Chapter 5
The room stayed painfully still after Jana’s confession. Marcus stood frozen, Isra sat shattered in glitter and silence, and Raven drew in a slow breath that trembled through the bond we shared.
She looked at Marcus with an expression that held no anger now.
Only truth.
And truth was far more devastating.
“Marcus,” Raven said quietly, “there’s something you need to understand before this goes any further.”
He glanced her way, almost relieved for a distraction from Isra’s heartbreak.
Raven didn’t soften her voice.
“Rene is dying.”
The words fell heavy, as if they carried the weight of centuries behind them.
They did.
Marcus blinked, processing, but Jana gasped, and Isra flinched as if the sentence were another blade driven straight through him.
Raven continued before anyone could react.
“If Cass and Constantine don’t locate the remaining pieces of the Pentacoris, he won’t survive. Every missing fragment weakens him. Every hour the artifact stays incomplete pulls more life out of him.”
Her hands shook as she spoke, though her voice stayed clear.
“The Pentacoris wasn’t just a relic Valerian collected. It’s entwined with my magic and lineage. And now Valerian is holding Rene’s life hostage to force us to find it.”
I felt the pressure of her grief through our bond, tight, aching, barely contained.
Raven stepped closer to Marcus, but not in aggression.
In warning.
“If any person, any broker, any collector stands between us and those fragments… Rene dies.”
She let the words settle.
“And if Rene dies, the clans fall. Every clan. Every balance we’ve held for centuries collapses.”
Marcus swallowed hard.
Raven’s gaze sharpened.
“So if what Dimitri told us is true, and you have access to the seller, or to the auction, or to anyone who touched the last piece, then you need to tell us. Now. Because this isn’t about criminal history or shady contacts.”
Her voice broke for a moment, just a crack, regaining strength.
“This is about saving the man I love. And protecting all of us from a war we cannot win without him.”
Silence spread again, weighted and suffocating.
Isra stared at Marcus with wet, stunned eyes.
Jana sat rigid behind her mother, breathing shallowly as she struggled with the implications.
Con moved to my side, his presence intense. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.
I could feel Raven’s desperation pulsing through our bond.
The fear of losing Rene.
The rage of someone withholding information that could save him.
Marcus’ polished composure faltered entirely.
His lips parted.
His shoulders slumped.
And the truth was coming.
Whether he wanted to speak it or not.
Marcus stood very still, eyes flicking between Isra, Raven, and finally me. When he spoke, his voice was more even than I expected.
“I’ve never heard of the Pentacoris.”
Raven nodded once, accepting the statement without argument. “Humans have different names for it. Old ones. Fractured translations. But Cass can show you a picture.”
I pulled up the image Julian had found and turned the screen toward him. Marcus studied it, his brow tightening as he examined the etched lines and curved metal.
“The pieces look identical,” Raven continued. “Each one is part of a greater whole. We need every fragment. All of them. If one is in your network, any part of it, we need you to be completely honest.”
Her voice softened, but her intensity deepened.
“The fate of this realm, and the man I love, depends on it.”
Isra’s breath hitched again.
Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, gathering whatever courage he had left. When he opened them, some of the defensiveness was gone. His shoulders slumped, hands lowering from their careful, polished posture.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
The tension in the room didn’t ease, but it shifted, ready for truth instead of elegant lies.
“Most of my work is above board,” Marcus began. “Legitimate antiques, high-value items, private collections. Ninety percent of what I move has paperwork, international approvals, verified sources.”
Raven tilted her head. “And the other ten percent?”
He hesitated, then forced himself to continue. “I do import the occasional supernatural artifact. Nothing destructive or forbidden. But if a collector offers a price high enough, and the item isn’t flagged by the empowered community, I’ll move it.”
“So you knowingly deal in magical items,” Con said, tone flat.
Marcus didn’t flinch. “Sometimes. Only when there’s no risk to anyone.”
I folded my arms. “Explain.”
Marcus exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t deal in goods with established provenance.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means if a piece is documented to belong to someone, if there’s a record, an owner, a lineage, I won’t sell it for anyone but them.”
Isra’s expression wavered, torn between disbelief and disappointment.
“But,” I said slowly, “if there’s no provenance…”
Marcus nodded. “If I can’t prove who it belongs to, then it belongs to whoever hands it to me. That’s the rule in my business. If ownership can’t be verified, it’s free trade.”
Jana sat forward, nose wrinkling. “So… sketchy.”
Marcus winced. “It’s not ideal, no. But it’s legal. And common.”
“Common doesn’t make it safe,” Raven replied.
“No,” Marcus admitted. “It doesn’t.”
He looked at Isra then, really looked, his expression raw, remorseful, stripped of the smooth charm he’d worn like a second skin.
“But I swear I had no idea anything I touched could hurt Rene. I wouldn’t do that. Not to him. Not to any of you. Especially not to you, Isra.”
Isra didn’t speak.
His eyes glistened, shimmering with a heartbreak that made the entire room feel smaller.
And as Marcus watched him, a new tension crept into his posture, a resignation, maybe even fear.
Because the truth wasn’t finished yet.
And he knew it.
Marcus stood a little straighter, the tension gathering in his shoulders like a man preparing to face something far bigger than he expected.
“I can use my contacts to find the piece,” he said. “If it’s in circulation, someone in my network will know who’s handling it.”
“It’s already for sale,” I replied.
He blinked. “Already?”
I nodded. “The listing went up a few hours ago.”
Marcus pulled his phone from his coat and began typing quickly. The screen’s glow reflected across his features as he navigated several protected channels. His fingers hesitated once, then moved again with growing urgency.
After a few seconds, he looked up at us.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is. And you’re right… it’s active. High-value. Unlisted seller. Anonymous bidding pool. Very private.” His jaw tensed. “I am not the broker, but I have contacts who can tell me who is. Someone in the chain will talk.”
Con hovered a step behind me, his presence constant and imposing.
“I want to buy that piece,” I said.
Marcus looked almost relieved. “That will be easier than trying to seize it. But… it will be expensive.”
“We don’t give a fuck what it costs,” Con growled.
The temperature in the room seemed to shift. Marcus’ gaze flicked from Con to Raven, then to Isra, then finally to Jana, like he needed to see all of us to fully grasp the gravity of the situation.
“Is this realm really at risk?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” I said. “Every supernatural being on earth is at risk. Valerian isn’t just a powerful warlock. He’s ancient, bored, and obsessed with control. If he kills Rene, he will enslave every living human, drain the empowered, and wipe out vampires and werewolves entirely.”
Raven added softly, “He wants domination, Marcus. And he’s closer than anyone realizes.”
Marcus’ eyes widened in horror.
Then he looked at Jana.
The shift in his expression said it all—fear, understanding, the slow sinking realization that this wasn’t just about politics or hidden bargains. This was survival. Hers. Isra’s. Everyone’s.
“Dear god,” he whispered.
Isra stood.
The sequined gown slid over his body in a slow, liquid shimmer, catching the dim light as he moved toward me. His makeup remained impeccable, but his face… his face looked crushed. The pain was stark, visible in every breath, every tightening muscle.
He stopped a few feet from me, searching my eyes through the glitter and heartbreak.
“Tell me,” he said, voice trembling but steadying with each word, “what we need to do to save Rene and our world.”
The question wasn’t aimed at Raven.
Not at Con.
Not at Marcus.
It was aimed at me.
Cassara James.
Death dealer.
Warrior.
The one tethered to the magic that could find the missing pieces.
I drew in a breath, calming myself under the weight of Isra’s gaze, knowing what I said next would determine the path for all of us.
And there was only one answer.
“We get the piece,” I told him. “And then we kill Valerian.”