The tension in the Valeblood mansion was palpable.

Downstairs in the living room, the heavy front door had barely swung shut behind them when D'Argon Lucien's father—stormed in, dragging Lily by the wrist. His towering frame was rigid with fury, his eyes burning with barely contained rage.

Lily, usually poised and smug, looked pale and nervous for once, trying to free herself from his grip.

Lucien, descending the stairs after hearing the commotion, narrowed his eyes. “What is going on here?”

D'Argon’s voice boomed through the room. “Where is *your best friend*?”

Lucien folded his arms, stepping between them. “Whatever it is, it can wait. Damon’s not—”

“I didn’t ask...