand, stopping whatever it was my father wanted to say. Those eyes, a hue like a fine scotch, didn't move from mine.

But I wrenched my gaze from his to my father. Every single inch of my father was taut and his blue eyes were flooded with horror. He was terrified for me, but also for his House. For his entire family. For if I was discovered, our entire House would be annihilated for hiding me when I should have been given over to the Horned Gods.

A squeeze.

A caress.

A stroke.

Those lashes of dark magic coiled around my figure, tightened to the point my ribs were compressed, my lungs squeezed harshly, and I fought for breath.

Master Sirro was tasting me. Trying to sense me. I felt it like tiny paper-cuts flaying my flesh.

He tugged on the line of his power and my hips actually swayed forward with the yank.

This time Graysen's snarl sliced through the room, loud and vicious.

Master Sirro's eyebrow rose, and his mouth curled on one side in amusement.

If I hadn't burnt myself out, my own power would have responded and showed itself, delighted in severing those strands of magic Master Sirro bound around me. But it listened and kept itself wound into a tight knot in my gut, shielded and hidden.

Even so, Master Sirro still sensed something not quite right about me.

I shrunk into myself, and made my gaze go a little distant, a little vapid; giving him what I wanted him to see—

Just a girl, just a girl, just a girl, just a girl—

Fine lines creased around his eyes and his lips. He made a little murmur in his throat. Satisfied, but disappointed there was nothing before him but a girl in a badly-sized dress. He let me go. That power snapped back to him and he turned around to face my father, dismissing me with the gesture.

Relief washed through me, and my limbs felt heavy and useless as if I'd spent the afternoon pushing through sludge. I crumbled, my knees buckling. I almost hit the floor when someone rushed across the room in a blur of unnatural speed.

Graysen caught me before my knees hit the ground.

He stood behind me with his arms banded around my waist as I sucked in gusty breaths.

That had been close, far too close.

"Fucking hells-gate," he hissed. Loose strands of my hair wafted in the air he expelled.

I let him support me, as I tried to get myself under control and stop the trembling in my hands. I blinked back the burning in my eyes.

"Easy, Wychthorn," Graysen whispered, pulling me closer into his body.

"Thank you." The words were more breath than a whisper. "For Sage. He would have killed him."

I felt Graysen's reply rumbling from his chest against my back. "Not so sure who would have walked away alive. Your wraith-wolf or Sirro."

There was something possessive in the way his hands were splayed against my body, the way his strong fingers were curled around my waist. We were touching again, and it didn't feel awful. It didn't feel awful at all.

We couldn't leave, but Graysen moved us both as far away from Master Sirro as possible. Sage followed and placed himself in front of us both. The Pelans' gazes crawled all over me as they wondered what Master Sirro had sensed and wanted with me.

At least he'd found nothing. And that at the very least satisfied them, but they were still curious.

I pulled against Graysen's embrace and he let me go. His hands fell to his sides. I ignored the strange sense of loss that came with stepping away, instead focusing on ignoring the inquisitive glances from the Pelans.

"Want to tell me what the hells that was about?"

I didn't turn to face Graysen, but I could feel the tension radiating from his body.

I rubbed my temple taking a few steps forward. Shit, shit, shit—"I don't know..."

He gave a gruff grunt. "The lies keep spilling from your lips tonight."

I slowly straightened, my breath trapped hard in my throat.

What does he think he knows about me?

Master Sirro recaptured my attention. He moved deeper into the room, with a graceful stride, feline in its motion. His companion followed, an elegant shadow sheathed in a simple black dress that clung to her figure, her chestnut hair unbound and shifting across her back with every sway of her footsteps. She'd been with Master Sirro the last time he'd paid a visit to our House a few years ago. Beautiful, young, with a brilliant smile.

She turned—

I reared back with a few stumbling steps. I bumped into something hard and unmovable., Graysen's hands snapped to my upper arms and steadied me.

"Breathe, little bird," Graysen's voice rumbled.

The woman...she'd once been beautiful. But I didn't see that.

Her hair wasn't a brilliant sheen of chestnut. It was lank and dull and cut through with swathes of silver locks. Her sallow skin was peppered with aged liver spots. A saggy face creased with wrinkles, was lined in sadness despite the bright smile plastered upon her lips.

The otherworldly glow about Master Sirro, the strands of silver light—magical filament—was her life essence leached from her to him. It would have been ethereal if I hadn't known what he was doing. Stealing her life, one heartbeat at a time. While he remained youthful and unchanged, immortal, she was dying.

"What do you see?"

My glance took in those gathered. There were a few appreciative glances at Master Sirro's companion. "A beautiful woman," I replied.

There was a smile in his voice when he replied. "Such pretty little lies."

"What do you see?" I asked him instead.

"The same as you." The words vibrating from his chest warmed my back, sending a spark of inflamed heat down my spine. "So...what do you see, Wychthorn?" His hold on my arms tightened and his fingers bit into my flesh with a reminder, to tell the truth.

"His Familiar," I answered truthfully, "She's old, sad, dying."

"That she is."

I turned a little, sliding to the left of his chest to look up at him. "Why can't everyone else see?"

"He's woven a glamour over her. But we Crowthers have truesight, and we're able to strip back even the deepest glamour of the Horned Gods." He leaned down, his words whispering across my mouth and my lips tingled with pleasure at the sensation. "And now I know you do too."

The heat he inspired, doused.

Replaced by ice.

A chill crept through me.

I'd given myself away. It was nothing compared to the depth of what I truly was. But I didn't like giving Crowther even a hint at my true nature.

Graysen straightened with almost reluctance, his gaze pulled over my shoulder and his mouth pressed into a firm line. My father was leading Master Sirro from the room with the Heads of Upper Houses following. "I have to go." He glanced back at me, his expression darkening with his warning. "Don't do anything stupid, Wychthorn."

I blinked, slowly, slightly offended. "I have no idea what you're implying."

He rolled his eyes. "Sure you do. Just keep that fire and brimstone to yourself."

I made a pfffting noise. As if.

But he smiled, a sense of relief easing the tension from his shoulders. He jerked his chin toward Evvie who hastily made her way toward me. "Stick with your sister and stay out of trouble."