Chapter 1

Chapter One

PIPER

Attempted murder was not how Piper liked to start her evenings.

Shouts were the first thing she heard when she walked through the Consulate’s front door. The polished oak reception desk, nestled beside the grand staircase that swept up to the second floor, was empty. Was the on-duty Consul already intervening in what sounded like an imminent fight between oversized, overmuscled idiots?

Speed walking and projecting unfazed confidence—she hoped—she homed in on the ruckus. Other guests of the Consulate made a beeline in the opposite direction, varying degrees of irritation on their faces as they cleared the scene. Piper zoomed past them and straight down the stairs to the basement. At the bottom, she drew up short.

The would-be combatants stood in the center of the common room. The one with the bone-rumbling voice that she’d heard shouting was almost seven feet tall, broad and beefy, with tattooed arms, a shaved head, and mean eyes.

His opponent was the polar opposite. If he was taller than Piper’s five foot five, she’d eat her boots. And that would suck because she loved her boots. They had steel toes and steel-plated shins, all the better to kick ass with.

“Where,” the smaller guy demanded, “is he?”

The short guy clearly wasn’t the fighting type, with clean-cut good looks and a sweater vest over his polo shirt. Who wore sweater vests? He was going to get shmooshed—and with no consuls in sight, it fell to Piper to prevent said shmooshing.

The hulking man-mountain gave his adversary a shit-eating grin. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Ether. Where’s who?”

Ether’s hands balled into fists.

“Hey!” Piper shouted, sprinting across the room.

Ether’s eyes snapped to her. His irises were black as pitch. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she threw on the brakes. Skidding gracelessly, she halted a long step away from the two males and tried to look calm.

“Gentlemen,” she said, not that either of them could ever be considered a gentleman. “What’s the problem here?”

Ether’s expression didn’t shift from barely contained fury, but his counterpart sneered as he looked Piper up and down. So maybe her tight jeans, black halter top, and ponytail of choppy auburn hair didn’t scream “mediation specialist.” Too bad for him, consuls didn’t have a dress code—or in her case, an apprentice consul. She could boot his ass to the curb no matter what she looked like. Theoretically, anyway.

She turned to Ether. “Tell me what the problem is, and we can get this all sorted out.”

He unclenched his hands, which seemed like a good sign until he curled his fingers like claws. “Shishu is missing, and Ozar knows where she is.”

Piper held back a relieved sigh. If Ether was composed enough to talk to her, maybe she could get through this without anyone dying.

“Who is Shishu?” she asked.

Ozar grinned nastily. “Frog.”

Piper’s head swung toward the man-mountain. “I beg your pardon?”

“Shishu is Ether’s cute little froggy.”

She swiveled back to Ether. “You havea pet frog?”

Ether gave a jerky nod, his ebony glare locked on Ozar. Piper cleared her throat. Ether was one wrong word away from attempting to tear Ozar to shreds over a pet frog ?

Clearing her throat again, she asked Ozar, “Do you know where Shishu the frog is?”

Ozar nodded, flashing his teeth at Ether.

She waited a moment. “Where?”

Another grin. Ozar patted his stomach.

Piper blinked. She glanced at Ether, who stared back at her with an equally blank expression. They both looked at Ozar.

“I’m sorry?” she asked tentatively.

“The frog was annoying. Ribbit ribbit . It wouldn’t shut up, so I had a snack before dinner.”

“You… you ate his frog?”

“I didn’t break any rules. No bloodshed.” He smirked. “I swallowed it whole. Wriggled all the way down.”

“You—Ether, no!”

Ether sprang at Ozar. Piper whipped a leg up and slammed her shin into Ether’s belly. He grunted as he went over backward. He’d scarcely touched the floor before he lunged up again. An animal snarl tore from his throat as his black eyes locked on Piper.

She froze. “Ether, let’s not?—”

He rammed into her with enough force to throw her onto her back and send her skidding several feet. As she rolled onto her hands and knees, Ether leaped again—straight at Ozar. With a roar of laughter, Ozar swung a massive fist, just missing Ether’s skull.

Jumping up, Piper grabbed Ether’s sweater vest, hauled him out of Ozar’s reach, and slammed her boot into the back of his knee. His leg buckled, and as he dropped, she looked up to find Ozar looming over her, lips peeled away from his teeth in an expression of eager bloodlust.

His hand shot out, and whether he intended to shove her away or crush her skull like a melon, she didn’t wait to find out. She dove forward under his arm and threw her full weight into his left hip while locking his ankle in place.

Thrown off balance, his monstrous frame keeled over. She straightened, half turning—and Ether’s hand closed around her ponytail. The next thing she knew, the scrawny, sweater-vest-wearing pushover had thrown her with the equivalent effort of tossing a sofa cushion. She hit the coffee table and the legs snapped, dumping her onto the floor.

Ether whirled back toward Ozar, who’d lumbered to his oversized feet. Ether raised his hands, his fingers curled. A sizzle crackled through the air—the feeling of magic about to be unleashed.

“Don’t!” she yelled desperately.

Ether went rigid. So did Ozar.

Halfway to her feet, Piper paused, wary of their reactions. Murderous berserkers didn’t normally freeze at her command.

Ether and Ozar turned, facing the other end of the room. Piper followed their gazes.

A man stood in the doorway. Menace clung to him like dark shadows, underscored by black clothing with leather accents.

“What are you doing?”

His voice slid through Piper like cool silk, rubbing against her bones in a distinctly inhuman way. His question was low, quiet, almost neutral—except all the hair on her body stood on end and a fresh dose of adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream.

Ether cleared his throat. “Ozar ate Shishu, and I?—”

“You shouldn’t bring anything here that you can’t protect. Don’t break the rules because you screwed up. No bloodshed.”

Ether dropped his gaze, not daring to argue.

The newcomer’s attention shifted to Ozar. “You’re leaving the Consulate.”

Ozar blinked vacantly. “What? No, I?—”

“You’re leaving. Both of you. Now.”

Ether nodded, not bothering to protest.

Ozar hunched his shoulders. “Yes… right away.”

Piper kept her gaze on the floor. She knew who this was. He didn’t need an introduction.

Ash. A mercenary. He was unpredictable, unstoppable, and extremely dangerous. Ether and Ozar knew it too.

She felt Ash’s stare sweep over her, but she didn’t look up. If she did, he would see her fury, and that would be bad. This was her job, not his. He’d prevented Ether and Ozar from murdering each other with nothing more than his presence.

It wasn’t until Ozar heaved a sigh that Piper dared to lift her gaze. Ash was gone. Ether shot a dagger-filled look at Ozar—his irises pale blue now instead of black—before stalking away. Ozar followed, neither of them giving Piper so much as a glance.

Alone in the room, Piper stepped over the flattened coffee table and surveyed the damage. Consuls were supposed to prevent fights, mediate disputes, and enforce the Consulate’s rules—chief among them being no fighting, no bloodshed, and no killing other guests.

Dropping onto the nearby sofa to wait out the fading adrenaline, she lifted her arm and touched two fingers to her elbow. They came away smeared with blood where the edge of the coffee table had scraped her.

Her father was going to be pissed.

Piper leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms—anything to keep from cowering. On the other side of the wide mahogany desk, her father didn’t soften his scowl. He was always scowling, especially when she was in his office.

The desk lamp lit half his face with yellow light and glinted off his shaved scalp, the other half obscured by shadows. He tented his fingers over the desk. “Explain yourself, Piperel.”

No one but her father called her Piperel.

“When I got home,” she began promptly, “I heard an escalating verbal altercation. There was no consul at the front desk, so I went to the basement?—”

“Why?” he interrupted.

She hesitated, then plowed on. “To approach the involved guests and ascertain the situation. When I found Ether and Ozar in a confrontation, I initiated a discussion of the issue at hand.”

A muscle ticked in her father’s jaw as he gazed at her with shadowed eyes. “Did your assessment note the likelihood of violence?”

“Yes,” she admitted, then hastened to add, “but it hadn’t gotten physical yet, so I had a chance to de-escalate the confrontation.”

“You attempted mediation.”

Her shoulders tried to wilt, and she forced them to straighten. “Yes.”

A long pause. “And then?”

“Uh, well…” Her voice lost confidence. “Ether attacked Ozar.”

“And you?”

“I… tried to stop him.”

An even longer moment of silence passed. She bit her tongue against the defensive explanations that wanted to bubble out of her.

Someday she would love to have an actual personal conversation with her father. But Quinn Griffiths didn’t do personal. He only did business. He was the Head Consul, the ultimate authority in all Consulate matters, and “parenting” came in on his skills list somewhere below unarmed combat and above flower arrangement. Not that far above.

“Piperel.” He leaned back in his seat and pressed his fingers into his temples, eyes closing and mouth thinning into a severe line. “Why did you jump into the middle of a fight between two daemons?”

“Because it’s a consul’s job to enforce the Consulate’s rules, which includes no bloodshed.”

He opened his eyes, and the weight of his disapproval pushed down on her limbs, making her feel trapped.

“The Consulate isn’t just an embassy for daemons,” she rushed to add. “It’s also a sanctuary, and that’s why consuls have to ensure daemons aren’t attacked while they’re here.”

“But you are not a consul.”

His cold statement was like a hammer coming down on her sternum. She sucked in a rough breath.

“Not only are you not a consul,” he went on, “but you are also a seventeen-year-old girl who inserted herself into a fight between two enraged daemons who were fully capable of defending themselves without your help.”

“But consuls are supposed to?—”

“You are not a consul, and you must never engage in combat with daemons under any circumstances. You cannot defend yourself.”

She stiffened. “I didn’t do that bad at?—”

“You have no magic.”

Another verbal blow, this one cracking her ribs and leaving her chest hollow and empty.

“You have no magic,” he repeated, as though this fact might not have sunk into her brain—as though her lack of magical power hadn’t been sabotaging her every effort to become a consul for years. “Did your reckless attempt to end the altercation succeed?”

This time she couldn’t stop her shoulders from sagging forward. “No.”

“How did it end?”

Admitting it was physically painful, but she forced the words out. “Another daemon stopped it.”

“Another daemon,” he echoed, letting the words simmer in the air.

“Daemons often police themselves,” she reminded him, trying not to sound desperate. “It’s one of the reasons?—”

Quinn spoke right over her. “Not just any daemon, but one of the daemons the Consulates exist to protect the community from.” He let out a long, weary breath. “You claim you want nothing more than to be a consul, but the only skill you’ve mastered is jumping blindly into fights. A consul’s job is to prevent fights. We are mediators, not ruffians.”

Jaw clenched, Piper stared at her knees.

“Please refrain from starting fights with any more guests today. I have enough to deal with already.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Speaking of which, the daemon delegates will arrive in less than two hours. As we discussed, I expect you to be upstairs before they arrive—and to remain upstairs.”

“Okay,” she muttered, knowing better than to protest.

“I will also be—” A loud rap on the office door interrupted Quinn. His mouth thinned again. “Yes?”

The door opened, revealing Consul Wade. His skin was bleached of color. “Sir, we have a problem.”

“I’ll be finished here in?—”

“You need to see this now.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. He pushed back from his desk. “Piperel, you should head to the sparring gym. Your session with Calder starts soon.”

Just like that, she’d been dismissed.

She didn’t bother to reply as Quinn strode out, leaving her alone in his office. She stared broodingly at the tall bookshelves behind his desk. Anxiety churned through her.

You have no magic.

The words ricocheted inside her head, puncturing every hope and dream of a future here at the Consulate. It didn’t matter how many black belts she had, how many weapons she could wield, or even how amazing—or not so amazing—her mediation skills were. All Quinn saw was a weak, helpless, magicless daughter who couldn’t defend herself.

Teeth grinding, she shoved to her feet and stalked out of the office. Magic or no magic, she would prove to her father that she was fit for the role of a consul. No more mistakes, no more unnecessary fights, and no more bullshit interventions from Ash or any other daemon. She couldn’t give her father another reason to strip her apprenticeship away and crush her dreams forever.