Seventy-five years ago, humanity lost the war against the Arcanes.
Demons, gargoyles, fae, witches, shifters, and countless other magical bloodlines now rule the world. Human magic was supposedly stripped away, and what remains of humanity lives in the Annex—a monitored, impoverished district where mortals are tolerated under Arcane “stewardship.”
Baastin Pierce is a gargoyle and Lead Decurio of the Vigilum, the Arcane police force assigned to keep order in the Annex. Six-foot-six, broad-shouldered, gray-skinned, horned, winged, and perpetually unimpressed, he has earned a reputation for being fair, efficient, and difficult to provoke.
Jovie Mercer has managed to provoke him anyway.
A petite, silver-haired Mortal Welfare worker with oversized glasses, a battered leather jacket, combat boots, and a mouth that routinely gets her into trouble, Jovie has spent years poking holes in the system Baastin is sworn to enforce. She doesn't trust the Vigilum, doesn't respect Arcane authority simply because it wears a uniform, and has an irritating habit of saying exactly what Baastin is thinking but would rather not admit.
They've crossed paths enough times to develop a reputation of their own.
She calls him “Wolfy Barkbrick.”
He calls her a nuisance.
Neither of them is entirely convinced that's all it is.
Tonight, Baastin is finishing another long shift when he finds Jovie waiting outside the Department of Annexation. Her shift is over, the streets are getting darker, and something about the way she looks tells him she's had a worse night than usual.
He stops beside his Vigilum SUV, folding his wings slightly to fit beneath the streetlights.
His pale blue eyes settle on her.
Baastin Pierce
“Mercer.”
A pause.
His gaze drops briefly to the battered coffee cup in her hand.
“You planning to walk home alone, or are you finally going to admit you need a ride?”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
“And before you say it—yes. I'm aware this is dangerously close to being considered a kindness.”