Page 81 of Roguefinder

The pet looked between me and Caleb. But he didn’t walk away.

“I’d love to pitch a piece on Francesco’s career,” I said. “Signor Tesoro will need a new tenor to replace him.” I took another step forward and lowered my voice. “If you helped discover that person…” I trailed off, letting the pet fill in the blanks.

He hesitated, his tongue darting out to wet his cracked lips. The gears turning in his head were almost audible.

“I’ll show the program to my contacts,” I said, hoping I wasn’t pushing too hard. But the pet licked his lips again, hunger gleaming in his eyes. I’d dangled immortality in front of him, and he was starving.

“Va bene,” he said. “Follow me.”

He took us through the same entrance Alessia had used the first time we visited. Caleb and I exchanged glances as we followed him from one dimly lit corridor to another. My wolf fretted, its growl rumbling in my mind.

Easy, I told it. Carlo was unconscious. His pets were almost certainly exhausted from the previous night’s activities. The weakened man ahead of us was no threat. We’d get the program and leave. Once we were home, Caleb could use it as a window into the opera house.

It was a good plan—and one I should have thought of before. With something physical, Caleb could practice his gift whenever he felt like it.

The pet led us into a grand foyer decorated with the same opulence as the performance halls. Our footsteps echoed on the white marble. Sofas upholstered in deep red velvet lined the walls, which were covered in gilded mirrors that multiplied the room and threw our reflections back at us. Tasteful pieces of furniture occupied the spaces between the sofas. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling.

The pet told us to wait and disappeared.

Caleb crossed to a tall Baroque cabinet with carved wooden legs. I held my breath as he rested his fingertips on one of the doors. Several heartbeats later, he looked at me and shook his head.

I breathed again.

He wandered the room, touching tables and sofas. A Venetian clock with a painted lacquer case. Piece after piece, he came up empty-handed.

Frustration moved through my chest, the edges soured with doubt. The emotion flowed from him and puddled behind my sternum. He was trying too hard. Growing unfocused.

Footsteps echoed from the direction of the corridor. Fast. Too heavy and deliberate to belong to the pet.

Caleb rushed to one of the mirrors and touched the bottom of the frame. He turned white and sagged toward one of the sofas.

I reached him in two strides and pulled him upright. Pain sliced through my skull, the edge so hot and sharp that I just barely managed to stifle my groan. His pain, I realized. In locking down my side of the mate bond, I’d locked him out.

But now I could shoulder some of his burden.

“Steady,” I said in his ear. “I’ve got you, okay?”

He gave a shaky nod, already pushing from my arms. His jaw was set, the pain in his eyes hastily concealed.

A man strode into the foyer with the frail pet on his heels. The newcomer was human, his scent faint but present. Sunlight glinted on his bald head, which looked polished to a shine. Bruises ringed his thick neck. His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his black T-shirt, and his waist tapered to nothing before flaring to a bodybuilder’s swollen thighs.

The frail pet clutched at his arm. “Forgive me,” he wheezed in rapid Italian. “They said they would write about Francesco.”

The larger pet flung him off. “Idiota!” He swung back to us. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded in English.

I stepped in front of Caleb. “What your friend said. I’m a writer⁠—”

“Get out.” He pointed to the doors. “Now.”

Caleb’s pain and exhaustion tugged at my ribs.

“Of course,” I said, inclining my head. “We meant no disrespect to Signor Tesoro or his house.”

The pet’s eyes stayed hard. He said nothing as we crossed the foyer and went down the steps.

I put three streets between us and the opera house before I pulled Caleb into a vicolo so tight the buildings on either side appeared to touch above us.

“Talk to me,” I said, pressing him against the wall and feeling his forehead. “How do you feel?”