Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“You can hide. You can lie. You can even attempt to fight back. But, I will find you. I will expose you. And I will defeat you. The promise I made long, long ago as a shaman–to protect the kingdoms from corruption, to serve Visata above all others, and to defend the innocent—still stands. You have been weighed and judged and been found lacking in every way.” ~ Nico
The plan was simple—on paper. In practice, it felt like stepping onto a tightrope strung above a pit of hungry wolves.
They would split up: Raphael would prowl the clubs, hunting secrets with a smile that would charm the knickers off a nun, while Nico would slip into the heart of the beast—right into Wolfgang’s office.
You’d think it would be in one of those casinos that looked like a mausoleum for broken dreams, but actually it was a building with broken dreams. Those so broke they couldn’t go to the mausoleums.
They paused when they reached the bottom of the stairs, standing beneath the flicker of a tired lightbulb that buzzed like an angry bee overhead.
The air smelled of old cigarette smoke, industrial cleaner, and the faintest trace of magic—an alchemical tang, like ozone and wild herbs, that always clung to Chaos territory.
“Don’t get killed,” Raphael muttered, rolling his cuffs with a precision born of centuries of feigning indifference and seduction. His eyes—a demon’s eyes, shimmering violet in the gloom—fixed on Nico with what could be called concern, or at least as much as Raphael allowed himself to care.
Nico flashed a crooked grin, the kind that promised trouble.
“Same to you, demon. And try not to charm anyone into a coma, yeah?” He hesitated, the words hovering on his tongue, words that would reassure his friend that what he needed to do wouldn’t mean he was any less of the good man Nico knew him to be, but he swallowed them down, settling for a two-fingered salute before turning away.
His boots made no sound on the threadbare carpet, but the city’s pulse seemed to echo in his chest with every step.
As he moved closer to the door with the red “Exit” sign over it, the sound of the casino seeped up through the concrete—slots clanging, voices rising and falling in a tide of hope and desperation, the distant bass of music pounding out a heartbeat that belonged to Vegas alone.
He slipped through the service entrance and out into the night, the air thick and heavy, sticky with heat and a thousand sins.
Akira’s name pressed against his ribs, relentless and insistent.
He could still see the way she’d looked at him—chin high, eyes dark with a wariness that made him want to bare his soul just to earn her trust. He’d known her for less than a couple of hours, but already she haunted him, a possibility that shimmered just out of reach.
Maybe she was a shaman, maybe not. Maybe Visata would let him have this one good thing.
The thought of her with someone else—some other male’s mark on her skin, some stranger’s voice in her ear—made his hands curl into fists.
He tried to shake it off as he walked, forcing his focus onto the job.
The casino was a squat, ugly building, all battered brick and flashing neon, wedged between a pawn shop and a nightclub that always smelled like spilled gin and regret.
A place that Wolfgang chose because he figured it was a place his enemies wouldn’t think to look.
He was right. Most thought his office would be in one of the fancy casinos or a luxurious house.
The sign out front buzzed and spat light, casting a sickly glow over the sidewalk.
Nico slipped through a side door, brushing past a pair of shifters in ill-fitting uniforms, their eyes glazed with boredom.
They would have been members of Kingdom of Claws based on the fur that covered their skin: one black and orange like a tiger, the other black and sleek like a panther.
Aside from that, they looked human, or as human as one could look with fur all over them.
Using his magic to conceal himself, Nico moved like water, blending with the ebb and flow of the crowd, the sharp tang of sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke curling in his nostrils.
He continued to navigate the lowest corridor of the ramshackle casino, keeping himself shielded from anyone.
At the back of the building, the lights were dimmer, the air cooler, and the noise from the casino floor faded to a dull, throbbing background hum.
Nico ducked down a hallway lined with portraits of wolves and kings—Wolfgang’s ego plastered on every wall.
He finally reached the door, a solid steel object that was completely incongruent with the rest of the cheapness surrounding it from the wallpaper, light fixtures, and carpet–all of which looked like it hadn’t been updated or cleaned since the 1970s.
He paused and used his magic to seek out anyone beyond the door.
When he heard nothing, Nico placed his hand on the knob and sent a bolt of power into the lock, clicking it open.
He turned it and pushed the heavy door open.
Inside, the office looked like the lair of a predator who’d traded fur for pinstripes: dark wood paneling, shelves lined with leather-bound books no one had ever read, and a desk that had been carved from a single, probably ancient, tree.
The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and oiled leather, undercut by something colder—a metallic tang that made the hair on the back of Nico’s neck stand up.
Some sort of ward. He worked through it, allowing his powerful shaman magic to unravel it.
He moved with careful efficiency, every sense straining.
The desk drawers were locked, but like the door, the tumblers surrendered to a whispered word and a flick of shaman power.
He rifled through papers—contracts, invoices, the mundane detritus of the king’s many enterprises.
The real secrets would be digital. He powered up the computer, wincing as the fan whirred to life sounding too loud when he was trying to be stealthy, and pressed his palm flat against the side.
More wards. His magic twitched beneath his skin, a low hum of energy that curled and twisted until the wards on the machine shivered and broke apart.
Wolfgang had spent a pretty penny on those wards.
Still, Nico was an ancient shaman, like the others of his kind, and it would take more than wards to keep him out.
He must have well and truly fooled the Chaos king if Wolfgang hadn’t attempted something that would actually be a challenge to him.
The screen spat out emails, files, encrypted folders.
Nico’s breath caught as he scrolled through message after message—Talulla to Azure, codes and dates, money moving in the shadows.
He snapped pictures with his phone, the camera’s lens cold against his fingers.
Sweat beaded on his brow and nausea rolled in his gut as he read the correspondence between the two rulers.
The way they spoke of the females as if they were nothing more than goods to be bartered or chattel to be sold made his blood boil.
And if he’d been angry before tonight, before Akira, reading the disgusting things Azure and Wolfgang had discussed raised that rage to another level.
He lost track of time as he sat there reading one message after the other, his disgust building along with his temper.
After one particularly disgusting exchange, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, reigning in the fury.
When he finally opened his eyes, his gaze darted to the painting on the wall—an oil of Wolfgang in full regalia, sneering down at the world.
Nico rolled his eyes. “Pompous ass,” he muttered.
But the picture called to him, whispering that there were more secrets to find.
He shut down the computer, having gotten enough from it, and walked over to the picture.
Behind it, just as he expected, was a safe.
He reached for it, already whispering the spell to crack it open, when his phone buzzed.
Ridiculous as it was, he could practically feel the urgency in the vibration of the device, or maybe that was just the energy running through his veins.
He glanced down, seeing Sable’s name. His jaw clenched as he read the text.
Room discovered. Wolfgang loyal. Getting girls out now. Will update.
For a moment, the office vanished. In his mind, he saw Akira’s face, saw the fear she tried to hide, the stubborn tilt of her chin.
Rage and panic flared, a wild, hungry thing clawing at his insides.
He wanted to tear the world apart, to find her, shield her, burn down anyone who threatened her safety.
He might have been a shaman, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own kind of beast living inside of him.
The type of beast every man has when it comes to his female.
Nico locked the beast down and he forced himself to breathe, to move. Sable was one of the best warriors he knew. She’d get them out. He trusted her—he had to. He sent a text back, fingers flying: Protect them with your life. Go to the safehouse.
He swept the room once more, making sure nothing looked out of place, then slipped back into the hall, every muscle tensed for a fight. He moved like a ghost through the casino belly, the lights harsh and unforgiving, the air humming with danger.
Akira. He whispered her name in his mind like a prayer, asking Visata to keep her safe, so he could make things right.
Nico told her she’d be safe with him and he’d keep his promises.
He’d fight for her, even if it meant burning down the whole damn kingdom to shut down anyone who’d been working with Azure.