Sick bastard. My fingers curl into fists as I fight to keep standing. I can’t believe I survived getting stabbed by my uncle only to end up here.

“Then can I rest while you… plan?” The room won’t stop spinning.

Something in his expression shifts. Sharpens. I brace myself for the blazing onslaught of his power.

Instead, he exhales on a controlled breath. “Down the corridor on your right, there’s a bedchamber beneath the tapestry of a white hart. Get some rest. Don’t touch my shit. I’ll decide what to do with you later.”

I nod, my throat tight.

Without responding, he releases my hips, wings tucked close to his back as he walks away.

“Why did you want a name?” I call after him. “The one who hurt me.”

The Wolf pauses. “Because I accepted your execution terms. I get to choose how you die. No one else.”

Then he’s gone, stalking down the hall in a streak of gold feathers.

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12

EVANDER

AMARA IS LATE, and I’m left with nothing to do but pace my garden and stew in my own restlessness.

I’ve never been a patient male. Waiting is an unlatched window inviting memories to come slinking out of the dark. And doesn’t that sum up the entirety of my existence these days? A former Prince of Turpori and future god-king of Scillari demoted to a wolf for the Eternal of Asteria. Waiting for orders. For permission. Like a dog.

Sit. Stay. Heel.

Unruly subordinates get put down. And liars? Liars get their tongues ripped out.

And now I have the girl Alexios wants killed in my possession. The irony would be hilarious if it weren’t so damning. When I saw Bryony Devaliant standing there in my foyer, my initial instinct wasn’t to rip her throat out. It wasn’t even rage.

It was relief. I do not feel relief over one inconsequential mortal not being dead. A hunter doesn’t hesitate when wounded prey is delivered to its den. It lunges. It devours. So why haven’t I?

You’re going soft, a voice that sounds suspiciously like my brother’s whispers. Have you forgotten what the Devaliants did to us?

I haven’t forgotten. I never will. So why is it that when I looked down into the Devaliant’s face, I didn’t think, I’m going to break her.

No, it was a traitorous whisper. Insidious.

I want to taste her again.

The east wing windows have been dark since she went in. I can’t help but picture her in my guest bedroom, touching my things. Lying down on my bed, all that silver hair stark against my black sheets. I’d smelled blood all over her cloak earlier. Some pathetic, disgusting part of me keeps thinking I should go in there and check on her.

I tell myself it’s because I don’t enjoy playing with broken toys. It’s not actual concern. I tell myself that her getting my dick hard is just a normal response to being near attractive, forbidden human pussy. I haven’t fucked a mortal in six centuries. It’s practically a novelty again.

Honestly, I tell myself a lot of things.

“I can hear you growling from here.” Amara’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “So either you’re choking on a live rodent, or I’ve stumbled on one of your brooding sessions.”

I turn as she drops out of the sky, wings spread wide. Moonlight catches on the violet sheen of her feathers as she lands on the garden path. Her eyes are more purple than blue in the darkness.

“You’re late.”

“Wow.” She flicks a feather from her shoulder. “Not even a ‘thank fuck you’re alive’ or ‘so glad you didn’t die on the way here’?”

I stalk over to her. “I’m so glad you didn’t die on the way here because then I wouldn’t get to do the honors myself for the shit you just pulled.”

“So you got my gift,” she says with a slow grin.

For a moment, I can only stare at her. The sheer audacity…

“Gift implies some consent from the recipient. What you did was risk setting off every ward in the Shroud to dump a half-dead human on my doorstep like a cat dropping a mangled bird at its master’s feet, then fly off into the sunset.” My hands curl into fists at my sides. “Do you have any idea what happens if Alexios finds her here? I’m supposed to be delivering her for a public pyre, not hosting her for tea. I had my tongue ripped out this morning over that girl.” I lean in closer. “Next time, he’ll probably make me choke on my own dick.”

“That’s pretty dramatic if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.” I rake a hand through my hair. “How did you even get her into Scillari without the Border Watch finding out?”

“Please. I may not be an Eternal, but I know my way around Alexios’ security measures. They’re easy to avoid if one knows where to look. I’d be happy to pass on a few pointers to the Watch, assuming you don’t murder the captain for incompetence first.”

I don’t bother mentioning that I’ve already made mental notes to hunt down every bastard stationed at a Shroud checkpoint and nail their balls to the palace wall as a teaching aid. That particular fantasy has been keeping me warm for the past few hours.

We’re all works in progress.

“Why did you risk it?” I demand. “You could’ve signaled me to meet you at the border if you wanted an execution.”

She glances at my tower and shrugs. “I thought you deserved the chance to take what you’re owed in private.”

She understands exactly what kind of festering hurts she’s prodding at here. Revenge and I have a long history. Like a trusty knife, it’s dulled but still hungry for blood. I just need an excuse to let it loose, and thanks to Amara, I’ve got a living, breathing symbol of every hurt and loss trussed up like a sacrifice in my home.

What a gift. What a neat, tidy box to cram all my hate into. How thoughtful.

“She came to me smelling like blood. How bad off is she?” I’m proud of how controlled I sound.

Amara hesitates, studying my face. “I counted four stab wounds. She died on the ridge before I got her heart beating again. She wasn’t going to last much longer where I found her on the Duehavn.”

Something twists sharply in my gut. I ignore it. Push it down deep where all the other inconvenient feelings go to die.

If she passed into the Void on that ridge, it would have broken the magic tying her to Alexios and the Shroud. He won’t be able to sense she’s still alive. Thank fuck for that, at least. I wouldn’t want to test how many body parts I can regenerate in one go.

“But you managed to stabilize her?” I say, dragging my focus back to Amara. “She was upright and talking when I saw her.”

“I patched her up. The divine blood polluting the Devaliant line probably did the rest.”

As if I could forget what flows in that girl’s veins. As if the reminder of her heritage isn’t a deliberate twist of the knife.

The thing in my stomach wrenches tighter. Uglier. I bury it under old hatred. Tried and true. So much safer than the alternative and infinitely more satisfying.

“Devaliants have a talent for lingering longer than they should,” I say. “I need you to bring me something for her to wear. I can’t have my usual servants at the tower while I’ve got her here, and she needs clothes.”

She blinks. “Wait. You’re going to heal her? I brought her to kill. Not to adopt as a pet.”

Oh, I’ll heal her. But not out of kindness. I want another chance to make Bryony Devaliant hurt the way I hurt. One more opportunity to break someone from that family into pieces. Immortality, combined with the horror of war, tends to breed a particular type of unhinged madness.

I still want to see her hatred when I bite into her.