Creek tossed the basilisk scales onto Dominic’s desk. “How soon before it’s ready?”

Dominic picked up the scales and smiled. “Well done.”

“How soon?” He wasn’t that anxious to fight Annika, but putting it off was only going to make him feel worse.

“No more than a day.” Dominic tucked the scales into his vest pocket and nodded toward a chair. “Sit, please.”

“I didn’t plan on staying that long.”

Dominic shrugged and took a sip from an ornate goblet on his desk. A nauseating mix of blood and wine by the smell of it. “And your answer?”

Creek took a few breaths. And sat. “My grandmother is a healer. A very powerful woman in our tribe. She’s fairly well known in Seminole circles.”

Dominic nodded. “Rosa Mae Jumper’s power and reputation extends beyond your tribe, I can assure you.”

It shouldn’t surprise Creek that Dominic knew about his grandmother and yet, it did. The woman was a constant revelation. “She’s the one who gave me the scales. And the reason I’m willing to work for you.”

“Bene, bene.” Dominic stood and extended his hand. “I am not such a monster as you think I am. You will see.”

Creek hoped that was the truth. He shook the vampire’s hand, inwardly cringing at the man’s cold touch. At least Dominic knew Creek hadn’t made the decision to work for him alone. And if Dominic really knew Mawmaw, he’d think twice about the kind of work he gave Creek to do. “When should I be back?”

“I’ll bring it to you.” Dominic arched a brow. “I’d like to keep an eye on my investment.”

And so it began. “You know where I live? Little Havana. The old machine shop near—”

“Sixteenth Avenue. I know the place.” He gave Creek a curious look. “I’ll be quick.” He checked his watch. “No more than three hours from now. Will you be ready?”

Creek nodded, but even that felt like a lie. “See you then.”

As soon as he got outside, he sat on his bike and took out his phone to text Annika. My place in three hours.

He tucked the phone into his pocket and pulled on his helmet, revving the bike’s engine as he glanced over his shoulder for traffic. His pocket vibrated before he could take off. He dragged the phone out again and checked the screen.

Annika had already texted him back: Done.

When he arrived home, he knew why her answer had come so quickly. She was already there, perched on the steps leading up to the sleeping loft. “Have you made your decision then? I assume that’s what you called me here for.”

He nodded. “I have.” He took a breath. “I choose to fight.” The exhale came easier. “I have no desire to fight you. None. But I want my freedom more.” He shook his head. “I can’t do this job anymore. I can’t.”

She nodded. “I know. You’re a good man, Creek. The Kubai Mata wouldn’t have selected you if you weren’t.” For an instant, the corners of her mouth turned up in a miserable smile, and then the expression vanished. “When do you want to do this?”

He turned enough so that he didn’t have to look at her. He felt like he was betraying a friend. “Tonight.”

“You’ll need a second.”

“A second?”

“Someone to stand with you.”

Dominic would be here, but he didn’t want to be indebted to him any more than he already would be and there wasn’t anyone else he wanted to witness what was about to happen. “I’m fine alone.”

She shook her head slowly. “You have to have one.”

“Why? Is it part of the rules?”

“No,” she said, the tone of her voice almost painful. “It’s so someone can take care of your body.”

Chapter Forty-four

Chrysabelle knew her mouth hung open, but didn’t care. “You’re my father?”

“Yes,” Michael answered.

“That’s why I was able to enter the Garden, isn’t it? Because I’m not completely human.”

Michael nodded. “The angelic heritage is also what makes comarré blood so irresistible to vampires, and why, to vampires, comarré glow.”

Behind her, Mal made a sound of disbelief.

“So you and my mother were… that is…” She shook her head, mostly to empty it of the images starting to form there.

“No.” His gentle smile eased her discomfort. “Conception was never physical. That’s not necessary for my kind.”

“Did my mother know?”

“No. None of the comarré chosen to bear children knew about their angelic partners, or do to this day.” He looked at Mal. “It’s a necessary secret and must remain so. Can you imagine if the nobility knew the comarré living in their homes were direct descendants of their embittered enemies? The ancients would have every one of them murdered.”

Mal put his hand on her back. “So why tell us?”

“Because if there is anything you both excel at, it’s keeping secrets, and this is one that must be kept.”

“What about Damian?” Chrysabelle asked. “Can I tell him?”

Michael thought for a moment. “I would prefer you didn’t.”

“Again,” Mal said. “Why tell us at all?”

Michael sighed. “Because I will not be able to see Chrysabelle again after today. Her relationship with you… complicates things.”