And he started across the casino floor, weaving through the crowds like he’d done it all his life. I followed him, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might be watching. No one seemed to pay us any attention, except casino security, who eyed my dusty boots and black leather jacket with the same bored suspicion as they did everyone else. Clearly, they’d seen far stranger. Or thought they had, anyway.

We left the casino floor, and ducked into a crowded restaurant with dim lighting and dozens of flat screens lining the walls, all playing sports of various kinds. Humans sat like pigeons along the bar or clustered around tables, laughing, talking and oblivious to the world around them. Griffin and I took a booth in the corner. A group of college-age guys sat behind us, but with all the noise and chaos, I wasn’t worried about eavesdroppers. The waitress took our drink orders and hurried off, leaving us in peace.

Griffin eyed me over the table. “So,” the human began, folding his hands together. “Here we are. What brings you to Vegas, Riley?”

I sighed. “What do you think?”

“Hmm. Well, considering all the hubbub around the city of late, I’m guessing nothing good. I assume you’re the reason St. George has moved in recently?” Griffin went on, making my stomach tighten. “Seems like they’re on the warpath, and mighty pissed about something. Word on the street is that Talon is not happy with the Order being in their territory and are scrambling over each other trying to figure out what’s going on. I’m thinking you poked a stick down a wasp nest and stirred it up a bit. Then kicked it for good measure.”

“You could say that.” I paused as the waitress returned with our drinks, then tossed the alcohol back, finishing the Scotch in two swallows. I didn’t drink very often; it was tough to get a dragon wasted, even one in human form, so I didn’t see much point in it. Tonight, though, I’d make an exception. Griffin drank his bourbon slowly, watching me over the glass rim, waiting for an explanation. I gave him a faint smirk. “Someone might have…snuck into their western chapterhouse and broken a prisoner out last week.”

“Holy shit, Riley.” The human lowered his glass with a look of disbelief and horror. “The Order chapterhouse itself? So, what you’re telling me is you’ve gone insane.”

“Very likely,” I muttered.

“One of your hatchlings?”

“No.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “One of them.”