Anteros barely had a second to contemplate the consequences of Crazy A being alive before he’d descended the stairs. Suddenly it made sense why Nikolai wasn’t surprised to see him at the docks. Frankie’s warning about Lucia already knowing he was alive took on new meaning.

They were working together.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Anteros said, attempting to keep his cool. “I thought you were at the bottom of a river.”

Anteros had planned—okay, hoped—for Lucia and Nikolai. If they got Lucia out of the way, he’d only have to deal with Nikolai. That would have been easy. Crazy A was more than a massive wildcard—he was the entire fucking deck.

“You’re alive?” Frankie gasped at his side. “And working with them?” Anteros looked at Frankie. He’d just gotten her back, he couldn’t fucking lose her, but if he knew Crazy A, that was exactly what he’d planned: revenge for demanding of him what he couldn’t do himself.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that,” Nikolai said, sounding bored.

Frankie swiveled her head, looking at all of them. “But—”

“I just want you to have your happily ever after,” Crazy A said, interrupting her. “Like I never got.” Getting low enough to cup Frankie’s chin, he twisted her face so Anteros had to look into her watery blue eyes. Crazy A pinched the skin until it broke, then released Frankie with a harsh jerk. Her head fell forward and Anteros’s eyes burned when he met Crazy A’s twisted grin.

A small droplet of blood fell from Frankie’s chin, landing on the hardwood. From the very beginning, Anteros had been telling Frankie their life was not a fairytale. It wasn’t until then he realized the reason was to protect himself.

“Now that that’s over with.” Lucia exhaled and moved toward Frankie. Tearing his attention from Crazy A, Anteros watched as Lucia lifted Frankie and dragged her down the hallway she’d only just come back from. She threw her head over her shoulder, eyes wide and on his all the way until she disappeared into her bedroom.

A violent kick to the side made Anteros grunt and curl forward in surprise. He clutched his ribs and looked up to find Nikolai smirking. He threw Anteros an unctuous grin before skipping down the hallway and disappearing into Frankie’s bedroom.

“Get up.” Crazy A gripped Anteros by the elbow and pulled him off the floor, shoving him in the same direction, gun at his back. Anteros craned his neck, looking back to where Frankie’s fresh blood marred the once clean floor.

The plan was ruined.

Where before Anteros had been willing to die for Frankie, now he was beginning to think it was an inevitability.

* * *

Crazy A shoved Anteros into his bedroom, gun at his back. He barely had a moment to take in the memories and smells he’d suppressed before Crazy A was shoving him into the shower. He barked orders to turn it on and then the room filled with steam.

It was insane to remember Frankie at that moment, but Anteros was never rational when it came to her. The shower was where Anteros had first begun to acknowledge the severity of his feelings for Frankie. Foot on slick tile, he breathed in the steam and memory of her wet and naked and vulnerable. Then Crazy A hit him with the handle of the Glock and he stumbled inside.

“Scrub,” Crazy A demanded. Anteros reached for his body wash and scrubbed off the blood and grime. It was weird and stiff with Crazy A there, so he could only imagine what it was like for Frankie. He threw his head forward and grabbed shampoo, little droplets of water falling from his hair. The reason for getting clean was foreboding, like washing a turkey before dinner.

“I can assure you this does nothing for me,” Crazy A said, keeping the gun pointed. “If that was on your mind.”

“I never thought it did,” Anteros gritted, straightening to wash the shampoo out.

“You probably think I’m good at picking out dresses, too.”

“It was never like that and you fucking know it,” Anteros said, voice rising.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Crazy A replied, unimpressed, then added, “Make sure you get all the blood off. You look like shit.” A few minutes passed in silence, the only sound the hiss of shower and water pelting the tile. Then Crazy A spoke again. “If I know you, you probably planned to get captured.” Crazy A leaned against the shower entryway, gun still pointed at Anteros. “Probably thought you could take Lucia and Nikolai unaware.” Anteros didn’t say a thing, gritting his teeth, rubbing the dirt and blood off his skin. “It’s not a terrible plan. That might have worked. Too bad your plan didn’t account for the walking dead.”

Anteros took a little longer scrubbing than he normally would have, trying to rework the plan. Crazy A was right—they never could have anticipated him. Suddenly the water stopped.

“Stop stalling and get the fuck out,” Crazy A barked. Anteros stepped out of the shower, wet feet slipping and hair dripping on the tile. One question had poked his gut since Crazy A appeared on the balcony.

“Wondering how I’m alive?” Crazy A asked.

“Naturally.”

“You didn’t drag the river. You didn’t check your work. That bullet wasn’t lethal. It’s not how I’m alive, it’s why you let me live, but we both know the answer to that.” Crazy A grinned caustically. Once upon a time, Anteros would have dragged the river to find all the bodies, would have delivered bullets into each head to make sure they were dead, but Frankie had been in that river, drowning. Just the memory had his blood itching.

Crazy A pushed him into the other room, giving him no time to dry off. Drops of water slid from his body, seeping into the carpet. Even knowing Crazy A lived, he wasn’t sure what he would do if he could go back in time. If he hadn’t done exactly as he had, Frankie would have died.

It was a catch 22, a no-win situation.

“Make sure you put on the tux,” Crazy A said. “Tonight is special. It’s the most important night of your life.” A crooked, malicious grin contorted Crazy A’s cheeks. Anteros pulled out the first tuxedo he saw, slowly slipping into the fabric.

“If I know you,” Anteros said, repeating the words Crazy A had said as he put one foot into the tuxedo pants, gripping the silky material. “You’ve got something else planned, something Lucia and Nikolai have no idea about.” Hair still damp from the shower, he pushed it out of his face, waiting for a response. He wondered what was happening with Frankie, wondered what they were making her wear.

“Lucia just wants her fucking princess.” He bit the word off like unripe, bitter fruit. “Nikolai is so transparent it’s embarrassing. The only one who didn’t see that coming was you.” Anteros buttoned up a white dress shirt, staying silent. The fabric stuck to him along the lines of his muscles. “But you were distracted,” Crazy A finished, his last word sharp and acrid.

Anteros finished getting dressed in silence. He didn’t ignore the glare Crazy A gave him or the bitter words, he just refused to play into them. When his shoes were tied, he turned, ready for whatever was next.

* * *

With a gun to Anteros’s back, Crazy A marched him down the hallway back to the foyer.

“I’m not wearing this!” Frankie’s voice stopped him in his tracks. It carried out of her room, distressed. “These dresses are like my own personal dead canaries. Someone puts one on me, I should just run the fuck out of the mine.” The door was open but he couldn’t see Frankie, so she must have been in the closet. He couldn’t see Lucia either. He could see Nikolai. Leaning against the vintage dresser, arms folded, looking in the direction of the closet with an oily smile on his face.

Another reason to kill him.

“Sounds like your bitch might be dead before we even get to the fun stuff,” Crazy A mused. “You never did teach her when not to speak. Should’ve bought her a muzzle.” Anteros could practically feel the bones of his jaw grinding. One of the best things about Frankie was her voice, her tenacity, yet he knew it could get her into trouble.

Crazy A pressed the barrel deeper into his back. It twisted the fabric of his jacket and the rounded head bruised his skin, telling him to move. The distress in Frankie’s voice had him cemented, though.

“I had plans for you both,” Crazy A said, “but I’m flexible. I don’t mind shooting you lovebirds in the head right now.” Though it was like tearing the soles of his flesh from the floor, Anteros continued walking. He listened the entire way for Frankie, but he didn’t hear anything else.

In the foyer, Anteros got back to his knees, arms behind his back. Crazy A sat on the shoulder of the couch, one leg up, an arm draped over that leg. The gun was pointed lazily, but Anteros knew better than to think Crazy A was anything but vigilant. The man’s bitter arrogance wasn’t from laziness, but because he didn’t fear death. That kind of apathy didn’t make men easier to kill, it made their actions impossible to predict.

“Man, how the mighty have fallen,” Crazy A said. “Soon the Beast will be dead, and who could have predicted love would be your undoing? I know I never would have. All those years ago, you made it perfectly clear love has no place in this world.” Anteros lowered his head, focusing on the hardwood floor. He could faintly see the outline of his face. “You were right you know,” Crazy A continued, and Anteros lifted his head to see the Wolf raise his arms above him in a stretch. “Love has no place in this world.”

His meaning was obvious.

Soon Anteros’s love would be gone too.

As much as his blood raged to destroy Crazy A, the reason Anteros was on his knees was because Crazy A had already been destroyed—by him.

“I’m sorry, Alcide,” Anteros said. Crazy A jumped off the edge of the couch like he’d been burned.

“Your mind games won’t work,” Crazy A snapped.

“It’s not a game,” Anteros said. “I was wrong. I should never have made you kill him.” Crazy A stumbled backward until he was at the edge of the stairs. He ran the gun through his hair, looked left and right, then back at Anteros. The wild, fearful edge in his eyes hardened.

“That bitch ruined you,” he hissed. “You don’t even have the guts to stick by your decisions. You’re weak. You’re crippled. You’re fucking pathetic.” Crazy A closed the distance he’d just created until he was only inches away, gun pointed straight at Anteros’s temple.

“It’s not weakness to admit when you’re wrong,” Anteros replied, voice lowering to a menacing decibel. “I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.” He leaned into the gun, pressing his forehead to the barrel. The cold metal bruised the thin skin on his forehead. “I won’t be blinded by my mistakes,” Anteros continued. He had to say this, so at least if he died, the truth would be out. “I won’t walk around making the same error over and over again because I’m too fucking prideful to admit when I’ve been wrong. I was wrong, Alcide.” The gun at his temple trembled. Crazy A’s brows creased, his lips pursed. His eyes twitched like he didn’t know what the fuck was happening, then all at once he stepped off, pulling the gun away.

“Nice fucking try,” Crazy A said. He went to the edge of the couch once more, but no longer sat lazily. The gun was still pointed at Anteros, but his gaze was on the wall, stare far off.

* * *

It was only a few minutes later that Frankie, Nikolai, and Lucia reappeared, Frankie now dressed for a white tie affair like him. The left side of her gown was a strapless, scarlet satin. The right was sheer with glimmering ruby beads twisting from the neck down to the train, like bejeweled flames. A dangerous slit exposed her thigh.

She was stunning, but Anteros wished he could rip it off. She tugged at the fabric as she walked into the foyer, an uncomfortable crease on her brow. It was no coincidence she was in the Pavoni colors, just like he was sure it was no coincidence they were both dressed to the nines.

Instead of making Frankie get to her knees with Anteros, Nikolai walked over and grasped Anteros by the collar of his tuxedo jacket.

“Up,” Nikolai barked. Anteros exhaled through his nostrils, swallowing his rage as he stood. When Anteros was at his full height, Nikolai’s arm had to reach to hold him. Wordlessly, he shoved Anteros toward the library. Frankie gave him a furtive glance over her shoulder as Crazy A pushed her in the same direction. Her hair was still wet from the shower, like dark chocolate melting down her back. Her wide eyes were the only hint that she was afraid. She’d kept her cool even through Crazy A’s reappearance, strong and formidable. A queen.

Anteros had no idea what was going to happen, but he tilted his chin at her anyway, trying to reassure her. She returned his nod with an icy resoluteness befitting a warrior and turned around just as they entered the library. His love and respect for her grew even more; she would never stop surprising him.

Nikolai paused just outside the library, fingers biting at his collar.

“I’m going to kill her in your favorite place,” Nikolai hissed, too low for anyone else to hear. “You’re going to watch her bleed out all over your fine rugs. If I had it my way, I’d keep you alive long enough that you went mad stewing on the memories of her dead body next to your books.” Then he shoved Anteros inside the library before walking past.

They all had a different plan, a different motive. Crazy A and Nikolai both wanted revenge, but of a different kind. Lucia wanted her daughter. They had come together to get it, but Anteros was pretty fucking sure each thought they were going to be the one to get out alive.

He finally saw a way to fracture them, and through that crack, a light.

The library was exactly like he remembered, even the fireplace was glowing. The memories of finding Frankie curled up reading on the wingback chair twisted as Lucia stood next to it, fingers resting on the back. Crazy A standing on the very rug where he’d tasted her, gun pointed at her, was fucking wrong—like seeing sky the color of blood.

Instead of joining the other two, Nikolai climbed up the winding stairs toward the tops of the bookshelves. With only one arm to keep from falling, he leaned off the edge and threw books to the floor. One by one they fell with a thud. Eyes narrowed, Anteros watched Nikolai skip down the stairs. Making sure to maintain eye contact, the boy picked up a book and threw it into the fire. Then another. As each book burned, Anteros’s rage grew with the flames.

Anteros could feel Frankie watching his reaction, though not the way Nikolai was. Concern and worry practically poured from her skin, but he couldn’t let himself feel anything other than fury.

“That’s enough, Nikolai,” Lucia said as the boy tossed a first edition Shakespeare into the flames. “You’ve had your fun.” With one last gleeful look at Anteros, Nikolai dropped a book into the fire and stood by the stairs.

Crazy A eyed Anteros and Frankie. “Now the real fun can start.”