that time too, along with a lot of other Lakota elders, in a fire at a tribal gathering. The police ruled that it was a hate crime at the time, but we know now that it was demons. We think Uncegila was trying to take out anyone connected to the Storm Society. Could the Malverys have been members too?”
“Maybe,” Darcy said, dubiously. Diana had told her about the Storm Society—a secret Lakota group who had been dedicated to fighting the horned serpents. “It doesn’t quite feel right, though. As far as I can tell, the Malverys don’t have any Native connections. Anyway, if demons murdered the Malverys, why would Lucy—Lupa—work for Uncegila now?”
“Perhaps she doesn’t know the truth,” Wystan suggested.
“Or Lucy isn’t Lupa.” Blaise folded her arms. “Sorry Darcy, but so far this seems pretty flimsy. Unless you’ve managed to track down a picture of this mysterious heiress.”
“Unfortunately, no. Lucy was just a kid when she inherited the Malvery fortune. The press were bound by right-to-privacy restrictions, so nobody printed any pictures of her.” Darcy brought up the news articles that she’d found, flipping between them. “She hasn’t really been seen since. For a billionaire, she’s remarkably reclusive. But I did find this.”
Darcy clicked her touchpad, bringing a large photo to the front. A woman in a stunning red dress stood with her back to the camera, ebony hair swept up in an elaborate jeweled chignon. Her head was half-turned, displaying an elegant, eerily familiar profile.
“Son of a bitch,” Rory breathed, staring at the woman. “Lupa.”
“Wrong.” Darcy scrolled up, displaying the headline: Ophelia Malvery steals the spotlight at the Summer Solstice Ball. “That’s her mom. This was taken over thirty years ago. I’ve only seen Lupa once, but I’ve got a good memory for faces. The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?”
“She’s the spitting image.” Joe leaned over, pointing at Ophelia’s bare forehead. “Apart from that. Look. No snake tattoo.”
“Mark,” Callum said. “The hellhound who attacked me last year managed to acquire one while he was in police custody, remember? It can’t be a tattoo.”
Joe waved the correction aside. “Okay, no magic glowing mark of eternal demonic allegiance, then. The point is, Mommy here doesn’t have one. Unless it was somewhere else?”
“If she did, it was somewhere discrete enough that society gossip magazines didn’t comment on it.” Darcy shrugged. “Look, I have no idea whether the whole Malvery family were secret Storm Society warriors, or literally in bed with demons. That’s not the sort of thing you tend to find in public records. I’m good, but not that good.”
“Who.” Fenrir’s voice sounded strange, hoarse. He pointed, not at Ophelia, but at someone behind her. “Who is that?”
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood half-hidden behind a group of brightly dressed socialites, his face in shadow. Unlike the other people in the photo, he wore a simple black suit, cut for ease of movement rather than style. Ophelia was turned away from him, laughing, apparently oblivious to his presence. But the man’s eyes were fixed on her as though she was the only other person in the world.
He knows, Darcy thought, looking up into Fenrir’s bloodless face. At some level, he knows.
“That’s Ophelia’s bodyguard, Ingar Jorikssen,” she said. “That’s your father, Fenrir.”
Chapter 33
Father.
His vision constricted. All he could see was the man in the photo, trapped in that moment of the past for all time, like a frozen ghost. He was slightly out of focus, features blurred.
But he knew that face, better than he knew his own. His hands knew the feel of that rough black beard; the shape of the smile underneath.
Run and hide, little cubs! Here comes the wolf to gobble you up!
“Fenrir. Fenrir. It’s okay.”
Not teeth closing on him, but hands. Small hands, pulling him out of the past. He hadn’t even been aware of Darcy moving, but he was suddenly in her arms, wrapped in her strength.
Her touch broke his frozen paralysis. He wrenched his eyes away from the screen, burying his face in her hair. He breathed in, concentrating on the scent of safety, of home, of his mate.
“It’s okay,” Darcy murmured. She pressed against him, holding him tight. “I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m not going to let anyone take you away, not ever again. You’re safe now.”
The shudders wracking his body eased at last. His heart was still racing as though he’d been in a fight, but he managed to get his breathing under control. He didn’t dare let go of Darcy.
“Better close that,” Darcy said over