“Then we go to the estate first,” he said. “We gather what is left of the loyal guard.”

We left Toby tied to the industrial sink and walked out into the rain.

The black SUV was waiting at the curb, its windshield wipers slapping back and forth.

We drove through the slick streets of the city, the neon signs blurring in the wet glass.

Nobody spoke.

Bishop sat between my knees, his chin resting on my thigh.

When we arrived at the Draven estate, the iron gates were swinging open in the wind.

The guard shack was empty, the glass shattered.

“They have already been here,” Lucian said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He parked the car in the shadow of the weeping willows near the greenhouse.

We got out, the rain instantly soaking through my thin shirt.

We moved toward the side entrance of the stone mansion, Bishop leading the way.

The dog stopped at the threshold, his tail stiff, his nose sniffing the damp air.

“Inside,” I whispered.

We walked into the grand foyer.

The crystal chandelier overhead was turned off, leaving the room in deep shadow.