“Quen wouldn’t have had a chance,” I said, my heart slowing. If she had been an undead, neither would I. But Saladan wouldn’t have been able to convince an undead vampire to back him, lest Piscary find out and kill him or her twice. There was honor among the dead. Or maybe it was just fear.

Lee said a few words to Candice, and the woman slunk out into the hall, giving me a sly smile before she left. Red heels were the last I saw of her. My thoughts spun when I noticed she had an anklet identical to Ivy’s. There couldn’t be more than one like that without a reason—perhaps Kisten and I ought to chat.

Not knowing what it meant, if anything, I sat in one of the green upholstered chairs before I fell over from the fading adrenaline. Hands clasped to hide their faint trembling, I thought of Ivy and the protection she gave me. No one had made a play for me like that in months, not since the vamp at the perfume counter had mistaken me for someone else. If I had to fight that off every day, it would only be a matter of time before I became a shadow of myself: thin, anemic, and belonging to someone. Or worse, belonging to anyone.

The sound of sliding fabric pulled my attention to Trent as he sat in the second chair. “You all right?” he breathed when Lee shut the door behind Candice with a firm thump.

His voice was soothing, surprising me. Forcing myself to straighten, I nodded, wondering why he cared, or even if he did. Exhaling, I forced my hands open and loose.

Bustling with efficiency, Lee edged back around his desk and sat. He was smiling to show his white teeth amid his suntanned face. “Trent,” he said, leaning back in his chair. It was larger than ours, and I think it put him several inches taller. Subtle. “I’m glad you came to see me. We should talk before anything gets more out of hand than it has.”

“Out of hand?” Trent didn’t move, and I watched his concern for me melt into nothing. Green eyes hard, he set his shot glass on the desk between them, the soft click sounding louder than it should. Never looking from Saladan’s sloppy grin, he took over the room. This was the man who killed his employees in his office and got away with it, the man who owned half the city, the man who thumbed his nose at the law, living above it in his fortress in the middle of an old-growth, planned-out forest.

Trent was angry, and I suddenly didn’t mind that they were ignoring me.

“You derailed two of my trains, caused a near strike of my trucking line, and burned down my primary public relations effort,” Trent said, a wisp of his hair starting to float.