Spanish though she was; Catalina held no concern for the country’s well-being (or, in fact, any other country. Perhaps Idris, in the past, but the Nephilim had rid her of that pride.) Only her clan mattered, and it was for her clan that she was the palace. It was easy enough to guess that most Downworlders in the area would be descending upon the court, and Cat didn’t intend to miss the opportunity. It was then that her eyes fell on someone, and her lips curved into a feline smile. “Good morrow.”
Squaring her delicate shoulders, Emma gave a slight bow of her head. Anyone with a fully functioning brain, would have known the woman standing in front of her. “Surprised to see you unaccompanied, where are all your friends?”











