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“You know I would never.”

CHAPTER 4

FIRST MOON

Evening comes, and I head back into the city center. Word spreads fast that Marcus is looking for his missing heir. Midnight City loves gossip almost as much as it loves blood.

Sava drives me toward the Village to pick up the girls. They aren’t my friends. I don’t really have girlfriends anymore. But sometimes it’s good to have female company, and witches are the closest thing to normal, among creatures of the night. Weird, yes. Dramatic, absolutely. But still closer to humans than vampires or wolves. Spend too much time with one species and, sooner or later, you start turning into them. My vampire era did enough damage. Another few months and I probably would’ve started drinking blood out of crystal glasses.

The Village district belongs to the witches. Coven houses, apothecaries, occult bookstores, candlelit bars, clubs hidden behind fake flower shops. The architecture makes no sense, Gothic townhouses pressed between glass buildings and pastel storefronts with cursed doorknobs, but somehow it works.

The girls climb into the car, already buzzing.

“Did you hear about Julian?” Vanessa asks before the door even closes. “Apparently someone kidnapped Marcus’s heir.”

Mia falls into the seat beside her, grinning. “I’d kidnap him too. Have you seen him? He is so hot. I would let him fuck me dry.”

Naomi sings from the front, “Vampire, trust fund, six-five, blue eyes.”

They all burst out laughing and, despite myself, I laugh too. Two minutes later, they’re asking for stardust. I give them a little, because saying no to witches on a night out only makes them more annoying, but then Mia pulls out nightrush and starts mixing both powders on her compact mirror.

“I wouldn’t do that before the Moon,” I say, watching the lavender disappear into white crystals. “You’re going to lose control.”

“Come on, Lara,” Mia says, already rolling a bill. “Don’t be a buzzkill.”

Vanessa laughs and leans over her shoulder. “Why do you think we’re going there? To pray? Everyone knows wolves fuck better than anyone. Even succubi.”

I shake my head and pour myself one clean line of stardust. One hit to survive the night. By the time we reach the Moon, the girls are already glowing with bad ideas. Sava stops by the line outside, and we step into bass-heavy air, thick with perfume and sweat. My black dress hits exactly right, sexy enough to feel good, long enough not to look desperate. I’ve paired it with black boots to make me look sharper and less like a call girl.

The doorman lets us cut the line without a word; he knows me well. My phone buzzes as we climb the stairs.

Piro

VIP

Of course.

Inside, Moon shakes like the building has a heartbeat. Music tears through the space, lights flashing across bodies pressed together on the dance floor. The girls start moving before we even reach the VIP entrance, with hips rolling and hair swinging.

Security waves us through the black door to the VIP room where it is also packed. Wolves everywhere. Most of them are Caruso men. Caruso is Piro’s father. He is a wolf boss in Midnight City. His people all have that same dangerous look. My girls spread across the couches and begin their mating ritual.

Piro spots me immediately and rises from the center couch. He wears a crisp black shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his military-cut hair making the tattoos near his neck look even sharper. He grabs my waist and pulls me in hard, burying his face against my neck for half a second, like an animal greeting someone familiar.

He is high as a fucking kite.

“There she is,” he says, grinning against my skin. “My stardust girl. I thought you wouldn’t come. You never disappoint.” His gaze slides past me to the girls who have already dropped onto the couches with their dresses riding higher than they should. Piro licks his lips like the night just turned generous. “Come on, Lara. Don’t tell me you’re running off again. Have some fun for once. You can’t be so serious forever.”

He says it close to my ear, breath warm against my skin, but I barely hear the end.

Someone is watching me.

He sits low on the couch across from us, one arm stretched along the backrest. Black T-shirt tight over a hard body, dark hair messy, sharp enough to look expensive. Renaissance-style tattoos cover his right hand and climb beneath his sleeve, crawling toward his throat in black ink. Similar style to Piro’s, but darker, cleaner, more deliberate. He holds a glass of whiskey and stares at me with unblinking blue eyes.

Piro pulls me toward the table and throws a thick stack of cash down like it weighs nothing. A bottle-service girl appears with Dom Pérignon and Belvedere, all legs and practiced smiles. I notice the new AP watch on Piro’s wrist as he reaches for a glass.

“Business must be good,” I say, opening my bag.

“You have no idea.” He leans back, pleased with himself. “Father has us working all the time but everything is moving now.”