“You were going to invite several people to a house that’s barely secure to see a half-million-dollar dagger.” Steele’s words were curt as ire rose steadily within him, stirring the beast.
Robles slammed a hand down on the arm of the chair. “I am a prominent citizen of this city and a very powerful person within this state. I did not expect anyone to be brazen enough to break into my home.”
Then you’re a powerful idiot.
The words rumbled behind lips Steele focused hard to keep closed.
“How did you come to be in possession of such an expensive artifact?” He left out the word cursed on a hunch this human didn’t care to hear the word any more than Ravyn had.
“It was gifted to me.”
“And you planned to keep it here in your house forever, or did you intend to sell it?”
Robles looked uncomfortable. Steele was asking pointed questions because he wanted real answers. The fact that a senator—however wealthy in his own right—would come into possession of such an item and have it here in his house was a little tough to swallow. There had to be more to it, especially since the dagger carried a death curse for anyone who owned it.
“I planned to add it to my collection, yes. There is no crime in that. And I do not appreciate being spoken to as if I’m the one who has done something wrong.”
Shit! That’s exactly how he was talking to the guy.
Reminding himself again that this was part of his job—the real, paying job he had—Steele cleared his throat.
“I’d like to tour the house and take a look at the system you already have set up. After that I can map out what you’ll likely need to further safeguard your collection. I can have a report and quote to you no later than tomorrow at noon.”
“And what am I supposed to do until then? The conference starts tomorrow, and I hope to have the dagger back in place by Sunday for a dinner party. But I certainly don’t want to take the chance that someone can walk in and walk out with it again if I did.”
Which was something the guy should have thought about when he first brought the dagger into his private residence. That was the type of item that belonged in a museum, closely guarded. Or better yet, it should have never been removed from the tomb of King Tutankhamun. What kind of morbid souls went around breaking into graves and stealing everything out of them? Obviously, humans.
“The most immediate suggestion I can offer is to lock everything in a safe until the new security measures are implemented.” From the look on the senator’s face, Steele knew that wasn’t his preference. He could’ve offered a personal guard until the new system was purchased and installed, but he had a feeling the most important piece this guy possessed was already gone.
“Fine. Marona can walk you around. I’ve got to get ready for another meeting.” Robles stood abruptly and Steele followed his lead.
“That would be great. But I just have one more question, sir. If you don’t mind. How do you plan to get the dagger back?”
Robles came to stand closer to Steele. He was half a foot shorter than Steele’s six feet three and a half inches and was easily half Steele’s weight. But he kept his shoulders squared, chin tilted upward, and eyes locked on Steele’s.
“I’ll remind you again of who I am in this state. If that thief is still in Burgess, my private investigators working along with the enforcers will find him and when they do that bastard’s gonna wish he’d never been bold enough to break into my house.”
As threats went, Steele wasn’t in the least impressed. But it didn’t matter, because Ravyn was already marked by the Reaper. According to the preternatural laws, her death was imminent. This human and the other humans that were on his payroll had nothing on the Reaper. So, in the event that his little swap-out with the Reaper hadn’t worked last night, Steele would continue his efforts to keep Ravyn from dying on the roof as his first priority. Making sure this arrogant asshole got a new and very expensive—since he was such a powerful senator—security system was a close second.
Chapter Six
Fading wasn’t easy.
It took a tremendous amount of strength, focus and Drakon magick. Moving a massive fire-breathing dragon stuffed into a human body from one physical location to another in the blink of an eye without anyone or any being seeing the transition, was a magnificent feat. And it was something Steele had been doing since he was five years old.
That was two hundred and eighty-five years ago.
Closing his eyes as he stood on the balcony of his hotel room in the city, he zeroed in on everything he knew about Ravyn Walsh. For starters, after his first dream of her, it had taken him a week to find out what her real name was. Most people he’d seen her speak to only knew her as Ravyn. And since this was a personal quest, Steele had chosen not to ask Isla to stop what she was doing for the Legion, to dig deeper into Ravyn’s life. Doing so would only open the door to more questions because for all that Legion Security was a large corporation which employed both Drakon and humans, it was the tight-knit group of dragons Steele had to worry about. They were sort of an unofficial clan that would have taken a big interest in what he was doing, because if saving Ravyn Steele managed to piss off the Reaper, the Drakon would not only be at war with the vampires, but the dark beings of the Spirit Realm, as well. That wasn’t something Steele felt like dealing with.
She had no address, at least none that he could find on any preliminary search of the city’s citizen database. The last known
