A brief grin appeared as he began picking up the empty buckets. “His Highness had roughly the same reaction. In my defense, I didn’t realize who he was.”

“So, he brought you back here?”

“I think he took one look at me and felt sorry.” Paxton shrugged, empty pails swaying. “I’ve been living with the Karpovs ever since.”

I had no idea who the Karpovs were, and I had a feeling there was a whole lot more to the adventure that’d led the orphan boy to the Shadowlands. I also thought about how the entirety of the mortal realm would be shocked to learn that the Primal of Death was far more generous and forgiving than the vast majority of humanity, who would’ve likely turned the young pickpocket over to the authorities.

Which was as surprising as it was disheartening.

“I heard about you, you know?” Paxton said, drawing me from my musings.

Tension poured into my body, causing the pain in my head to flare. “About what?”

“What you did last night—out on the Rise,” he said, and a tiny bit of relief seeped into me. “Everyone’s been talking about how the mortal Consort was up there, shooting arrows and killing those beasts.” Something akin to approval filled his wide eyes, but the relief was short-lived. “We will be proud to call you our Consort.”

 Paxton hastily bowed and left, closing the doors behind him as I stood there, hating myself a little more.

“Ugh,” I muttered. “I’m the worst.”

Tired, I wandered back into the bathing chamber and rummaged through the bottles and baskets on the shelves. I picked up a white compressed ball of salts that carried a citrusy scent that reminded me of Nyktos, inhaling the tarty notes of bergamot and mandarin. Lowering the ball into the water, I watched it immediately fizz, spreading foamy bubbles across the surface of the tub.

Rising, I quickly glanced at the mirror. The bite on my neck wasn’t visible through the clumps of curls. I turned, shrugging off the robe and hanging it on the hook inside the wardrobe. I placed a fluffy towel on the stool and took a moment to twist the length of my hair up, shoving a half-dozen pins into it to keep it dry. There was no way I had the energy to deal with wet hair. Air hissed between my teeth as I stepped into the warm water and sank down. Muscles I didn’t even realize were tense and sore immediately loosened. Knees bent, breaking the surface of the water, I wiggled down and let my head rest on the rim of the tub. I was a lot more tired than I realized, and I didn’t know if it was because of Nyktos’ feeding or everything else. Probably all of it.

My eyes drifted shut, and I let my thoughts wander as the heat of the water, the comforting scent, and the silence eased the ache in my head, lulling me. I felt myself drifting to sleep.

A distant, soft thud invaded the tranquility, pulling me from the blissful nothingness. I pushed against the foot of the tub, scooting up as I pried open my eyes—

There was a flash of black. That was all. A glimpse of something thin and dark coming down in front of my face. I shoved my arm up out of reflex. The strip caught and jerked me back, my fingers snagging as he pulled the material tight around my throat.

Chapter 40

A wave of disbelief slammed into me—a moment of utter stillness where my brain and body hadn’t caught up to what was happening yet. Why this was happening.

The shock of the material digging into my windpipe despite my fingers being in the way threw me out of the frozen state. There was a rough curse above as the sash twisted. My heart lurched in my chest as my shoulders were jammed against the back of the tub. Eyes wide, I tried to drag in air, but only a thin stream worked its way into my throat. I turned, reaching back and grasping an arm—a warm, hard wrist. Out of instinct, I dug my fingers in. The man cursed again, a deep and guttural sound as my eyes darted wildly over the black walls of the bathing chamber. His grip loosened a fraction, allowing a larger burst of air into my lungs and I gripped the binding, keeping it from completely sealing around my throat.

“Don’t fight,” the man rasped, slamming a hand down on the top of my head. “It will be easier if you don’t fight.”

Don’t fight? My heart slammed erratically as my shoulders slid down in the tub. If he got me underwater, I was done. I knew that. My chin went under, and panic crowded my thoughts. Think, Sera. Think. I planted my feet against the tub, bracing myself. Think, Sera— My gaze landed on the stool. Wood. If I could break it, it could be a weapon.

“I’m sorry,” the attacker ground out. “It has to be done. I’m sorry—”

Letting go of the attacker’s arm, I threw myself against the side of the tub. Water sloshed over the rim as I stretched, fingers brushing the towel—

The attacker jerked sideways, causing my feet to slide along the tub. The damn towel snagged on something, causing the stool to topple. Wood clattered off stone, and he shoved me down harder. I went under, sputtering a mouthful of sudsy, warm water. Panic and fear careened into anger—pulsing, pounding, red-hot fury, and that rage burned through the burst of terror and cleared my thoughts. I pushed as hard as I could off the foot of the tub with everything in me.

The hold on me shook under the burst of strength. I broke the surface, water and hair streaming down my face. Coughing, I threw my head back, connecting with a chin.

“Fuck,” the man grunted, slipping backward.

Ignoring the sharp pain shooting down my spine, I kept moving as the attacker tried to regain his footing in the water pooling around the tub. I twisted sideways, throwing an arm over the side of the tub. The porcelain pressed against my bare skin as I shoved my head under the sudden gap between the sash and my throat. I clamored over the side of the tub, following it onto the wet floor. Gasping for air, I spun around on my knees, but I didn’t make it very far.

A body crashed into mine, pushing me to the floor, a knee digging into the center of my back.

“Get off me!” I shouted. And for a brief, terrible moment, I was thrust back to that morning with Tavius, when he’d held me down just like this. The bitter taste of panic threatened to return, to overwhelm me.

No. No. No—

The man’s weight suddenly left me as he cursed. I didn’t know if he’d slipped in the water or not, but with my arms free, I grabbed hold of the leg of the stool. The reprieve was too brief. Hands clamped around my neck as I swung the stool around, welcoming the savage rush of satisfaction I felt when the edge of the stool connected with what sounded like the side of his head. The grip on my neck fell away, and I heard a shout. Scrambling forward, I rose to my knees and slammed the stool down hard on the edge of the tub. The impact cracked it in two, leaving me holding a leg with a jagged end.

The man grabbed me, but I was wet and slippery, and he couldn’t keep hold. With a scream, I twisted at the waist, slamming the broken wood into flesh—whatever part of him I could reach. It was his stomach—the side. The man howled, stumbling backward and slipping in the pools of water. He went down hard, the side of his head cracking off the bathtub. He fell to the floor, unmoving, and I saw him for the first time. Dark, curly hair. Pink skin. Middle-aged. I thought he looked vaguely familiar as a burst of icy wind whipped through the bathing chamber, charging the air. I yanked the wood from the man’s side and rose into a crouch, looking up just as shadows peeled off the shadowstone walls and raced out from the corners of the chamber, seemingly called forth as the doors flew open.

“Nyktos,” I whispered, sinking onto my knees.

The Primal was in front of me within a breath, barely sparing the man by the tub a look. Shadows pulsed under his thinning skin. Bright streaks of eather churned through his eyes. “Sera.”