Chapter 4

Midas stood watch over Hadley while she slept, a smile tickling his cheek at how she had sandwiched the hand wearing her engagement ring between her stomach and the mattress like she worried a jewel thief might strike if she took her eyes off it.

Facedown on the duvet, feet hanging off the bed, she couldn't have been comfortable. As much as he wanted to remove her shoes and cover her with a blanket, he didn't dare. She hadn't slept a wink since discovering the archive, and she was beyond what energy drinks, coffee, and chocolate could do for her.

She pushed herself to her limits, over and over again, before smashing through them. He admired her vision for a better Atlanta, but he woke in cold sweats some days too, terrified of losing her to ambition.

Perched on the edge of the mattress sat her shadow, a reminder of how driven Hadley could be, for better or worse. His focus on his host was absolute, and that worried Midas even more.

He might smile and toss Ambrose treats, but Midas respected the threat Ambrose posed to Hadley.

Returning to the living room, he finished his business via text so as not to disturb her.

Ford topped his list.

>Progress report.

>>Don't call it that. Gives me flashbacks to third grade and those envelopes my teachers sent home every quarter. Mrs. Vidalia drew these smiley faces in the zeros when someone scored a one hundred on a quiz.

>>I never got one, by the way. She hoarded them like a miserly dragon. She probably bled red ink.

>Okay, update? And I don't mean on your life's story.

>>The drones are loaded. Bishop drew sigils on my truck that damn well better wash off. He says it'll get me into the Faraday parking deck without the coven taking notice. It better. Or I'm going to charge him for a new paint job.

>Text when you get here. I'll help you unload them.

>>Sure thing.

Next, he moved on to Bishop.

>I hear you owe Ford a paint job.

>>He's such a whiner.

>On your way?

Anyone else would have caught a lift with Ford, but Bishop had his own means of travel.

>>Already downstairs.

His method of transportation was an OPA secret, or maybe a Bishop secret, but it impressed the hell out of Midas every time he witnessed it, even without knowing how it worked.

>Hadley is sleeping.

>>Thank the gods. The kid's been a zombie for days.

>>When was the last time you slept?

>Three days ago, maybe?

Midas was afraid to close his eyes out of fear Hadley would slip off without him. To protect him.

>>I can run the OPA from downstairs. We'll handle things for a bit. You two rest. We need you fresh.

>Okay.

>Thanks.

The urge to rip out Bishop's throat still came and went with surprising regularity, but Midas did his best to ignore the impulse. For Hadley's sake. Both halves of his nature had trouble forgiving her closest OPA ally for blowing her up, tranqing her, and otherwise abusing her person. That he acted on her command didn't make it any better. Hadley gave too much, and Midas worried one day Bishop would help her give it all away.

* * *

"You're too fae."

"Mmm?" Midas rolled toward the drowsy voice, his hands finding Hadley's familiar curves in the dark. "Fae?"

"I slept for thirty hours." She kicked him in the shin. "Not thirty minutes."

A smile curved his lips as she kicked him again for good measure. "Oh?"

"See?" She huffed. "Fae." She snuggled in closer. "Always looking for a loophole."

"You were exhausted."

"I was exhausted."

"Did you just agree with me?" Surprise snapped his eyes open. "Who are you, and where is my mate?"

"Drama king." She chuckled, warm and soft in his arms. "I can admit when I'm wrong."

Sliding his palms over her hips, he encountered denim. "Why do you have on so many clothes?"

His fault, he vaguely recalled, for leaving her dressed so as not to disturb her sleep.

"You're not going to like this part."

Stretching until his spine popped, he swallowed a yawn. "What part?"

Rolling out of his arms, she scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for the lamp. "This one."

Bright light flooded the room, and his eyes burned as much from that as from waking. "Ungh."

"Okay, and you're probably not going to love this either."

Narrowing his eyes to slits, he got a good look at her outfit. It wasn't the one she had fallen asleep in.

"You're dressed." He squinted to be certain. "In fresh clothes."

"You're the one who let me sleep for thirty hours." She clucked her tongue. "Had you woken me sooner, I might have had time for a quickie before work."

Growling deep in his throat, Midas tossed aside the covers and lunged toward her.

"Ha." She darted out the bedroom door. "Nice try, Mr. Naked Pants."

"I can't both be naked and have pants."

Hadley paused to consider this, and he sprung again, closing the distance.

"How dare you use logic against me." She twirled out of his grasp, threw the front door open, then darted into the private hall that led to the elevator. "Um."

Midas caught up to her, naked and aroused, framed in the doorway while he took in the scene.

Bishop stood on the threshold of the elevator, a paper cup in hand, his eyes on the ceiling.

"This is not what it looks like," she assured him. "We were just horsing around."

"I don't care what your kink is as long as you keep your stud in his stable."

"Bishop."Hadley gasp-laughed then snickered at Midas. "You've got to admit, that was funny."

"Yet I stand here." Midas resisted the overwhelming urge to cover himself. "Not laughing."

Gwyllgi weren't as comfortable with nudity as their warg ancestors, Midas less than most.

"We have eight drones left." Handing over what he guessed was a café mocha to Hadley, Bishop averted his gaze once again. "The coven is shooting them out of the air when they can catch them." He backed into the elevator, which had yet to close with him blocking the doors. "You two find a saddle, and giddyap. We're waiting on you."

To keep from laughing, Hadley rolled in her lips until they disappeared off her face, but her eyes danced.

Lunging toward her, Midas snapped his teeth, and she yelped with surprise that almost made him laugh.

As if he could hurt her. As if his inner beast would allow it. As if the man wouldn't rather worship her.

Bishop looped an arm around her waist and hauled her back into the car with him.

Midas glared at them, careful to keep the amusement off his face, until the doors slid closed. Then he shook his head and padded into the apartment. He dressed, brushed his teeth, rubbed a palm over his bristly scalp, and called it done.

He checked his phone on his way down to the lobby and noticed one of the enforcers who kept tabs on Ares for him mentioned she had filed a request for information on Liz's condition. Midas authorized him to pass along that she was well and safe. That was all the update they could afford to give her.

He also mentioned her being twitchier than usual, more agitated and aggressive toward the enforcers.

That was unlike Ares, the one he had known, but maybe her true colors were starting to shine through.

A text from his mother asked him to call after he woke, but first he wanted the full update from Bishop.

Downstairs, Midas found Hadley with Bishop, who had commandeered the enforcer's on-site HQ.

Bishop sat at the keyboard, Hadley stood behind him, and Ford leaned against the wall to their right.

Six enforcers, all captains, lined the walls, their expressions somber. They viewed the live footage Bishop had pulled in from the OPA camera feeds with dark gleams in their eyes. They nodded to Midas when he entered the room but then went back to watching the screens.

"Sleeping Beauty," Ford teased. "How will you ever land a proper princess without your golden locks?"

All of a sudden, Midas didn't feel bad he missed out on helping his friend unload his cargo.

"The only way a proper princess is landing near him," Hadley threatened, "is if I toss her out a window."

"Dang, girl." Ford whistled. "That's cold."

With a nod, she confirmed, "Ice water in my veins."

"Iced tea in your veins would be better." He rubbed his jaw. "What kind of vampire would it make me if I wanted a drink? A vampea? A teapire? How could you tell who was sweet or unsweet? Would it come down to types? Like A, B, AB, or O?"

"Stop looking at my mate like she's a Capri Sun," Midas warned, "and you're searching for her straw."

Ford huffed a laugh as Bishop cleared his throat to bring the room to order.

"What've you got?" Midas positioned himself behind Hadley so he could rest his hands on her shoulders and rub the knots tensing her posture. "That looks like the building next door."

The screen showed a single coven member flat on their belly on a roof. The man gripped either side of a rectangular wooden frame and panned it back and forth while peering through its empty center. There was no reflection, so no glass, but the carved edges glittered with a spark of magic.

"There's a man on each roof, forming a ring around the Faraday," Bishop said absently. "Four in total."

"All armed with those frames?" He leaned over Hadley's shoulder. "Any idea what they do?"

There were only so many tactical uses for an enchanted looking glass, none of them good.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was an X-ray device," Hadley quipped. "One that grants the ability to see through the building to who occupies each floor."

"Can they do that?" Midas studied the picture harder. "It's possible?"

"Science fiction says yes." Her lips quirked to one side. "Science fact, I'm not sure."

Whatever was in their hands had nothing to do with science, but her jokes made him smile.

On the inside.

Where she couldn't always see it.

Otherwise, his life would become a one-woman standup routine.

"There's someone I can ask." Bishop rolled his chair away from the desk. "I need to make a call."

"Vasco?" A hard line formed across Hadley's brow. "Again? So soon?"

"Who?" Bishop thought on it. "Oh. Yeah. Him."

Hadley once knew the fae's true name, but she had given it back to him, traded it for the sight.

All fae guarded their true names with their lives, but most held on to their chosen names for decades at a time. That Bishop had forgotten the most recent nom de plume told Midas that Vasco changed his identity with a frequency that left Bishop ignoring the whole production in favor of using his true name to summon him.

"Let me try Linus first." Hadley rested her hand on his arm. "He might know or have a best guess."

Tension spiked through Bishop's shoulders. They both understood what it cost her to make the offer.

"Are you sure you want that?" Bishop searched her face. "You hate leaning on the boss."

"Linus won't charge me for answers." She smiled for him. "He gives his knowledge freely, without cost."

Except for the ding to her pride.

"Okay, kid." Bishop pinched her cheek. "Go make your call."

The phone wilted in Bishop's hand, and Midas got the distinct impression he was disappointed not to have a reason to call Vasco. Their interactions might cost him, but he seemed more than happy to pay.

Over and over again, Bishop had turned to Vasco, and Vasco was always willing.

Soon Bishop would have to admit he was a gambling addict, as all fae bargains carried a measure of danger, or that he was in love.

Midas watched Hadley exit into the lobby, where there were fewer ears to overhear her conversation.

"That's a good one, right there." Bishop's voice softened. "She loves so hard one day it might break her."

A faint growl tickled the back of Midas's throat. "Why does that sound like a threat?"

"You're paranoid?" Bishop shook his head. "Goldilocks, if I wanted you dead, I would have killed you before she got invested." His tone rang with absolute truth. "She loves you. That means my hands are tied. I couldn't strike at you without hitting her twice as hard, and that I would never do."

"Same," Midas confessed. "She loves you. That means I can't outright kill you."

A chuckle moved through him. "Maiming still on the table?"

"I'm gwyllgi." Midas smiled, showing teeth. "Always."