The words hit Vincent like a blow to his heart. Hurt careened across his face for a split second, replaced immediately by ice-frigid anger.

Vincent the father disappeared.

Vincent the king approached me, rage rising in his silver eyes with every slow, predatory step.

“Ashamed?” he said quietly. “Ashamed? I gave you everything. I made you all that you are. I could have killed you. Many said I should have. And you… you say that you are ashamed of me?”

I was a decent fighter, but no one was as good as Vincent. When he grabbed my arm, I didn’t have time to move. And I was too shocked to, anyway, when he wrenched it, hard, and slammed me against the wall. He was so close that I could see every pulsing line of his Heir Mark, every glowing wisp of magic unfurling from each stroke of ink, just as harsh as the hateful lines on his face.

“What would you rather be, then, if you don’t want to be my daughter?” His fingernails bit into my skin, tighter, tighter—drawing blood. “Do you want to be my enemy, instead? Is that what you’d prefer?”

I had never, ever been afraid of Vincent before. I was now.

Because now, he didn’t look at me like I was his daughter. He didn’t even look at me like I was human. No, this was worse.

He looked at me like I was a threat.

“Let me go, Vincent.” I tried to keep the waver from my voice and failed. “Let me go.”

But maybe the waver saved me, because Vincent the king disappeared all at once, and Vincent the father was appalled with himself.

A wave of horror fell over his face. He looked down at his own hand, wrapped tight around my arm, red blood and purple bruises pearling at his grip.

He released me and took several steps back. He ran his hand through his hair.

He was shaking.

“Oraya, I—I—”

He wouldn’t say he was sorry. The Nightborn King apologized to no one. And if he was going to, I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say ever again.

A part of me thought he would stop me as I threw open the door.

But he didn’t.

There were more out here than ever now. With Raihn and I unable to come to the human districts since the Halfmoon, the place was crawling with vampires. They were lazy. Easy to kill.

Before, I’d found this satisfying. At least I could ease the unpleasant thoughts in my head with the plunge of a blade into a chest over and over again. Now, it just made me angrier. They thought so fucking little of us that they didn’t even think they needed to be careful. Whatever joy I found in the dying light of their eyes was fleeting, each one a weaker rush than the last.

I killed my fourth for the night in an alleyway close to the pub that Raihn and I would frequent. It had been a very long night. It was probably close to dawn.

I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not about any of it.

I didn’t toy with this one. I went straight for the heart. He was so afraid that he pissed himself in the end. I stepped slightly to the left to avoid the puddle at his feet.

He’d been going for a child. A little girl. He was preparing to go through the window for her. That was rare. I didn’t often see them ready to crawl into houses for their prey.

The body sank to the ground. I kneeled over him as he lay limp in the dirt, ready to pull my blade out.

He thought he was entitled to these people. Their houses weren’t homes, just dens to be rooted out. Chicken coops to stick his hands into and pull out whatever he wanted. Maybe the haze of death over these recent weeks had made them believe that there was no such thing as protection, no such thing as consequences.

They are livestock, Vincent had hissed at me.

Only now did it occur to me that maybe that’s exactly what humans here were. The human districts weren’t for protection. They were breeding grounds. Because it would be a fucking shame if no more humans lived in the House of Night, wouldn’t it? Just think of all that blood.

My knuckles were white around the handle of my blade, which still protruded from my victim’s chest.

This piece of shit felt it for five seconds. For five seconds in a lifetime of centuries, he felt that powerlessness. When it had been bred into us, tattooed into our souls, for our entire brief pitiful existences.

I was done hating myself for all my human weaknesses.

No, I hated them for it.

I pulled out my dagger, but instead of sheathing it, I brought it down again. Flecks of black blood spattered my face. Withdrew. Again. Again. Again. Each strike met less resistance as bones cracked and flesh parted.

I hated them, I hated them, I HATED THEM I HATED—

“Oraya! Stop!”

The moment the hands touched my shoulders, I whirled, lashing out before I could stop myself.

I came into this world fighting. I’d leave it fighting. And I’d fight to cover every soft spot or vulnerability, and right now, I felt as if my entire body—my entire soul—was a raw wound to be protected.

I wanted to fight.

But of course, Raihn knew that. And of course, he knew me well enough to counter my every move, until finally my back hit the wall, my arm in his grasp.

He bent over me, one hand to the wall over my shoulder, the other holding my arm, firmly but gently.

The relief in his gaze shook me. He jerked his head to the body, now little more than bloody pulp. “I appreciate your thoroughness, but I think he’s dead.”

His eyes softened as they flicked back to me.

I really did try not to notice, or care, that they drank me in the same way he drank in sunshine.

“It’s almost dawn,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He didn’t ask, Are you alright?

But I heard it in his tone, anyway.

I was not alright. I didn’t want such softness. It prodded too close to everything I was trying to protect.

His fingers shifted, encroaching on the marks that Vincent’s nails had left on my arm. They hurt more than a wound so small should have. I winced slightly—barely a twitch—but Raihn still saw it. His gaze fell to my arm. Hardened.

“Where did this come from?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters. Him?”

I hesitated a moment too long before saying, “Some piece of shit in the slums.”

“Bullshit.”

His lip curled. Pure hatred. As if those few little bloody marks were just as great of a crime as the destruction of Salinae.

I hated that.

I didn’t deserve to be defended that way. And still—despite everything—I hated to see the disgust on his face. I was offended on Vincent’s behalf.

I yanked my arm away. “You’ve done worse to me yourself. I’m not a princess to be protected. No matter what you like to call me.”

“I know.”

Two words, and yet, so much judgment in that expressive face of his. I knew how to see through all the masks now, and beneath it, everything was always laid out bare. Too bare.

“Stop,” I hissed.

“Stop what?”

“Don’t look at me that way.”

“How am I looking at you?”

I pushed past him. I didn’t know how to answer that. Too many ways. I saw multitudes in Raihn’s eyes when he looked at me.

“Like you pity me.”

He scoffed. I refused to look at him, but I could hear the twist of a sneer on his lips. “You think I pity you? I don’t pity you, Oraya. I just think you deserve better.”

That sounded a hell of a lot like pity to me. And if it wasn’t pity, it was something else—something more real—and that, I hated even more.

I whirled around. “Why are you here?”

My tone was downright vitriolic. It was undeserved. He had done nothing but be kind to me. But I only knew how to fight.

Still, the hurt on his face disarmed me. Then his jaw went tight. “I know what this is, and I’m not doing this with you. If you want to get kicked out of the Kejari because you don’t make it back to the Moon Palace before dawn, fine. I’ll let you.”