I was on edge. An irritated off-kilter feeling itched beneath my skin and made it impossible to relax. The twin-link between Valarie and I hummed in disharmony. I had a good idea as to who could have upset her—Laurena. The snippy princess had accosted us both just as we were heading out for the morning, intending to find a spot away from all the other pampered and pretentious guests, where Valarie was keen to do some sketching. But Laurena had invited Valarie to join her and Marissa, and there was nothing either of us could say to decline. Laurena was a Wychthorn Princess and she was denied nothing, even our company.

That was the reason why I was out here in the middle of the lawn, mixing with the servants and helping to set up the festivities for the evening—to burn off the anxious energy with physical labor. It also provided me with an excuse to keep an eye out for Miss Uptight. Truthfully, I was low-level stalking her.

I'd taken off my jacket and rolled my shirt sleeves up. Golden strands of prickly straw stuck to my suit's pants and shirt as I grabbed hold of another straw bale from the trailer and hauled it over to where we were continuing to line them up to edge the dance area and provide more seating. I dropped it onto the grass with a thud, jutting it into place with my shoe. I wasn't exactly dressed for this kind of work, but what the hells.

As I turned back toward the trailer, I noticed in the corner of my eye Miss Uptight arrive. She was walking across the lush green lawn with a few other servants, all of them carrying trays with stacks of glasses. Her eyes widened in surprise as she spotted me stride back to the trailer to grab another bale. I watched as she made her way to the long trestle tables and unload the glasses from her tray, arranging them into rows of neat lines near large, empty punch bowls.

She gave me another curious glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing and following me as I carried a new bale of straw back to the wall we were forming. I assumed she was wondering why I, a supposed hunter, was helping out, especially with the way I'd behaved last night. A moment later, her lips curved into a small smile as if she approved.

I kicked the straw bale, shifting it a little to line up better with the one beside it. Then I kind of leaned against it, patting it like I was part of the team sorting it out.

Godsdammit, I was part of the team sorting it out.

Why the fuck was I feeling guilty?

Because this was a ruse to spy on her. And she had no idea I wasn't a servant.

I brushed off the straw sticking to my pants, and when I glanced up I discovered she was gone, walking back toward the mansion in a tight cluster of black uniforms as she and her colleagues laughed and chatted.

It was too late to bolt when I realized a small group of entitled wankers were almost upon me. I mentally groaned. The Sweater Brigade was here, led as usual by Aldert Pelan. His caramel eyes were fixed on me as he approached.

Marissa the airhead was enamored with him, I had no idea why. All I saw was a short man with a wiry build and heavily freckled milky-white skin. He had sharp features and beady eyes like a rat. I didn't like him, and that was putting it mildly. He always looked like he was sizing me up, not so much jockeying like an alpha, but trying to evaluate my worth. His gaze would go a little faraway as if he were peeling away my layers, one by one until I was nothing but organized organs and a skeletal frame. And there was always a faint glint of cruelty in his gaze, something he tried to hide, but it was there all the same. He was a creepy motherfucker.

"Varen," Aldert greeted. His little gang with their pastel sweaters draped across their shoulders hung a safe distance back.

"Pelan," I drawled because it fucked him off that I refused to utter his first name. I cast a glance over his hair and its tight coils, slightly amused. His ginger hair was permed. Permed, for fucks sake. A pale yellow sweater was neatly tied around his neck, and he wore tan slacks and a navy polo shirt with the collar popped up like one of those preppy fuckers.

Aldert held out a limp hand for me to shake. I didn't even acknowledge the gesture and kept my hardened gaze trained on those creepy eyes of his. As if I was going to touch that hand. The last time I was forced to shake his hand it was like touching a dead fish with the way his limp hand flopped about.

Aldert withdrew his freckled hand, brushing away invisible lint off his shirt to save face.

Smooth.

His thin, chapped lips twitched with amusement as he tilted his head toward the men and women unloading straw bales. "Slumming it with the lower classes, Varen, nice."

Part of me wanted to pound his face into the lawn while the other part of me shied away from even touching the douche. I moved past him, heading toward the mansion. I needed a drink, and one right this minute, because I knew Aldert had sought my company with a purpose and I wasn't going to be able to shake him until he'd said his piece.

Like I knew he would, he hurried up behind me and walked by my side.

"Loving the homeless look, Varen."

I shot him a sideways glance. "Pity I can't say the same for the pampered poodle look you've got going on, Pelan." I enjoyed the tightening of his jaw and the way his eyes flashed with anger. I was also mildly intrigued. Aldert Pelan was mostly like all the other Houses, who were intimidated by my family and kept their distance. But right now there certainly was a bit of posturing going on with the heir of Upper House Pelan.

I leaned a little closer. "I don't know...your sister sure likes this homeless look a lot." And I winked.

His lips pinched into a mean, thin line and his hand clenched by his sides

I crossed the pebbled path, through the courtyard with the braziers that had burned last night, the chars of wood and ash yet to be cleaned, opened the French doors, and headed straight for the wet bar. The room smelled fragrant with those white roses Miss Uptight and I had shoved into vases like a pair of demented maniacs.

"Bit of a late arrival," I observed. Aldert hadn't arrived last night, and it seemed that he'd sought my company soon after descending upon the Deniauds. I was pretty sure he was only here talking to me to rub something in my face. The sooner he got it off his chest, the better, then he could walk the fuck away and leave me in peace.

I bent down, pulled out a bottle of Macallan from a lower shelf, and poured two fingers into a crystal tumbler. If he wanted a drink, he could get his own.

"I was detained," Aldert said airily, sweeping a glance around the room with its fairy lights and snowflake ornaments. In the stark light of the day, it had lost some of its magic.

"There's a new project on the horizon. An idea I had, and we've got a direct line on this to Master Sirro. There's been a myriad of meetings with Sirro and a few of the Heads of hunting houses," he continued, drumming his fingers against the wet bar's marble counter. Like my father said yesterday afternoon after I dealt with the Yakuza, there were shifts happening amongst the Houses. The Wychthorns were the only ones that took directives from Sirro, passing on the ruling in his stead. If they weren't involved... I wondered if they were even aware of this special project and just what that creepy mind of Aldert's had cooked up.

I also didn't like the smugness in Aldert's gaze as he talked to me. There was something else, something he was amused about and it had to do with lording over me. Just what was it?

I really wanted to disengage from this conversation that was going nowhere but up Aldert's ass, and hunt down Valarie. So while the boring Aldert droned on and on about who had gathered at House Pelan, I shifted back outside and stood just on the cusp of the patio, where lavender gently swayed in the brisk autumn wind, and swallowed a generous mouthful of whiskey.

I was only half aware of the last thing Aldert had said, "...and it's all due to your family." My mind spun from What the hells does that mean? to What the hells has Laurena said to upset my sister? because Valarie was heading my way and she clearly looked distressed. Her black hair fell across her face and she furiously wiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist.

I immediately tensed. Valarie was walking along the pebbled path, slowly, because the woman she was walking with had high heels—ridiculously high heels.

Hellsgate. Irma Szarvas.

What was I going to do? My sister needed me.

But someone else had spotted my sister and was already striding down the pebbled pathway to greet her—blatantly ignoring Aldert's call of greeting—before I'd even thought to move.

Valarie's pace faltered as Byron approached. She drew to a standstill when he came upon her, and clung to Irma's arm tighter.

Byron tucked a hand into his pocket, shifting his weight onto one leg, and curtly acknowledged Irma's presence with a dip of his head. She bowed as was customary when we first encountered anyone from the Great House. He ignored her, which she didn't like, judging by the slight tightening of her jaw and stiffening of her limbs. All of Byron's attention was on my twin, as was my own. Valarie nervously tugged at her oversized cardigan with her free hand, her gaze darting everywhere and only fleetingly returning to Byron when necessary.

While Aldert wouldn't be able to hear their conversation, my heightened senses allowed me to. At this moment it was all one-sided. Byron took a step closer, wanting to know if she was alright, obviously seeing her distress. His hand rose to touch her as if by its own volition, and he abruptly became aware of what he was about to do and dropped his hand back to his side.

I didn't know whether Valarie wanted me to intercept and get her out of there, or if she was going to be okay. The one thing, or should I say, one person holding me back was Irma. I didn't want to go within a hundred yards of her.

Though Valarie had a sense of duty to our family and our father's demand to ensnare the heir to Great House, last night she'd confided in me she enjoyed Byron's company. She hadn't divulged any deeper feeling, but I'd felt it, all the same, vibrating down the twin-link when she spoke of him. I think my sister had the beginning of a crush on Byron Wychthorn, but right now, there was definite unease in his presence. It wasn't him...it was something else holding her back. And I wondered what Laurena might have said to her. I could see from here, by the blotchiness of Valarie's cheeks and the reddened tip of her nose, that she'd been crying.

And then a slender figure arrived—Miss Uptight—her shoes crunching through the pebbled path.

I shifted back, more like a jolt, and practically jumped into the rosebush behind me.

It was fucking ridiculous. I was 6-5, built like a brawler, and I was skulking around, hiding in the shrubbery because of one sassy-mouthed blond, who, if I was being honest, intrigued the hells out of me. No girl had ever talked to me the way she had this morning out in the forest. It was refreshing how clearly unimpressed she was with me. Even I knew I was quickly becoming obsessed with her. She was a delicious little mystery wrapped up in a neat black uniform and—

Holy fucking hells—

The ugliest shoes I'd ever seen.

Ever.

My mouth fell open as shock barreled through me. I had no idea what the fuck she was wearing. The thick soles were more like tire treads and gave her several extra inches of height. The uppers were made up of some kind of strange crepe-leather material with stitching that reminded me of a turned and pinched pie crust. The only normal thing about the shoes was the shoelaces neatly tied into a bow.

I mentally shook my head and took another long swig of whiskey.

Aldert was still rabbiting on. He'd gotten a drink himself, and I was vaguely aware the only time his whiny little voice shut up was when he took a sip of his scotch.

Interestingly, I noted Valarie's demeanor changed with the arrival of Miss Uptight. Hanging off the servant girl's crooked arm was a wicker picnic basket. The servant girl had come to a halt at a short distance away from our leader, waiting to be acknowledged before she spoke. Typically like most of those of us here, Byron paid her no mind until he finished speaking with Valarie. He greeted her, arching an eyebrow, and casting a quick glance at the basket on her arm. He saw Miss Uptight, but he didn't see her. She was just a servant who served her purpose, and he thanked her courteously when she handed him the picnic basket.

And then I saw my sister. She'd been uncomfortable and unsure, but when Miss Uptight handed Byron the basket, the two of them shared a look he didn't see. Valarie and Miss Uptight locked gazes for a beat too long for politeness between House and servant. A brazen chin-lift from the servant girl, as if she was silently saying to stand strong.

My twin visibly relaxed, and then confidence entered her posture. This was the Val I knew at home. Her chin lifted with an imperious tilt, and an iron resolve shot through her gaze.

My spine locked straighter.

I cocked my head, staring at them both with a narrowed gaze as realization spun through me—they'd met, spoken beforehand, I was sure of it.

Whatever Miss Uptight had just done for Valarie, it was appreciated by my twin, and the residual effect was that I had a smidgeon more respect for Miss Uptight. A ghost of a smile crossed Valarie's lips and then her gaze swung back to Byron, and before I'd taken my next breath, she agreed to accompany him on a picnic lunch he'd obviously arranged beforehand.

One more thing slammed right into me—Irma Szarvas had disappeared.

Hellsgate!

I shoved my glass at Aldert. The jerky movement spilled whiskey over the tumbler's lip, soaking Aldert's polo shirt. A girlish half-shriek of surprise burst from the weird little man. I went to take off running in the opposite direction to where I'd last spotted Irma when a hand clamped down around my forearm. The overly-applied florally perfume shoved itself up my nose just as Irma's sickly-sweet voice crooned, "Baby!"

I froze. Bile crawled up the back of my throat. I didn't want to turn around and face her, but I did. Irma immediately wrapped her arms around my chest, clinging to me like a godsdamned barnacle.

I liked sleek, gorgeous things. And that was Irma Szarvas.

I'd gone to stay with her family years ago, and as soon as I'd encountered her, I'd been besotted as only a ten-year-old boy could be. She was like those fast, sleek cars I wanted in my garage, the tailored suits and jet-setting lifestyle I imagined we'd have. She was a beautiful girl who I thought I'd charmed and tamed, but it had been the complete opposite. She had been the one holding my leash all this time, except like a godsdamned idiot, I hadn't realized. I'd pursued her with a single-minded determination to make her mine. When we were teenagers and she finally agreed to go out with me, she'd liked to tell everyone that we were childhood sweethearts.

Irma Szarvas had been my first and my only, and I hadn't strayed while we'd been together. I'd been loyal. I was a one-girl kind of guy. Pity I couldn't say the same of her.

Deep pain lanced my heart as soon as I encountered her wide-set hazel eyes blinking up at me. This heartache inside me wasn't because of Irma. Sure I'd hurt like a motherfucker when everything I thought I had, thought I wanted, had exploded right in my face. I'd become like one of those empty, broken, sun-faded seashells littering the beach, cracked and worn and trampled down into the sand, lost and forgotten. But that feeling of loss had been quickly replaced with guilt. A heavier kind, the kind that weighed you down and drowned you beneath its black waves.

Though Aldert was brushing away the drops of whiskey from his shirt, he was keeping a gleeful eye on the both of us, eager to see how it all was going to play out. The rumors had already spread that Irma and I were no longer together, even though I'd heard through Valarie that Irma vehemently denied it like only a crazy-ass woman like her could. I didn't want this kind of Irma-drama unfolding in front of anyone, so I bowed my head to lean close to my ex-girlfriend's ear and hissed, "Get away from me. You don't touch me. You don't look at me. If you see me, like you have here, you turn around and walk the other way. You got that, Irma?"

I smiled coolly as I put my hands on her upper shoulders and prised her off.

Her big eyelashes, curled and clotted with black mascara, batted in confusion. "Varen?"

I ignored her, turned my back, and began to stride away down the pebbled path toward the main garden, where clusters of white roses and ferns and flaxes grew.

Did Irma heed my warning? Hells no she didn't.

The chinking sound of shifting pebbles came right behind as she pursued me down the path and caught up. She teetered beside me in those ridiculous heels as she tried to keep pace with my long leggy stride. "We need to talk, Varen."

"Nope," I replied.

"You can't keep avoiding me."

"Pretty sure I can," I replied just as I entered the privacy of the garden, the dappled shadows of tall trees falling over me.

And then Irma uttered one name, one name that forced me to stop. "I came across Valarie crying this morning!"

The only reason why I'd ever talk to her.