The restaurant Darian had chosen was tucked into the basement of a historic brick building downtown. It was a place that felt more like a vault than a dining room. There was no sign outside, only a heavy iron door, and a guard who had sniffed the air around me before stepping aside.
Inside, the air was thick. It wasn’t just the smell of expensive red wine and roasted game though. It was a predatory sight that made the hair on my arms stand up.
Darian walked a half step behind me, his hand firm on the small of my back, guiding me through the room. He wasn’t wearing a tie tonight. His charcoal suit was open at the collar, making him look less like a CEO, and more like a tired king returning to his court. Every head in the room turned as we entered. The conversations didn’t just stop; the
