"What should I call you? Since we keep running into each other in such... intimate circumstances."
His lips quirk up. "Does it matter?"
"It matters when soone breaks into my bedroom." I cross my arms. "Unless you prefer ’creepy stalker who isn’t actually a panther’?"
"That’s quite a mouthful." He runs his fingers along the dresser’s edge. "Most people just call Shadow."
"Shadow? Really?" The best alias he could co up with is sothing from a teenage vampire novel?
"Would you prefer sothing more mundane? John Smith, perhaps?"
"I’d prefer the truth."
"The truth is rarely useful." He moves to the window, his reflection ghosting across the glass. "And nas have power in our world, Nicole d’Armand."
The way he says my na sends a chill down my spine. Almost like he really does have power over just by speaking my na. It’s strange. "Fine. Shadow it is." I step closer, keeping the bed between us. "So what’s your deal with the Conclave? You seem to know an awful lot about what’s going on."
He’s as calm as ever. "The Conclave and I have... differing opinions on many things."
"Such as?"
His voice hardens. "Their thods of control. Their tendency to treat people like pawns in their gas."
"Not a fan then?"
"Let’s just say we’re not on each other’s Yule card lists."
I circle the bed, closing the distance. "Why are you here, Shadow? Because if this is another warning about dragons—"
"I want to know what the Conclave has told you." He turns from the window. "About your role in all this. About what you are."
"Why do you care what they’ve told ?"
"Call it curiosity."
I cross my arms and lean against the dresser. "Let’s talk about sothing else. That night at the bar, when you warned . What was supposed to happen?"
Shadow arches a brow. "You haven’t figured it out yet?"
"No." Obviously. Would I be asking if I did?
"For soone in security, you’re terrible at being observant."
"Cut the cryptic bullshit. Just tell straight."
"Tell what the Conclave has shared with you first."
A laugh escapes my throat. "No. I’m done being jerked around by everyone. You want information from ? Start sharing so of your own."
Shadow studies , his head tilted. "You’ve changed."
"Yeah, getting kidnapped and almost killed multiple tis will do that to a person, I guess." Also the fact that I no longer feel afraid around him.
"You should work with a qualified magitherapist before you progress too far in your studies."
The non sequitur throws for a loop. "What does that even an?" Familiar frustration builds up in my chest. I’m so sick of these people and their inability to tell anything straight.
He watches impassively. "That’s for you to find out."
The lights flicker, and when they stabilize, he’s gone. Again. At this point, his disappearing act is about as surprising as finding dust in an attic.
I need to tell Logan about this. Soon as I see him.
I stick my head out into the hallway. "Hey, Penelope? You know if there are caras in here?"
* * *
As it turns out, there are caras just about everywhere.
Including the bedroom.
Logan grunts. "I’ll tear it out."
"Thanks."
Penelope had called him as soon as I told her what happened, and he was at our door in fifteen minutes. He’s also dressed in plaid flannel and jeans, channeling his inner lumbersexual. I’m not sure what that’s about, but that question can wait for another day.
Right now, I’m far more interested in the footage we’re hunting down.
The security room’s fluorescent lights cast an eerie glow over the bank of monitors. My neck cramps from leaning forward, scanning every pixel of movent on the screen.
"You know, when I pictured our first official date with you out on bond, I imagined sothing more romantic than security footage."
I smack Logan upside the head without taking my eyes off the screen. "Shut up and watch."
"Yes, ma’am."
The tistamp clicks forward. My heart pounds as I watch myself enter my bedroom. The image flickers, dissolves into static. Black screen.
"Wait." I jab my finger at the monitor. "Right there. What happened?"
The security guard leans forward, adjusts his thick-rimd glasses. "Huh. Must be a glitch in the system."
"For how long?" Logan asks with deceptive calm.
"Let check." The guard’s fingers click across the keyboard. "About eight minutes."
The footage resus crystal clear—empty room, window closed, no sign of Shadow. Well, empty except for . My stomach knots.
"And this happens often?" Logan crosses his arms.
"First ti I’ve seen it." The guard scratches his head. "We just upgraded the whole system last month. State of the art."
"I see. Well, thanks for your help. We appreciate you staying late to show us."
The guard snaps a salute. "Any ti, sir."
We maintain silence until we’re in our private penthouse elevator. Logan’s hand finds the small of my back, rubbing little circles there as the floors count up.
"Eight minutes," I drawl. "That’s so convenient glitch."
"Too convenient."
"That’s what worries ." Logan’s fingers drum against my spine. "This is no ordinary man. He has an agenda."
I fish my keys from my pocket once the elevator dings. "Yeah. I know."
The lock clicks open to reveal Penelope perched on the couch, legs tucked under her, nursing a cup of coffee.
"Well?" She sits up straighter. "Did you catch our mystery man on cara?"
I drop onto the cushion beside her. "Nope. Video feed cut out until he left. Oh, and there are definitely caras in our bedrooms. Logan’s going to take them out."
"I figured. I’ve been changing in the bathroom."
Logan’s fingers ruffle my hair as he strides past. "I’ll take care of those caras. Both rooms?"
"Yes, please." The touch lingers on my scalp, a ghost of warmth that almost makes forget the ss we’re in. Almost.
Penelope sets her coffee on the glass table. "So what’s the plan with our shifty panther friend?"
I press my fingers against my temples, trying to massage away the tension headache building there. "No clue. He shows up, speaks in riddles, then vanishes into thin air. How do you plan for that?"
"We could set a trap?"
"With what? Catnip?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of tuna, but sure, we can try both."
A snort escapes despite everything. Trust Pippa to find humor in this disaster.
"Hey, speaking of..." I twist to face her. "Has anyone else been picked up for Nancy’s murder? Any suspects?"
She tucks a strand of her vibrant red hair behind her ear. "Not a whisper. The police are keeping it pretty quiet now, but my regulars at the bar say there’s nothing. No arrests, no persons of interest. Just you, but of course that’s over."
The knot in my chest loosens a fraction. At least no innocent person will take the fall for this. Small rcies.
A crash echoes from my bedroom, followed by Logan’s muffled curse.
"Everything okay in there?" I call out.
"Fine. These things are mounted better than bank vault caras."
Penelope raises an eyebrow. "Should I ask how he knows that?"
"Probably not." I sink deeper into the couch cushions. "The less we know about Logan’s expertise in surveillance equipnt, the better our plausible deniability."
Another crash. "Got it!" Logan’s voice carries through the wall. "One down, one to go."
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