Chapter 16Ivan suspected things were going south when the fire alarm went off.
The hotel emptied of guests, but in their wake came some black-wearing guys—not firefighters. He had nothing against their fashion sense, but a group of eight men dressed that way usually meant they were up to no good. Hell, he dressed like that, and he was seldom up to something good.
“He’s in here. I have warded the door. No one whose blood wasn’t used in the spell will be able to get out.”
Ivan held his breath. The man speaking must be the great Wenior. He had long dreadlocks, his eyes kohl-rimmed, and he wore more necklaces and bracelets than any person should wear. His every motion jingled. Ivan sucked at telling age, but believed him to be in his fifties.
“I want him alive, understood?”
The men nodded
