I’d moved to help him...somehow...but Whisper blocked my path, preventing me from going to his master’s side.

The second time I’d stumbled on Lucien in the throes of agony was when I’d gone to refill my water bucket in the kitchen. He stood in the walled courtyard by a gnarled, slightly stunted tree in the centre. His back had been straight and stiff, but his head bowed as he buried his face in his hands.

I’d almost dropped the bucket as he suddenly collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around his middle, rocking forward and pressing his forehead to the ground.

I’d rushed toward the door without thinking.

Unfortunately, Whisper appeared again.

“Why are you stopping me?” I whispered. “Didn’t you bring me to him the last time he had a bad attack in his bed?”

The panther hung his head and whimpered as if he wanted me to help but had been commanded to keep me away.

The third time, I’d almost risked a panther bite.

I’d been up the ladder cleaning the books on the top levels of his library. A heavy thud and crash of porcelain had me racing down and flying into the central living space.

Lucien lay on his side by the door, a smashed coffee mug beside him and a puddle of hot liquid spilling across the floor. He’d twitched, his shirt pulling aside to reveal the top of the silver disc on his chest and the red light flickering there.

I’d tried to go to him. To keep him supported as he passed out for reasons I couldn’t understand, but Whisper once again stopped me.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” I hissed. “He’s unconscious. Aren’t you worried?”

The huge black cat looked over his shoulder, his entire body slouching with fear for his master.

“This is ridiculous. I need to check on him.” I skirted around Whisper and dashed toward Lucien, only for the large cat to leap in front of me with a snarl.

For the first time, the panther acted as if I were his enemy, his fangs bared and sharp.

I’d deliberated taking the chance that he wouldn’t hurt me as Lucien groaned in his sleep, quaking with misery. But Whisper herded me back and snapped at me until I fled.

Lucien’s suffering wasn’t the only thing I’d had to get used to.

When he wasn’t in agony, he was out hunting.

Almost every night, a scream would cut through the estate, only to be cut off a moment later as a girl’s life ended—either by Lucien or Whisper.

Our numbers dwindled and the lavish picnics I’d often walk past on my reluctant way to work grew less and less. I didn’t know how many women were still alive, but it was definitely fewer than what first entered.

At least Laura—the other ‘mistake’—was still alive. Keeping to the outskirts and doing her best not to antagonise the others.

Another silver lining about being forced to do physical work meant sleep returned. Most nights, I’d tumble into bed, exhausted from working all day.

In the mornings, I always took my time before reporting to Lucien. I’d cling to laziness and the safety of doing nothing—taking a long shower, eating a slow breakfast, dressing in the least restricting dresses I could find.

At least, with those snatched moments of doing the bare minimum, I managed to hold it together long enough to deal with Lucien and his many household demands.

But what I hated the most was the blood-harvesting.

Every third day, I’d be forced to help, even though I’d said I would never bleed him again. Even though I liked to think I could make some choices in here, I wasn’t allowed to make that one.

He’d drag me into that half-office, half-hospital room.

He’d walked me through the process again, keeping predator eyes on me as I swayed and swallowed and did my best to stay conscious.

And then he’d make me bleed him, tag the bags, and carry them to the fridge.

By the fifth time, I’d learned how to shut myself down enough that the sensation of his warm blood in those slippery anticoagulant bags didn’t make me quite as nauseous.

I shut down my stupid heart and obeyed him because I couldn’t do anything else.

I’d lived in this elegant nightmare for almost a month.

I’d walked the gardens while the fires of hell burned every night and witnessed the bodies of women who’d come to murder him being carried out each morning.

And I thought nothing would get better or worse.

Until it did.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

THE RATS IN MY HOME WERE fewer than last month.

More blood covered my hands, coating me with murders that barely sated the need for vengeance.

I didn’t know how much longer I could keep doing this.

How much longer I could stop myself from slipping into madness or ignoring the suicidal whispers that promised an end to this misery.

The battle between living to kill and dying for freedom tangled me up until I no longer knew what I wanted.

My hands curled as I stood on the roof and glowered at Cinderkeep below. Fire danced on towering torches and flames flickered in lanterns, turning my prison into the belly of the underworld.

Perhaps I’d already died and didn’t know it.

Maybe I already dwelled in hell.

Whisper nudged my hip.

I looked down at the sleek black beast, and she sprang into my head.

My teeth gnashed together as my poisoned heart kicked.

I needed to kill her.

The longer we spent time together—mainly in silence and tension—the more I struggled with what the fuck I was doing.

Why had I invited her in when I’d kept all the others far, far away?

Why did she intrigue me when no one else ever had?

She was the first person in my entire miserable life who wanted nothing from me.

Not my blood, my life, my company, my legacy, or my lineage.

And that...that did something to me far, far worse than the strangeness of her soothing company.

Being near her eased my constant pain, but the more time I spent with her, the more a different kind of pain appeared.

One that had no cure.

One that grew worse every time we talked.

And for the first time in my pathetic life, I wanted to touch.

I wanted to know what it would be like to give in to the urges catching fire inside me.

I wanted to crack open her head and learn everything she kept hidden.

I wanted to find a way to stop whatever this was because if I didn’t—

Planting my palms on the parapet, I bared my teeth at the night.

I clawed at the stone as another siphoning of pain from the vitalsync core drenched my system.

I hated that she hurt...like me.

I hated that I recognised her agony and sympathised with my enemy.

But what I hated the most was that she affected me.

She drove me into a different kind of madness.

And one day soon, I’d break.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I SMILED AS I RECOGNISED THE tell-tale thud of heavy predator paws.

Right on time.

The night had been silent from Lucien hunting, and I’d spent the day mopping all the corridors in the palace, so I was both achy and drowsy, but sleep remained elusive until my friend arrived.

Swinging my legs down from where I sat by the window, I locked eyes with the golden orbs of Lucien’s panther. “You came.”

Whisper gave a toothy grin and slunk through the shadows to my side.

Somehow, another two days had passed, adding to the illusion of normalcy.

I’d learned to live inside this gilded cage—working, cleaning, pretending I wasn’t becoming mildly obsessed with the monster living within it.

Maybe all my travelling before this had given me the ability to find a home wherever I stopped for a time.

Maybe it was the connection I’d built with Whisper.