The whimper yanks me back to the oathbreaker. He collapses to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. Poor bastard. Begging won’t soften a creature who has murdered thousands without remorse. The Wolf’s probably played out this exact scene every time—watched these desperate, weeping victims try to appeal to a sense of compassion that doesn’t exist.

To feel compassion, he’d have to have a heart. And the Wolf of Asteria is a soulless monster. Everyone knows it.

“Mercy.” The oathbreaker’s voice cracks. “Please.”

But the Wolf is still staring at me. I shiver as he takes in my walking dress, the waist-length braid of silver-white hair resting over my shoulder. Lingering on my features, my violet-colored eyes, and the gleaming skin that’s not quite as ethereal as his but suggests a demigod in my ancestry. My skin is as unusual as his wings—it tells him exactly who I am before the gold cuff on my wrist confirms it.

Bryony Devaliant. Princess of the Blood. The youngest Anchor of the Shroud.

In other words, I’m not a human he can fuck with.

The Wolf’s mouth curves into a mocking smile as if he plucked the thought from my head. His hand drifts up almost lazily and curls around the sword sheathed between his wings.

“Five seconds, Devaliant.” His voice is smooth and deep. Resonant.

I blink. “What?”

“You get five seconds. I want you to close your eyes and count for me, nice and slow. Then keep them closed.”

It takes me a moment to grasp what he’s offering. Is he… seriously giving me an out? Some twisted courtesy so I don’t have to witness him butcher an oathbreaker?

I hesitate. What might he do the second I look away? But his expression darkens in a warning that reminds me I’m in no position to refuse. So I let my eyes fall shut.

“One.”

My nails dig into my palms.

“Two.”

My pulse roars in my ears, nearly drowning out the man’s whimper.

“Three.”

Every muscle tenses as I brace myself.

“Fou—”

A whisper of steel cuts the air, and something wet and warm splashes across my face—blood. My stomach lurches, but I force the bile back down my throat.

Thump. The sound of a corpse hitting the dirt is its own particular horror.

“F-five,” I gasp.

My eyes fly open. The Wolf is close—too close—and still holding his dripping sword. Near enough that I can see the flecks of amber and bronze in his irises. Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks.

Then he reaches his free hand out and skims the pad of his thumb along my cheek. Smearing my skin with the dead man’s blood. “What did I say about keeping those pretty eyes closed?” There’s wry humor in his voice that’s all wrong for this moment. Like this is a game we’re playing. “It was a simple instruction.”

I let out a slow exhale, resisting the urge to turn out of his touch. “You said I got five seconds. That wasn’t even four. But I suppose Death finishes his work fast.”

“Death is still here, Devaliant. I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“Hard to miss that fact when you’re finger-painting your handiwork on my face.” I can’t hold back the slight tremor that goes through me.

He drops his hand, and some of the pressure eases from my chest. “Most humans can barely string two words together around me unless one of them is please. Yet here you are, running that smart mouth.”

Every instinct is screaming at me to run. But what’s the point? There’s nothing he can do to me that hasn’t already been done hundreds of times over.

“You know what I am,” I say, forcing calm into my tone. “I spend half my life on an altar. You’re just another kind of knife.”

His gaze falls to my wrist. Hidden beneath the cuff is a brand seared magically into my skin that marks me as the protected human property of his monstrous king. I’m one of Alexios’ Claimed. The Wolf could murder me in seconds, but there would be consequences for him if he damaged the goods.

His eyes snap back to mine. “Never give me a reason to come for you. I’d be so fucking eager to put another Devaliant in the Void for good.”

My eyebrows pull together. Not a human—my family specifically. Did he hunt them before the Accords? Did he kill my ancestors?

The question burns on my tongue, but different words come out instead. “Then I want to make a deal.”

He blinks at that. “Excuse me?”

Too late now. In for a broken drachma, in for an aurelii, as they say. Death is the one thing this monster and I have in common; we’re two sides of the same bloody coin.

“If Alexios ever decides I’ve outlived my usefulness and sends you to take me out”—I gesture to the body cooling in the dirt—“I want a better end than that.”

“That sounds a lot like a demand.” There’s a strange glint in his eye—something feral and almost hungry peeking out from behind the killer’s mask. “I didn’t realize we were on demand-making terms.”

With a jolt, I realize what that look is: interest. Eternal save me, I’ve caught the attention of the god-king’s Wolf.

I swallow hard. “You only come to this realm when you need to murder someone. I’m using this as a chance to negotiate. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” he mutters with a short laugh. “Unbelievable. And what makes you think you’ve earned the right to negotiate shit with me?”

“House Devaliant bleeds out every fourteen days to keep your king’s precious Shroud intact. Be as eager as you want to kill me, but I want to choose how I go. Let me have that much.”

No flicker of empathy at the reminder of what I endure for his king, not even a twitch of emotion. The Wolf just studies me in that unnerving way of his, then leans forward and taps my cuff. “You get this conversation because of what’s under here. Never forget that. It’s the only thing standing between your neck and my blade.”

My thoughts are shouting. Shut up and go. Just nod and walk away.

But an image flashes of the temple altar slick with my blood, the ceremonial knife opening me up over and over and over. After all that, I’ve damn well earned some basic courtesy.

“I haven’t forgotten. Will you bargain or not?”

He shrugs. “Tell me what you want.”

I nearly gag when he leans down and casually wipes his blade on the dead man’s clothes before sheathing it between his wings.

“Let me guess,” he says when I don’t answer, his sharp stare settling on me again. “A string quartet playing your favorite song while I butcher you? Some pretty flowers to brighten up the proceedings? Want me to tell you how special you are?”

What an asshole. I should’ve known the monster from the murals would be an unbearable prick.

I glare at him. “Leave my guts where they belong and my head attached to my body. Don’t steal any trophies for whatever murder collection I’m sure you keep. Sound fair?”

“It sounds like you’ve given this an alarming amount of thought.”

“When you die as often as I do, you think about the permanent version.”

“Clearly.” Now he just looks bored, as if I’ve somehow disappointed him. “Anything else?”

“Treat me like an equal,” I tell him, just to see what he’ll do. “Or should I lower the bar even more?”

That finally gets something out of him. “Bury it in the ground if that’s what you expect.” His lip curls in disgust. “You’re not my equal.”

Right. Seeing humans as insects scraped off the bottom of his shoe is probably how he justifies his daily slaughter quota before he goes to bed at night.

Well, fuck him.

“Pretend for one occasion,” I snap.

His eyes narrow. Just when I think he’ll declare he’d rather eat glass, he says, “Only if you don’t make me hunt your ass down. Chasing my targets is irritating.”

I snort. “Like there’s anywhere I could go that you wouldn’t find me.”

The Wolf doesn’t disagree. “One more thing.” His smile is sharp. “I want eye contact the whole time you’re bleeding out.”