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Xhex’s earpiece went off, and when the bar-area bouncer stopped talking she said, “Good, bring him in.”

A split second later there was a knock on the door. When she answered it, her subordinate was front and center with the redheaded vampire who’d given the kid the gun.

“Thanks, Mac.”

“No problem, boss. I’m back out by the bar.”

She shut the door and eyed the redhead. He was past his transition, but not by much: He carried himself like he didn’t have a good sense of his size yet.

As he put his hand into the inside pocket of his suede blazer, she said, “You take out anything other than ID and I will personally put you on a stretcher.”

He paused. “It’s his ID.”

“He already showed me.”

“Not his real one.” The guy extended his hand. “This is his real one.”

Xhex took the laminated card and scanned the Old Language characters that were beneath a recent photo. Then she looked at the boy. He refused to meet her eyes; just sat there wrapped around himself, looking as if he wished he could be swallowed whole by the chair he was on.

“Shit.”

“I was told to show this as well,” the redhead said. He handed over a thick piece of paper that was folded into a square and sealed with black wax. When she got a load of the insignia, she wanted to curse again.

The royal crest.

She read the damn letter. Twice. “Mind if I keep this, Red?”

“No. Please do.”

As she folded it back up she asked, “You got ID?”

“Yeah.” Another laminated card came at her.

She checked it out, then gave both cards back. “Next time you come here, you don’t wait in the line. You go up to the bouncer and you say my name. I’ll come get you.” She picked up the gun. “This yours or his?”

“Mine. But I think I’d rather him have it. He’s a better shot.”

She slammed the clip back into the butt of the Glock and put it out toward the silent kid, muzzle down. His hand didn’t shake as he took it from her, but the thing looked way too big for him to handle. “Don’t use it in here unless you have to defend yourself. We clear?”

The kid nodded once, lifted his ass from the seat, and disappeared the semi into the pocket she’d taken it out of.

God…damnit. He was no mere pretrans. According to his ID this was Tehrror, son of the Black Dagger warrior Darius. Which meant she had to see to it that nothing happened to him on her watch. Last thing she and Rehv needed was the kid turning up damaged on ZeroSum property.

Great. This was like having a crystal vase in a locker room full of rugby players.

And to top it off, he was mute.

She shook her head. “Well, Blaylock, son of Rocke, you look after him, and we will, too.”

As the redhead nodded, the kid finally lifted his face to her, and for some reason his brilliant blue stare made her uncomfortable. Jesus…he was old. In his eyes he was an ancient, and she was momentarily stunned.

Clearing her throat, she turned and went to the door. As she opened the thing, the redhead said, “Wait, what’s your name?”

“Xhex. Drop it anywhere in this club and I’ll find you in a heartbeat. It’s my job.”

As the door shut, John decided that humiliation was like ice cream: It came in a lot of different flavors, gave you the chills, and made you want to cough.

Talk about Rocky Road. Right now he was choking on the shit.

Coward. God, was it so obvious? She didn’t even know him and she got him right. He absolutely was a coward. A weak coward whose dead had not been avenged, who had no voice, and whose body was nothing even a ten-year-old would envy.

Blay shuffled his big feet, his boots making a soft noise that seemed as loud as someone yelling in the small room. “John? You want to go home?”

Oh, terrific. Like he was a five-year-old who’d gotten sleepy at the grown-up party.

Rage rolled in like thunder, and John felt its familiar weight ground him, energize him. Oh, man, he knew this well. This was the kind of pissed-off that had put Lash flat on his back. This was the kind of viciousness that had had John beating that kid’s face in until the tile