Chapter 6
Isra’s eyes remained raw with grief and fear, but my attention shifted to Marcus. He stood near the armchair now, shoulders tight, fingers tapping once against the side of his phone. The polished charm he walked in with had faded. He finally understood the scale of what we were dealing with.
“Marcus,” I said, drawing his gaze. “You need to contact your buyers. All of them.”
He inhaled, bracing himself. “I’m a broker, Cassara. I can inquire, but there are no guarantees. The buyers or sellers might not be forthcoming. In my world, privacy runs deeper than loyalty.”
“I don’t care about their privacy,” I said. “They want to make money. That’s their priority. Tell them you’re representing a patron with deep pockets.”
Raven moved closer beside me, watching him carefully. Con remained still right behind me, a silent warning in every line of his posture.
Marcus nodded slowly. “That might work with some of them. But the ones handling supernatural items are cautious. They don’t like unknown bidders.”
“Then give them a known one,” Con said, his voice level.
Marcus blinked, confused for a moment, then shook his head when realization dawned. “You want me to use Dimitri’s name.”
“Why not?” I asked. “If it gets us the piece.”
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s well known in my circles that Dimitri is one of my buyers. He has purchased many expensive pieces. He was a favorite among the high-risk handlers. They loved him.”
“Of course they did,” I muttered. “Blood money spends the same as clean money.”
Marcus didn’t disagree.
Con inched closer, his presence grounding the room. “If using Dimitri’s name gets us to the seller, then we do it.”
I stared at him.
He stared back.
This wasn’t a casual suggestion. It was a decision he had already accepted as necessary. He’d walked into countless battlefields carrying worse burdens.
But this wasn’t a battlefield.
This was me being asked to play puppet for the one man I hated more than death itself.
“I would rather gargle acid than be Dimitri’s bitch,” I said.
The words came out bitter, too honest. Jana blinked at me in shock, and Isra managed a weak sound that might have been an almost-laugh if his heart wasn’t breaking in front of us.
Con didn’t flinch.
“It’s for Rene,” he said.
Three words. Simple. True. They stripped every knee-jerk protest from my throat.
Raven reached for my arm, her touch light but firm. “Cass,” she whispered, “if it were me, Rene would do anything. Anything. Even work with the worst of his enemies.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing the knot rising in my chest. Rene dying wasn’t an option. The clan collapsing wasn’t an option. And letting Valerian win… that truly wasn’t an option.
“I know,” I murmured.
When I opened my eyes again, Marcus was watching me with a mixture of uncertainty and respect. He didn’t seem offended by my earlier comment. If anything, he seemed relieved that someone else understood how disgusting this would be.
I stepped toward him.
“Use his name,” I said. “Tell your contacts Dimitri is trying to recover a piece he lost. Tell them he has a buyer willing to pay whatever it takes.”
Marcus nodded once. “I can do that. I’ll start by contacting the networks that handle supernatural items. They’re more discreet but greedy. They won’t pass up a chance to negotiate with someone connected to Dimitri. His reputation still carries weight.”
“Rotten weight,” Jana muttered under her breath.
Marcus’ lips curved into a brief, humorless smile. “Rotten, yes. But effective.”
Isra sat down heavily, the fabric of his gown pooling around him like a bleeding sunset. His makeup shimmered in the soft light, highlighting every tremor in his expression.
“Tell me what we need to do,” he said again, voice barely above a whisper. “Just tell me how to help.”
I knelt in front of him, my hands resting gently over his. He looked at me with eyes full of pain and fear and love, for Raven, for Rene, for Jana, for all of us. And for Marcus, even now.
“Let Marcus do this first,” I said. “If the seller bites, I’ll go in to buy the piece under his banner.”
“And if they don’t bite?” Isra asked softly.
“Then we look for another way.” Con’s voice carried from behind me, resolute. “We’ll find the seller. One way or another.”
Isra’s gaze drifted toward Marcus, who now paced slowly near the window, already scrolling through contacts as he began the process of peeling back layers of secrecy built by greedy collectors and shadowed traders.
“Marcus,” Isra said.
Marcus stopped immediately.
Isra swallowed. “After tonight… after this… we will talk. But right now, please help them. Help Rene. Help everyone.”
Marcus pressed a hand to his chest, emotion tightening his features. “I will. I swear it.”
He resumed typing, fingers flying across the screen with frantic purpose.
Raven leaned against the wall, her arms wrapped around herself, her violet eyes dim with grief but burning with resolve. Through the bond, I felt her desperation rising again, but underneath it… hope.
A fragile, trembling hope.
Con stepped to my side, close enough that his presence brushed against my magic, anchoring me.
“When Marcus gets a name,” he murmured, “we move.”
I nodded. “We will.”
I turned slowly and looked at the room—the heartbreak, the fear, the determination hanging over all of us.
Every life here depended on what happened next.
And so did the future of our world.
“Marcus,” I said, meeting his gaze as he looked up from his phone. “Make the call.”
He nodded once and stepped away to begin negotiating with the shadows.
And I braced myself.
Marcus stepped into the far corner of the suite, phone in hand, shoulders squared like a man walking into battle armed only with charm and hope. The soft lighting glinted off his watch as he scrolled through encrypted contacts, each flick of his thumb tightening the air in the room.
We followed, though none of us crowded him. This wasn’t a conversation we wanted to interrupt, but none of us were willing to be more than a few steps away. Too much rode on the next few minutes.
When Marcus tapped a name and lifted the phone to his ear, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
The call connected almost immediately.
Marcus slowed his breathing, settling into a composed calm. “It’s me,” he said softly. “I need information on today’s listing.”
A pause.
We couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but Marcus’ face tightened.
“Yes,” he said, “I know the auction isn’t public. That’s why I’m calling you.”
Another pause. Marcus paced once, stopping at the window. The city lights reflected against the glass behind him. Club Spice’s glow pulsed, competing with the heartbeat-like tension in the room.
“No, I’m not bidding for myself,” he continued. “I represent someone with deep pockets and immediate interest.”
His jaw ticked. “No. Not a new collector. Someone connected to one of my previous patrons.”
Raven and I exchanged a tense glance as Marcus shifted his weight.
“Yes,” he said, “that one.”
Dimitri.
Even hearing the veiled reference made my stomach twist. But if the name opened doors, I’d swallow the bitter taste of being associated with him.
Marcus nodded slowly, listening, his brow creasing. “I understand the hesitation, but my client is prepared to pay whatever it takes.”
He stood straighter.
“Yes. Whatever it takes.”
The voice on the other end spoke for a long stretch. Marcus didn’t interrupt, but the way he pressed two fingertips into his brow told me patience was costing him.
Finally, he spoke again. “Fine. Then give me the auction details.”
All of us stepped closer.
Marcus’ breath hitched. “Three stages? That wasn’t listed publicly.” He frowned. “I see. Only the final auction sells the true piece.”
He listened again, nodding slowly. “My client wants the fragment. You and I both know what it’s worth.”
His pacing resumed. “Submit my name. I’ll send the bid and the buyer details.”
Another pause.
A murmured response.
Marcus’ voice dropped to a near whisper. “Yes. Dimitri’s name. That should clear any doubts.”
He grimaced at the reply but didn’t argue.
“Understood. I’ll send everything now. Expect the bid in the next five minutes.”
He ended the call and lowered the phone, but he didn’t look at us right away. He exhaled, a mixture of frustration and focus flickering across his features.
“Well?” Isra asked, voice thin.
Marcus turned. “I have the details.”
We gathered around him. Con moved with me, as if we were one.
“The auction has three stages,” Marcus explained. “Two are decoys. The real fragment only appears in the final stage, reserved for verified buyers and high-level collectors.”
“Meaning criminals,” I said.
Marcus didn’t object. “Meaning the kind of people Dimitri used to run with.”
Raven’s expression thinned.
Marcus continued, “They will not allow entry without vetting. I have to supply your information, Cass, and an initial bid to confirm interest.”
“Do it,” I said.
Marcus held my gaze, as if making sure I knew what I was agreeing to. “Once I send this, you’re in their system. They’ll expect you to show up, identify yourself, and pay if you win.”
“Good,” I said. “Send it.”
He nodded and began typing.
We watched over his shoulder, the glow from his phone illuminating his hands. He composed the bid with careful attention, filling out encrypted fields for buyer identity, budget range, and intent. He added Dimitri’s name where required, though the action clearly pained him.
When he was done, he looked up.
“Ready?”
“Send it,” I repeated.
His thumb hovered over the screen for only a moment before he tapped the icon.
The bid vanished into the encrypted void.
Marcus lowered the phone but did not relax. He stood very still, watching the device as if it might detonate.
Seconds ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last.
Finally, the phone vibrated.
Marcus swiped the screen and read the message aloud.
“‘Bid acknowledged. Await further instructions.’”