One was a cabin at Lake Tahoe, where he and Melly had spent some time together. The winter that year had been so cold, the lake had turned into a sheet of ice, and he and Melly had made love over and over again in front of a roaring fire.

The other was a winery in Napa Valley. It had been a spur-of-the-moment trip.

That time had been much like the trip to Lake Tahoe. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Her curves had felt like heated silk, and he had lost himself in voluptuous sensuality, drunk on the wine in her blood and a desire that burned away everything and left him feeling burnished and new again.

His lip curled at the memories. He shoved them aside. If he could burn them out of his head, he would.

Both places were so far-fetched as possibilities, he couldn’t imagine they might still be relevant. But until they had a search strategy defined, they had no idea what might be relevant or not.

His phone buzzed. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the display.

It was a text message.

From Justine.

The old general in him roused, readying for battle. The waiting and strategizing was over. It was time to engage. He thumbed open the message.

If you want to see Melly alive again, meet me in one hour outside the de Young Museum in the Golden Gate Park. Say nothing to anyone. Come alone.

Well, that narrowed down the search considerably.

Rage and renewed fear roared inside as he stared at the text.

He was not surprised. He was not. Yet having the confirmation in writing felt like another blow to the stomach.

The Nightkind King did not negotiate with terrorists or kidnappers, but Julian the man was another matter entirely.

Thumbs flying over the tiny keyboard, he punched in a reply and hit send. I’m in Los Angeles. I can’t make it to San Francisco in an hour. You’ve got to give me more time.

Her reply came swiftly. I am amused. Did Tatiana ask you for help?

Yes.

Behind him, Bailey said in a tight voice, “Can’t you focus on something else besides yourself for once?”

“That’s enough, Bailey,” said Tatiana sharply.

He didn’t bother to look at either Bailey or her mother. All of his focus strained on his silent phone, gripped so tightly between both hands.

Come on, Justine. Come on.

His phone vibrated as her text appeared on the display. You have three hours. Better get a move on.

Goddammit. The flight alone from LA to San Francisco took an hour and a half. Even with his authority to expedite his flight and commandeer a police cruiser to cut through city traffic in San Francisco, meeting her deadline was going to be close, very close.

He knew she kept the deadline tight in order to keep him from making some kind of countermove against her. And of course the whole thing was some kind of trap, but that was the least important part of their exchange.

In a clench, he forced himself to tap out the next words. I need proof of life or there’s no deal.

Justine must have been waiting for that one, because almost immediately, her next text came, and it was a photo.

In the image, Melly stood in front of a man, looking both furious and terrified at once, her hands bound in front of her. The man’s hands were sunk deep in her long, disheveled hair. Was he holding her hair back for the camera? Melly’s face was tilted up at an uncomfortable angle, as if he had yanked her head back.

As Julian stared at the image, his emotions bled out – all the bitterness, resentment, regret, fear and rage – until he felt empty of everything, except the need to commit violence.

You, he thought at the unknown man restraining Melly. You are a dead man. You and Justine have just become my life’s mission.

Soren said, “Julian?”

At the same moment, he received another text: That photo is from early this morning. Do we have a deal?

He replied, I’ll be there in three hours.

Ticktock. Remember, not a word to anyone. I’ll find out if you do.

He knew she could too. Justine was a talented liar. She also had a keenly developed truthsense. All she had to do was ask him a direct question and listen carefully to his reply.

A hand touched him on the bicep. Startling, he whirled to look into Tatiana’s gaze. The Queen still looked frightened, but she was beginning to show signs of other emotions as well – worry and confusion, along with the beginnings of anger and distrust.

Distrust for him.

“Julian, are you paying attention at all?”

Not a word to anyone, Justine had said.

Staring at Tatiana’s distrustful expression when he had done not a goddamned thing in the world to earn it, he decided to take Justine’s admonishment literally.

Pivoting on one heel, he snatched his cloak off the back of a chair and strode for the hallway, ignoring the calls and questions that flew after him. With one slicing gesture, he pointed at his two guards then at the floor at their feet, ordering them wordlessly to stay where they were. They remained in place, immobile.

As he strode toward the front door, he slung the cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood over his head, holding it in place with one fist. The two Light Fae guards stepped aside at his approach.

The last thing he heard before he left the house was Bailey, as she said bitterly, “I knew you should never have asked him to come.”

Then he stepped out into the sunlight. Searing pain stabbed the skin on the back of his hand, and he broke into a lope that brought him to the car.

The keys were in the ignition. Lunging into the driver’s seat, he slammed the door, started the car and gunned down the driveway. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Tatiana, Bailey, Soren and the Light Fae guards, all standing on the front doorstep and staring in his direction.

He was fleetingly pleased to see that his two guards were nowhere in sight. They were following orders, at least for now.

The others had to have realized something was seriously off, but he couldn’t count on them piecing things together in the right way. Even if they did, and they attempted to do something to help, they might just make matters worse.

If they didn’t… well, fuck them.

He dismissed them from his mind. He had a plane to catch, and a deadline to keep.

Like Justine said, he better get a move on.

Four

L

ying so far north of Los Angeles, San Francisco had a much cooler climate and entirely different weather patterns. As the Nightkind plane taxied into SFO, beads of moisture gathered on the outside of the windows from the dense, heavy fog that had rolled in some time earlier that day.