Moreau and his comarré stood in front of a blank section of wall. Her sleeves were pulled back and her forearms were together like a shield before her face. Maybe she was praying, knowing they’d come to a dead end. Little good that would do her.

Suddenly the wall split. A bloody secret passage.

“Like hell you do,” Tatiana screamed as she leaped toward them. She swung her metal hand up and into a broadsword.

“Blade,” Moreau shouted. The comarré handed him one; then he shoved her through the ever-widening opening. “Close the opening.”

“Ma-Moreau,” the comarré stuttered, eyes flashing with fear. “Not without you.”

But he turned away from her. “You.” He pointed the dagger at Tatiana. “We have business to finish.”

“Yes, we do.” She swung, catching the edge of a stack of crates and slicing through the bottom of one. Wood splinters sprayed over her, distracting her for a second.

He leaned back and kicked, connecting with her hip and slamming her to the ground.

“Come with me,” the comarré begged, even as she lifted her arms.

“Go,” Moreau commanded the comarré.

Tatiana jumped up, but Moreau leaped onto her. He plunged the dagger toward her chest. She twisted as it came down, catching the blade in her shoulder. Pain erupted from the pierced flesh.

The wall began to close. Tatiana shortened her broadsword into a weapon better suited for close combat.

“Damn it,” he snarled. “That was meant for your heart.” He yanked the dagger free and jumped back as she swung. “Next time, you’ll be ash.”

Blood gushed from the wound even as the edges knit together. She pushed upright to go after him. “I don’t think so.”

He shook his head and a second later, a wisp of black smoke danced in the air where he’d been, then vanished through the wall just before the opening disappeared.

Tatiana rammed her sword hand into it. The impact jarred her shoulder and reopened the wound. She turned the sword back into a fist. In all her years, she’d only seen one vampire turn to smoke. One lying, deceitful, comarré-loving vampire. Anger forced her fist into the wall again, dislodging chunks of plaster and stone.

How was it possible? She’d seen his death with her own eyes. Howling in frustration, she fell to her knees. Rage seethed through her at the betrayal that had just been measured against her and at the way she’d been played for a fool. “Next time, husband, you will die for real. And your blood whore with you.”

“Dead.” Rodrigo said the word like he didn’t understand it. He swallowed and dropped back into his chair. His jaw hitched forward, then back into place. “I see.”

Doc sat down as well. Heat radiated through him enough that he wondered if he should sneak a pill. “That’s why I’ve been calling you. I didn’t want you to find out through other sources.”

Still Rodrigo didn’t meet his eyes, instead staring blankly ahead. “It was a fair fight?”

Dammit. That was not an easy question to answer. Then Barasa did it for him.

“I’m the pride physician. I’d be happy to do a necropsy if you’d like.”

“No.” Rodrigo shook his head. “Her mother wouldn’t want her cut open. I’m sorry I asked. I have no doubt it was fair.” He exhaled long and slow, looking suddenly tired and deflated.

“You’ve come a long way,” Doc said. “I’ll have a room prepared for you.”

“That’s not necessary. There are plenty of places to stay—”

“I insist.” Sympathy for the man softened the edges of Doc’s frustration with everything that had happened. And maybe a little guilt. “It’s the least I can offer you. If there is anything I or my pride can do for you, we’ll do it. Your reputation as a fair leader precedes you. I would very much like to keep things good between us.”

Rodrigo nodded but sat quietly, his gaze focused low. “Perhaps there is something else you can do for me.”

“Name it.”

Rodrigo glanced at Omur and Barasa. “You are looking for a third council member?”

“Yes. The last one couldn’t accept me in place of Sinjin.”

“I have a son, the third born. If you would take him as your council member, I would be indebted to you. Things have not gone well for him in our pride. A fresh start would be good for him.”

“You don’t think he’d have an issue with me, considering his sister’s death?”

Rodrigo shook his head and at last made eye contact. “Each of us knows the way of the pride. No one enters a challenge without knowing the consequences. He will understand.” His hands loosened their grip on the chair. “Remo is a good boy. A little troubled, but good.”

Doc wanted to know what troubled meant, but asking delicate questions had never been his thing. “How… that is… what exactly—”

“His trouble?” Rodrigo laughed, a good sound to hear. “His trouble is women. Too many of them. They fight over him, create problems I have to solve.” He leaned forward in his chair. “If you knew how many angry fathers I have had to appease.” He threw his hands up. “They all think Remo should marry their daughter. Then they expect favors from me when he doesn’t.”

Doc smiled. “So Remo’s a player, huh? There are worse things to be.”