“We believe that you have an associate of mine, a wyvern by the name of Chuan Ren. We would like to negotiate for her release—”

“I was not speaking to you, dragon.” Bael interrupted, his eyes cold. “What business does Magoth’s consort have with me?”

“I speak with my mate’s consent,” Gabriel said, moving to stand in front of me, effectively blocking Bael’s view.

The air thickened as Bael set down the papers, turning to face us head-on. The sane part of my mind demanded that I instantly shadow, or better yet, retreat to the shadow world, but that part of me that was being taken over by the dragon-heart shard had me stepping around Gabriel, my head held high as I met Bael’s intimidating gaze with one that might not be so potent, but was totally at odds with the normally humble attitude I adopted when around demon lords. “Gabriel and I are of one thought, so you may consider his words mine. We want to talk to you about releasing Chuan Ren.”

Bael was silent for a moment.

“Do you deny having her?” I asked. Evidently he’d been rather secretive about her, and I wondered whether he was going to make us work just to get him to admit he had her in his possession.

Bael strolled over to a large walnut desk and pressed a button on a phone. “Dillard, fetch the wyvern.”

I relaxed a smidgen, exchanging a relieved glance with Gabriel.

“What price do you demand for her release?” Gabriel asked Bael.

“She is not for sale.”

“Everything has a price,” Gabriel countered.

“True. However, in this case, the price is beyond even the capacity of a dragon,” Bael said. “And since I know you will ask, I will say simply that it would involve the sacrifice of your mate.”

“That is not an option,” Gabriel said quickly, before I could protest.

Bael smiled, and I thanked every deity I could think of that we were immortal. “As I said, the price is beyond you. Still, I will allow you to see my newest acquisition, since I am certain you will ask for that, and I am, as ever, obliging. Ah. Here she is.”

Chuan Ren entered the room. At least, I assumed it was her—she was of Chinese descent, tall, with straight black hair and eyes that burned with fury. She spat out something in Chinese that I assumed wasn’t a wish for Bael’s continued good health, but then she noticed us, and her ire focused on Gabriel.

“You!” she shrieked, lunging at him. “I should have known it was you behind this. You’re always drooling over that simpleton Aisling, pretending to listen to Fiat, but lying, always lying.”