Now that a craftsman was secured for Tyrone’s offering, Bria’s tension eased into a lazy, satisfied purr. “Very well, Omen. Prove your worth. Weave something worthy of a Great Elder, and the Nixon Pack will sustain you. Fail me, however, and you’ll find that I have very little patience for broken toys.”

Avery forced a submissive tilt of her head, mimicking a grateful servant. Bria preened under the attention; she enjoyed the sight of higher-rank souls bending to her whims.

“Remember the pact,” Bria warned, her eyes flashing with a predatory light. “I am not a patient female. If the moon rises on the Great Rite and the gift is...