Kenton drove through the gateway and onto our estate. The car window was down and I leaned my elbow on it, half-gripping the roofline where I tapped my fingers to the beat flowing through the car from Six60's Vibes.

I stretched the kinks out of my back muscles, rolled my shoulders, and cracked my neck. I was tired, but I was also keyed up and a little anxious as to what going to greet me. Was Nelle going to be pissed at me or furiously pissed at me? There were degrees to her moods, but mostly these days in regards to me she was simply pissed.

Kenton drove with one hand on the steering wheel. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up and revealed the line of ink woven down his muscular forearms to the wrist. He ran his free hand through his shortly cropped hair, sighed, and leaned his head back against the headrest. Dressed in his typical uniform of bespoke suits, he'd discarded his jacket for the long drive home. We'd been gone for three days hunting down the Bratvas and bringing an end to their mutiny, reminding them—well, reminding the ones we left standing—that they worked for The Horned Gods.

Kenton guided his sports-car along the winding driveway, and we broke free from the thick copse of trees separating the estates gates and our home. The Keep came into view. It was a formidable fortress built from pure adamere. Our home was the most fortified home within the world of Houses. Towers and turrets peaked above the ramparts—a sombre contrast to the autumn night-sky with its scattering of stars. I'd expected a quiet homecoming, but as I blinked rapidly, straightened my spine, and stared through narrowed eyes, I wondered just what the hells I was looking at.

This wasn't what I had expected to be greeted with at all.

Kenton and I shared a perplexed look.

He guided his Maserati to a halt partway down the driveway, because the circular driveway was blocked with cars and a few ... buses?

We got out of his car and stared upward in confusion and growing concern.

"What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is. Going on?" I boomed to Kenton—who leaned a hand on the roof of the car separating us—not because I had to compete with the thunderous bass-beat pounding from the Keep, but because this was fucking crazy.

The rooftop of the Keep was lit up like a fucking nightclub!

Music rolled across the sky, and strobe lights moved back and forth in streaks of white and violet. The sound of whizzing—fireworks scored upward and exploded into a great starburst, showering the sky in sparks of neon blue, red, and silver.

I took in the vehicles, turning around, the friction from the cobblestones grating beneath my boots.

There was a bus, three in fact. One of them was a party-bus and had streamers and lacy garter-belts hanging off the rear; another had a New Zealand Flag spray-painted along its side, and an oversized stuffed-toy, a kiwi, taped upon the roof; and the last looked like a musician's tour-bus. In addition to the buses there were a few limousines, Bentleys and Porsches, and other sports cars. Houses. Houses were here. Rarely, very rarely, we invited them in. As my gaze lingered on those expensive cars, I wondered who they belonged to.

Kenton pinched the bridge of his nose and dragged in a deep breath. He dropped his hand to his side, and his deep violet eyes were flinty. "This has Jett's name written all over it."

Yes, it fucking did.

In big, bold, scrawly-ass-lettering in a permanent marker.

Kenton and I made our way through our home, shoving through the heavy door onto the rooftop, and met with a thick crowd of party-goers and a wall of heat and noise. Mortals were dancing in front of a makeshift stage where a DJ was set up spinning music, others near the ramparts were cheering on the bursts of skyrockets spraying the sky, or laughing raucously and swilling back drinks from red solo cups.

A woman dressed up like a bride, mock-style, with a Bride-To-Be sash across her party-dress and short veil tucked into her frizzy updo, was grinding up against some guy that looked like he was a backpacker with his scruffy beard, ratty slacks, and open toe sandals. Her cheeks were flushed and shining with sweat—gaze blissed out.

It was an unusually hot autumn night and the dancers were a sticky mess, adding more heat to an already hot night. Pushing through the crowd, their bodies writhing to the music, pupils dilated with the effect of something I hadn't worked out just yet, I spotted Jett, his hair pulled into a top-knot, sipping on a drink while sitting on the edge of the rampart with a cluster of mortals around him—all casually dressed, with a tourist vibe to them. The whole lot of them were giving him a once over, a few guys too. One of them, a girl with dark copper skin and brown hair tied into a messy-bun, cozied up close, toying with the collar of his silky shirt. Most of the buttons of the front were undone. He had his combat booted feet braced on the stone, squinting as the girl leaning in, chatting to him in a thick accent.

"Hey," Jett greeted us, tipping his chin up, when we made our presence known.

"A word, Jett," Kenton rumbled, his voice icy, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Jett popped down from his perch, brushing past the girl who pouted to be left alone. He tilted his head in her direction. "This chick, Ataahua, is from New Zealand. She and her compatriots are touring the States." He wandered closer, leaving her and her companions behind, his expression morphing into bewilderment. "I have no fucking idea what they're saying. It's all maaaate, and sweet as, I keep waiting to hear, as—what?" He rubbed his hand over the side of his jaw, his eyes a bit wide. "Like 'as' what? 'As' fucking what?"

I raised a hand and twirled a finger around. "What the fuck is all of this?"

Jett was just about to take a sip of his drink. He cocked a brow at me over the lip of his plastic cup, like he was considering if I'd been knocked on the head with the hilt of a blade while Kenton and I had been dealing with the Bratvas. "A party," he answered slowly and more as a question.

"Yeah, I get that it's a party."—fucking dick—"But full of mortals? There's a couple of tour buses down there, Jett. You invited mortals into our home?"

Jett blinked, lowering his cup. "Are you crazy? Hells no, I didn't invite them. I ... borrowed them for the night."

"You did what?" I asked, not quite in disbelief, because this was Jett.

Kenton lunged. His hand whipped out to grab hold of Jett by his silky shirt, the movement sloshing Jett's drink over the sides of his cup. Kenton dragged him closer. "You stole mortals?"

Jett unlatched Kenton's hand from his shirt and shoved him aside. "Ease up, brother." He shook his hand, flicking drops of alcohol from his fingers, and took a step back, lifting a palm in mock surrender. "Steal is such a heavy word. I merely borrowed them."

"Let me get this straight. You," Kenton pointed an aggressive finger at Jett, "stole several buses' worth of mortals ... to have a party ... here?"

I mentally groaned. Our father was going to kill us if our aunt didn't first

Jett pulled his arm back and drove it forward, making a whipping gesture and sound. "Be worth it," he said, wagging his brows. "It's going off!"

"Who the hells is that?" I asked, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder where I knew there was a guy on the raised platform behind an array of professional table-tops, big-ass speakers, and other music shit.

Jett gave a quick cursory glance over my shoulder in the DJ's direction. "I mean if we're having a party, we need a DJ and all." He waved a dismissive hand. "I dunno what his name is. Something like Scorpion or Snake. Don't care."

Holy Zrenyth, Jett stole DJ Snake—we were in so much shit it wasn't even funny.

I kneaded my forehead with my thumb and middle-finger, stealing a deep breath and squashing the desire to strike my youngest brother over the edge of the fortress.

Jett said, "No one's going to remember a thing. I pumped them all with a light mist of fyae-nectar before I snatched them. Everyone's on lock-down, all electrical devices are on the fritz," and he pointed to the huge bubble surrounding the rooftop like netting, crackling with magic that temporarily nulled things like cellphones. "They can't go anywhere within the house." He gestured around him, grinning like the uncle you never wanted to babysit your kids, unless you wanted to come home to discover he'd emptied all their savings from their piggy-bank in a game of poker and introduced them to the delights of cigars and straight-up moonshine. "Besides, they're having the best time, and won't remember a thing afterward when I return them to their mundane little lives in a few hours' time."

Kenton's nostrils flared. "Why would you do this?"

Jett shrugged, nonchalantly. "Someone wanted a party to celebrate her upcoming birthday."

My stomach plummeted and everything inside me grew heavy with guilt. I felt like my body had been sucked into a quagmire of mud. I knew, we all did, what was coming on that day. The Alverac would bind Nelle to me with iron teeth.

"Can't say I blame her," Jett continued, oblivious to the way I felt about Nelle. "I mean, her life is going to hells after she's bound to you." Or maybe the fucker did know.

I squinted at him, shifting my stance slightly. This wasn't quite my brother. "You did this for Nelle?"

Jett jerked his head back. His nose crinkled as he shot me a slightly offended look. "I did it more for myself. I've always wanted to do something like this." He turned around and started pointing out mortals with the hand holding his drink. "Like seriously, that dude over there is a plumber. That chick with the fanny pack ..." His eyes widened once more and slid to me as he raked a hand across the crown of his head. "Gods, did you know that 'fanny' doesn't mean the same thing in New Zealand? The Kiwis were mocking me, moooocking me ..." He blew out a breath, shook his head, and resumed pointing at the girl. "Anyways, I digress—she's a dental hygienist. Oh, and that guy feeling up your girl is a wannabe model. He's a little short if you ask me, but he's pretty enough. And that girl, the bridesmaid, she's a graphic designer for a greeting card company. She makes little cards for all those mortal holidays and celebrations." He broke out into a crowing laugh. "Santa Claus," he snorted, bringing a fist to his mouth. "A fat fucker fitting his way down a chimney. Like the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

But my mind had snagged on feeling up your girl and I hadn't heard a thing he'd said.

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, jolting me back to the here and now. "Bar's that way," he said, pointing toward a cluster of partiers, waiting in line at a makeshift bar where our staff were serving drinks. "If you want a hit of something harder, see Caidan."

And then I saw my sister, Ferne, with her arm looped around Ezra Qillisan's as he guided her around the outskirts of the dancers.

Ah, shit.

"Don't you dare tell me you invited the Qillisans," I snarled at Jett, my hand rising and forming a fist. The Qillisans I had no problem with, but one of the Quillisan sisters always had those creepy sidekicks with her—the Lyon sisters. Three of them. Their names all started with J, and fucked if I could remember their names or tell them apart. Jacinda-Julia-Jojo-fucked-if-I-knew but every time I saw them, they were on me like a human octopus wanting a repeat performance. It was one night years ago I'd come to regret. Cliché as all fuck, and totally not worth the nightmare afterwards.

Jett just gave me his smarmy grin that meant—yes. Then, like a cheeseball, made a finger gun and mouthed—pew-pew—at Ataahua. Weaving his shoulders in time with the music, he shoved his drink at a ginger-dreadlocked guy, took Ataahua's hand and spun her into a twirl as they joined the throng of dancers.

Kenton raked a hand through his hair while he surveyed the party which was in full-swing. "Shit." And then he relaxed and breathed out a sigh a defeat. His gaze had locked on something ... or someone with dark brown hair. "If we're going to hells, may as well enjoy ourselves."

I watched my brother melt into the crowd.

I blinked, a little astounded.

Well, fuck me.

Normally the guy was as uptight as one of his designer suits.

The thought that Ezra's sister was here with her sidekicks had me glancing furtively around. There was no way I wanted to be cornered by the Js and their lecherous hands. I dug into my jeans pocket and pulled out a blunt. Lighting it, I took a couple of drags, inhaling the rancid sweetness and calming the fuck down. Tucking it into the corner of my mouth, I made my way through the dancers, searching for Nelle.