I bare my teeth at him. Not a smile, but a warning. At least, I hope.

He looks down at my hand, then up at my mouth and features. “I’ve never met anyone or anything like yourself, so I can’t say how you’d respond. For a cambion, drinking aether is like drinking a brief round of happy thoughts. Whole thoughts.” He tosses his glass back. “Less of a concern for me than for Kane, but it feels nice nonetheless. And won’t destroy your liver.” He considers me for a moment, face soft—until it isn’t. “Now that Selwyn’s punishment has been met, you and I have unfinished business, Briana Matthews. I’ll only ask once more. Your red aether. Who made your arrangement?”

I jerk away. The drink sloshes over my fingers and his carpet. “No one.”

He takes my glass lightly and sets it behind him on his desk. “Well, never say I wasn’t hospitable at first.”

Valec walks us to an elevator down the hall, refusing to answer my questions any further. He doesn’t bother taking my arm in hand or forcing me with him; I know he’s much faster and stronger than I am. Valec’s gait is unnaturally fluid and deliberate. Now that I’ve witnessed his power, I see violence in his every step and hear it beneath every long vowel in his Southern drawl. When we reach the old elevator, Valec pulls the rusted accordion-style gate open with a jarring clang. He gestures for me to enter first.

Once inside, the elevator shudders before moving impossibly slow to a higher level. Halfway up, Valec pulls the lever, stopping us with a shaking rattle. “I do have one question.”

My fingers flex at my sides, a silent thrill at Arthur’s strength in them once more. Imagining myself punching Valec in his smiling mouth. But what use would it be? Valec is faster than Sel—it doesn’t matter how strong I am, he’d break two bones before I could even land a hit.

“What is it?”

He circles around to lean on the door opposite, eyes sparkling. “It’s optional.”

“Fine,” I say.

He steps into my space, hands in his pockets. With a voice dripping in molasses, low and sweet, he says, “You and the Kingsmage. There’s obviously chemistry, but I can’t quite read the rest. Is it an exclusive thing, or…?”

My eyes roam across the floor, as if his words—or the situation—could make sense if I could rearrange them and see them plain. I glare at him. “You know that’s a rude question to ask someone, even in the Onceborn world?”