Page 72 of The Robin on the Oak Throne

Gen bit her lip, her eyes wide as she surveyed the space.

“I’m sure Colette would have you. Or Nate,” Kierse suggested.

Nathaniel O’Connor was a notorious werewolf alpha who ran Five Points, a nightclub in Chelsea, home to the wolf packs. He was also one of Kierse’s oldest friends. She’d been thieving for him almost as long as she’d known Gen.She needed to make time to see him, now that she was home.

“I can’t go back to the attic,” Gen said with finality. “And while I need to stop in at Five Points, I don’t know that I’d want to stay there without you or Ethan.” Her cheeks were pink again at the mention of Five Points.

“Want to see Ronan?” Kierse teased.

“No!” Gen gasped, then relented. “Maybe.”

Gen had confessed that she’d had a short relationship with Nate’s second, Ronan, a man of few words and many deadly looks. Kierse had beenshockedthat Gen of all people would be interested in a ruthless killer with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Or just Niamh,” Kierse suggested.

“Oh, please, there’s nothing there.”

“There could be.” And Kierse was certain of that. She’d had enough relationships with women to know the difference between friendship and flirting, and Niamh had definitely been flirting. She hoped that Gen explored everything she wanted to explore. Growing up the daughter to a madame had made her wary in a way that Kierse had never been able to penetrate. She hoped that learning these new powers also opened Gen up to all of life’s experiences.

Kierse’s eyes left her best friend and settled on Graves heading toward the downstairs study. She was exhausted and should absolutely go upstairs, unpack, and pass out for a few hours. But instead…

Gen cleared her throat. “Well, I should catch up with Edgar.”

“I can show you,” Kierse said quickly.

“I’ll make do.” Then she was hurrying up the stairs after Edgar and Laz. Kierse would have to check in on her beforeshe went to bed.

Right now, she followed Graves into the study. He was mesmerizing in the dim electric light. She was so used to the fireplace being lit, but it had been winter when she’d last been in this room. What she hadn’t expected was to see her case for the spear at his feet. Though he wasn’t paying the spear any mind. Instead, he was frowning down at a bouquet of red roses.

“Who are the flowers from?”

Graves plucked the card from the table and passed it to her. He’d clearly already read it.

Heard you were on this side of the pond and didn’t stop by.

Bad form, old friend.

—Kingston

Kierse tensed. “Is this a threat?”

“With Kingston, I’m never sure,” he admitted.

Kingston was Graves’s warlock mentor. They had met when Graves had been bleeding out on the streets of London, and only after Graves had proven he could survive had Kingston brought him on as an apprentice. They were still friends.

Well, she had thought they were.

He took the card back from her and set it amongst the roses. “Warlocks are never particularly friendly. We take offense easily.”

“You don’t say,” Kierse said sarcastically.

He shot her a look. “Kingston and I have been on steady terms for centuries. He wouldn’t challenge me oversomething this small.”

“But you think he might challenge you sometime?”

“Perhaps. But it’s not a concern for today,” he said easily, turning from the flowers to the case. “This is a problem for today.”

“The spear?”

---