She peered at him, curiosity brightening her eyes. “How—”

“Don’t.” He gripped her hand, holding her fingers so the contact between them was broken. “Please.” He loosened his grip. “That’s not a conversation I want to have with you.”

“Okay,” she said softly. “I understand.” She rubbed her thumb across his hand before sliding her fingers from his grasp.

She seemed saddened by his refusal, so he quickly changed the subject. “Didn’t the Aurelian say the way to undo my curse was to help someone for every name I bear?”

Chrysabelle nodded. “She did. But who have you helped?”

They looked at each other, each seeing sudden understanding reflected back at them.

“You,” Mal said, the thoughts in his head so wild they were almost impossible to believe. “Both times you died.”

The Seminole Nation bumper sticker on the truck parked outside of Creek’s place meant it belonged to a tribe member. Which tribe member, he wasn’t sure, and what they were doing here was another question. A chill shook him. Unless something had happened to his mother or grandmother.

He pulled his motorcycle to a stop beside the passenger door and checked inside. Martin Hoops, one of Mawmaw’s neighbors, slouched in the driver’s seat, hat tipped down over his eyes. He looked up at the sound of Creek’s V-Rod, leaned over, and rolled the window down. He nodded. “Thomas.”

“Martin. What are you doing here? Everything all right?”

Martin pushed his hat back. “Everything’s fine. Your grandmother just wanted to see you. Made you a pineapple upside-down cake. Asked me to bring her over.”

Mawmaw didn’t drive. Never had, but that hadn’t kept her from getting where she needed to go. Tribe members had a way of doing whatever their healer needed. “Good to hear. Was worried something might have happened.”

“Naw, old girl’s fit as a fiddle. Just likes to see you now and then.” Martin leaned back, his not-so-subtle hint about Creek’s need to visit more as plain as day.

“I was just out there.”

Martin shrugged, closed his eyes, and tugged his hat back down.

Creek got off his bike and walked it to the door. Which wasn’t locked. How had Mawmaw opened it? She had her ways, but picking locks wasn’t something he’d ever seen her do.

He pushed the big metal door back and got his answer.

Annika, shades firmly in place, sat on the stairs up to the sleeping loft while Mawmaw sat nearby on an empty wooden cable spool. They had obviously been engaged in conversation. On his worktable rested a foil-wrapped plate. The foil was pulled back and the cake beneath it had been cut into. Hell. How long had Mawmaw and Annika been talking? This was not good.

Annika got up to meet him. “Your grandmother makes the best pineapple upside-down cake I’ve ever had.” Behind her, Mawmaw smiled. This was worse than not good.

“She’s won a few contests with it.” He glanced at his grandmother. “Do you want me to tell Martin you’re ready to go?” Please.

She frowned. “That’s Mr. Hoops to you, and no. When I’m ready to go, I’ll tell him myself. You just go about your work. I’ll wait.”

Double hell. He raised a brow at Annika. Argent would have freaked over this. Speaking of which… “Any news on Argent yet?”

Annika shook her head. “No. He’s been declared MIA.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Actually, he couldn’t care less as long as they didn’t figure out what had really happened. He glanced toward the loft. No sign of Yahla. One more thing for him to worry about. If she showed up now… No, she wouldn’t do that, would she? At least Mawmaw was wearing her feather charm.

“Did you deliver the invitation?”

His attention returned to Annika. “I did.”

“How did she take it? Is she preparing to leave?”

“I don’t think so. She’s in mourning over the vampire.” Hard to believe Mal was dead. He’d never been the enemy the KM made him out to be. At least now the Kubai Mata couldn’t use him as a threat against Chrysabelle anymore.

Annika’s face lost all traces of pleasantness. “We need her to leave for achtice in three days or the window of opportunity will close. She must be at that Dominus ball. It’s the best chance to recover the child.”

“I can’t force her to do something she doesn’t want to. She knows her brother will be there. If that’s not enough, nothing will be.”

Annika pulled her phone from her inside jacket pocket and pressed her finger onto the ID scanner. It came to life, and she swiped through a few things, finally pulling up an image. “Show her this.” She turned the phone so Creek could see it.

The picture was of Damian. One eye was swollen shut and purple with bruises that matched those on his cheek and jaw. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth. Creek cleared his throat. “Is that real?”

“Of course it’s real. You think Tatiana’s throwing a parade in his honor?”

Whoever the KM had planted inside Tatiana’s, they were in deep if they were able to get shots like that.

Annika turned the phone around and tapped the screen a few more times. A couple seconds later, his phone vibrated. “There, it’s sent to you now. Go back and show her that picture. Make her understand the urgency. If you don’t get her to recover that child”—she glanced at his grandmother and lowered her voice—“your job, and all the benefits that come with it, will be gone. Understand?”