I swallowed, wondering what the hell he was. He had the grace, the voice, the quickness, and the confident power of a vampire. And as much as I disliked the man, the raw attraction was there, heightened by his personal strength rather than a teasing manner and sexual innuendos. But he wasn’t a living vampire. Though warm and good-natured on the surface, he had a very large personal space that most vampires lacked. He kept people at arm’s length, too far to seduce with a touch. No, he wasn’t a vamp, but maybe … a human scion?

My eyebrows rose. Trent blinked, seeing the idea crossing me and not knowing what it was. “Yes, Ms. Morgan?” he murmured, seeming uncomfortable for the first time.

My heart pounded. “Your hair is floating again,” I said, trying to jolt him. His lips parted, and he seemed at a loss for words.

I jumped as the door opened and Jonathan strode in. He was stiff and angry, with the attitude of a protector fettered by the very one he has been pledged to defend. In his hands was a head-sized glass ball. Jenks was inside it. Frightened, I stood, clutching my bag to myself.

“Jon,” Trent said, smoothing his hair as he got to his feet. “Thank you. If you would please escort Ms. Morgan and her associate out?”

Jenks was so angry his wings were a black blur. I could see him mouthing something but couldn’t hear him. His gestures, though, were unmistakable.

“My disc, Ms. Morgan?”

I spun, gasping as I realized Trent had come around his desk and was right behind me. I hadn’t heard him move. “Your what?” I stammered.

His right hand was outstretched. It was smooth and unworked but carried a taut strength. He had a single gold band on his ring finger. I couldn’t help but notice that he was only a few inches taller than me. “My disc?” he prompted, and I swallowed.

Tensed to react, I dug it from my pocket with two fingers and handed it to him. Something swept over him. It was as subtle as a shade of blue, as indistinguishable as a snowflake among thousands, but it was there. In that instant I knew it wasn’t Brimstone that Trent was afraid of. It was something on that disc.

My thoughts shot to his neatly arranged discs, and it was with an incredible resolve that I kept my eyes on his instead of following my suspicions to his desk drawer. God, help me. The man ran biodrugs along with Brimstone. The man was a freaking biodrug lord. My heart hammered and my mouth went dry. You were jailed for running Brimstone. But you were staked, burned, and scattered for running biodrugs. And he wanted me to work for him.

“You’ve shown an unexpected capacity to plan, Ms. Morgan,” Trent said, interrupting my racing thoughts. “Vampire assassins won’t attack you while under a Tamwood’s protection. And arranging a pixy clan to protect you against fairies as well as living in a church to keep the Weres at bay are beautiful in their simplicity. Let me know when you change your mind about working for me. You would find satisfaction here—and recognition. Something the I.S. has been most remiss with.”