He did indeed know the city well and he brought her to a high-class hotel where the service was instant. He insisted on holding her hand, which wasn't quite comfortable but Calla recognized quickly that being seen with Mateo Guerin meant something to other people. They were escorted to their room, which didn't seem to be normal protocol, but Mateo flirted casually with the hostess and charmed the staff as he passed. He winked at someone as he closed the door, and the instant it locked, the mask fell from his face in shattered pieces.

Calla stood in the middle of the room and tilted her head. "You play that part well."

He rubbed his face. "It used to be fun. Sun, sea, women…" He shrugged, impassive.

"Sport and play," Calla said softly. "It wears on you if you don't have a higher purpose. The Dragon Court—"

Mateo pushed off the door, the contained violence in the motion silencing her, and strode towards the restroom. "The cognate gave me purpose. Evidently, it wasn't enough for me." The door shut with a hard click.

Calla waited, taking a seat on a plush white couch, rather than knocking on the door to follow him in. He needed time, and space, to cope with the decision he was making on his own. She'd done enough by prodding him along this path—if she pushed too hard, it would backfire and a potential lover would become a bitter enemy.

How would the Delphina react when Calla showed up with a vampyr in tow—the same vampyr who'd violated their sovereignty and stole Calla? How would she explain the instinct that drew her towards him, the deep conviction that despite his family and circumstances he would be an asset to the Dragon Court, a male of honor?

She could barely even explain it to herself, but she'd better try, at least, because neither the Delphina nor the Pythian would hesitate to kill him if Calla's argument wasn't convincing. And it was more than her heart at stake—it was her honor. She'd given Mateo her word that he would be accepted, given a place. Word was bond, and she would die before her word failed.

"Why are we here?" she asked once he'd emerged. "Why not the apartment?"

He grimaced. "There's nothing there. I haven't stocked it in months—and the cognate may know about it. They'll be less likely to attack somewhere this public, especially once the paparazzi park outside."

Which must have been the reason for his dramatic entrance. Hiding in plain sight.

"Let's get out of here," he said abruptly. "Do something. Anything. I don't want to just sit here and—"

Calla understood. One of the worst parts of any battle was the waiting. And this was what it was—a battle. The quiet before the start of the war. If he truly had defected, and with her as cognate property, then they would have to attempt not only to retrieve her, but to punish and maybe kill Mateo. It was the only way to preserve their reputation in the networks possible clients circulated in. She knew these next few hours were likely the only peace they would get before the storm descended.

An hour later, they walked the streets of LA hand in hand. It was getting easier for Calla to accept the way his shoulder casually brushed hers, melding into the contact instead of jumping away. They spent a surprisingly good time window shopping, talking about nothing, until Calla spent a moment too long eyeing a dress. He pulled her into the store without asking. An attentive employee greeted them just inside and before Calla could talk him out of it, she was handed three sizes and escorted to a changing room.

"This is unnecessary," she said, stiff.

Mateo sat on a plush ottoman and crossed his legs, waiting, brow raised. "First General of the Dragon Court, I'm filthy rich. Indulge me."

He paid for the dress and insisted she wear it, then advised the stylist to select several more pieces of casual daywear and send them to the hotel suite. Mateo insisted they had to go to dinner since she was in a dress and he was hungry at any rate, sweeping her up into his glittering, frenetic energy. Calla decided not to make a fuss about the dress and just enjoy the experience. Hadn't she and General Takoda discussed this very thing? Romance. Kinship. A night out with a man who potentially understood her.

The first night in a very, very long time.

People clearly recognized Mateo, and when their eyes slid to Calla, they were full of jealousy or longing. She wasn't sure what drove so many people to worship him. He was a man of depths… but he hadn't shown that to his fans, had he? They only knew the jubilant rock star that hopped across the stage under cascading lights.

"Oh. My. God. I need to take a selfie!" A young woman broke off from a group of three friends to rush to Mateo's side, phone in hand. Mateo held his arm out, cradling her like one might a lover, and posed broodingly for the camera, his hair draped artfully over his shoulder. A shadow of a beard on his jaw gave him a rakish look, and Calla swore he'd darkened his lashes in the restroom with mascara.

The phone flashed and the woman squealed as she checked it. "Thank you! I am your biggest fan."

Mateo's hand never left Calla, though for all the presence she had, she may as well have been invisible. Mateo winked at the woman and fished in his back pocket, producing a handful of business cards. "Only my biggest fans get backstage passes," he said. "Give that number a call so I can see you at the next show."

"Ho-Ly. Shit." The woman accepted the cards reverently. "We will be there, I promise."

"You better." Mateo pulled Calla closer, slinging his arm around her waist as they moved past his frantic fans. She shook her head.

"Why don't you make them look past you?" Like he had during their fight. All this attention seemed contrary to the danger Mateo said they were in.

He snorted. "I can't maintain a glamour forever. What am I, Superman?"

Well, at least he had some limitations. She had wondered.

A musical tone burst from Mateo's pocket and he frowned. The arm around her waist hardened. With a wave of his hand, the glamour they discussed tingled over her skin. Calla saw the change immediately. People simply… didn't notice them. Mateo answered the phone with a clipped voice, all business, and the extended silence that followed made Calla's blood run cold.

* * *

Mateo's face darkened as he hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket. Powyr ignited around him, licking at Calla's skin like invisible fire. Her flesh prickled, hairs lifting as a new sense of fear settled. She grabbed his hand, wanting his focus and dreading it at the same time. Mateo's eyes flicked to her and narrowed. He was primed, all predator, seeking his prey. His pupils widened on her and Calla realized this phone call would change her life.

For a few hours, she'd let herself forget about war and kidnapping, just enjoying a night out in a way she'd never experienced before. And now, as that gentle comfort came crashing down, Calla was once again ready to go to battle.

She'd only been in this city for a day. General Takoda needed a few at least before he or his agents could reach her—she was under no illusion he hadn't been able to triangulate her location. Though she hadn't ordered a retrieval team, she knew him well enough—he'd sent one. The time to get as much useful information out of Mateo was slipping away. The more he was willing to tell them, the more likely the Delphina would accept Calla's request to bring him into the court. She needed to discover who this client was who wanted her head.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. The march back to their hotel was tense and brisk, which told Calla there was just as much turmoil in Mateo's head as her own. Had he received a threat from his brother? Kragen didn't strike her as the kind of vampyr to hand out warnings. He'd come into her room—her prison—to take what he wanted. Calla would bet anything that Mateo was inclined to be contrary to his brother regardless of the cost. There was no love between them.

Mateo deposited her into the hotel room like one might order a well-trained dog back inside. And that was enough of that. Calla pushed Mateo gently against the hotel door and grabbed his chin to force eye contact. He was lost in his head. Something needed to change before his client, or his family, came after them.

"Who called?"

Mateo's eyes fluttered closed. When they opened again, the vampyr red had receded somewhat. Calla decided to take that as a good sign. "The client."

"Give me a name."

He shook his head. "I don't know. Male, late forties by the sound of his voice."

"Vampyr? Human?"

"I don't know." He rested his head on the door with a thump and Calla released his chin. "Clients speak to my sire, or more accurately, their agents do. I don't usually know who they are." His voice dropped. "I don't usually care."

But he did now. Calla crossed her arms. "I need that name."

"I need to not make enemies," he snapped. "I'm working on it, woman." Mateo pushed off the door and Calla shoved him back against it. He hissed softly. She ignored it.

"No warrior can function until they decide who their master is." She narrowed her eyes. "Who do you serve, Mateo? Your sire or yourself?"

The look in his eyes sharpened and Calla stepped back with a nod. As she'd thought, Mateo did know what side he was on. Deep in his heart, he'd already made the decision a long time ago. Maybe the threat of consequences had kept him from admitting it to himself, but Calla didn't have time for self-doubt.

She asked, "So what's it going to be? Let me go or fill your contract?"

He surged off the door with a deep snarl and grabbed her shoulders. A pulse of powyr filled the room. "I won't kill you."

Well. At least they'd established that.