Gorrath pressed his hands to the footboard of the bed and leaned in until we were eye level. “Drop the scared little dove act. You’re not fooling me.”

  “I’m not scared,” I bit back.

  He laughed under his breath and leaned an inch closer, invading what little space I had left. The aroma of frankincense wafted toward me. “Where’s the girl who called me disgusting? I’d like to talk to her, please.”

  I held his gaze. Saying nothing felt like the only weapon I had. It seemed to disappoint him, which I took as a win. I didn’t need to play right into his hand. He was here for a reason.

  The demon turned his attention to my husband. “He looks like hell.”

  “He refuses to eat.”

  “Of course he does,” the demon drawled. His gaze flicked back to me. “You’re carrying our heir.”

  “Our?” The word tore from me. I crawled forward on the mattress, the fire igniting in my eyes. The power rising to meet my fury. “There is no our,” I spat. “There is no world in which you get to use that word with me. If I am with child, it is not yours.”

  The candles along the walls flared to life. The bed frame groaned as I rose onto my knees. One finger pointed dangerously at his tattooed chest.

  Gorrath unbuttoned his jacket and opened it, baring himself to me. He was chiseled and hard, and the thorns stretched down below the waistband of his trousers.

  He pressed his lips together as though trying—and failing—to hide his satisfaction. “Hit me with your best shot, witch.”

  If he wanted a fight, I would give him one. “Do not speak about my baby again. Or I’ll…”

  “What?” Gorrath teased. “You’ll curse me?” He smirked. “There she is. There’s the fighter.”

  I wanted to fight him. The magick was right there. Sparking against my skin. But something stopped me.

  Gorrath slowly buttoned his jacket back up, covering himself once again. “Your baby will inherit my power,” Gorrath continued. “I might not be the father, but I’ll have a vampire princeling with a demonic bloodline.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Uncle Gorrath has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Rage exploded through me, so hot my vision swam.“You are not coming anywhere near my baby!” I shouted so hard my vision swam, and my head throbbed in protest. I sat back on my heels, struggling through a sudden wave of dizziness. “If you just came to irritate me, then leave. He’s trying to rest.”

  The teasing curl at the corner of his mouth faltered. “Let me see that knock on your head.”

  “Do not touch me.”

  His gaze flicked briefly to Bastien, then back to me. And for a heartbeat, he almost looked ashamed. But if he could feel anything close to shame, he buried it.

  “Relax, Mama. I came to give you an early push present.”

  I had no clue what kind of present the demon of sex and disease could possibly give me. I glanced at the horn that sat on my bedside table, afraid it was going to start moving all on its own as it had in that circle, and the demon roared with laughter. “Use it after I leave. Preferably before Bastien wakes up.” He winked. “Don’t worry, it will be our little secret.”

  I thought about throwing the relic at his stupid head, but I knew that’s what he wanted. To provoke me. “Get out.”

  “But I haven’t given you your present yet.”

  I leaned back against the pillows, trying to stop the room from spinning. “Hurry up then.”

  He fished inside his pocket and removed a small seashell, holding it up for me to inspect. “I heard there were some covens who could use a few relics. And since you already gave away my other shells, I figured I’d give you another.”

  Those had been relics? The shells I’d gifted Imogen? Was that why she wanted them so badly? I pushed thoughts of her aside, but there was a coven that could use a relic. Shreesa’s family desperately needed one. Bastien had told me they’d lost the ability to bind familiars to them.

  I hesitated. “What is this gift going to cost me?”

  He just smirked. “Haven’t you ever gotten a gift before?”

  I rolled my eyes, but held out my hand. He dropped the shell into my palm. When it landed, dark magick buzzed against my skin.

  “I know just who to give this to,” I told him, trying not to seem too grateful.

  While I was tucking the shell inside my pocket, he picked up the two opaline stones that were sitting on the bed. “One more thing. You wanted to know if your wolves had names. Didn’t you?”

  Had he been listening to me? Outside the door, or in my head, it didn’t matter. It was violating.

  He whistled to the wolves, then clapped. They didn’t come out from under the bed. “Leave them alone.”

  Gorrath flashed a too-wide smile, then tossed the two necklaces into my lap. “Put these moonstones on them, and they’ll be able to tell you exactly who they are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A moonstone is the only thing that allows a werewolf to control their transformation. You’ll see what I mean.”

  I wanted to argue with him, but I was suddenly too dizzy to talk. The back of my head was throbbing in pain. When I touched it, my hand came away red.

  Gorrath backed up a pace, then another, inching toward the door. “I’ll come back for another visit when they’ve healed that knock on your head, and he’s looking more alive.” He cast a long look at Bastien, the grin slipping from his face. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

  Then he was out of the room, gone like a shadow. I leaned against Bastien and clutched his bicep just to hold something solid and real. He’d been so confident that Gorrath couldn’t escape the Underworld. Just as I’d been so confident that the wolves under our bed were familiars.

  Chapter 27

  Malchance

  TYSON

  One of Chastity’s healers scurried past him, and Tyson closed the door to his Uncle’s room as gently as he could. “They’re both asleep,” he told his cousin.

  Natalia rounded on Sir Gavin. “Why hasn’t anyone been guarding His Grace’s door? This is a gross oversight.”

  “My apologies, my lady. It will not happen again.”

  “If His Grace wakes up, I am to be notified immediately. And do not let anyone in. Witch or demon or goddess herself. Do you understand?”

  The guards nodded, then stationed themselves outside the door.

  Natalia strode down the narrow stone corridor, hips swaying, hands clenched into fists. Tyson raced to catch up with her. “Where are you going?”

  “To fetch my sanguine partner. If our uncle refuses to eat, then I’m going to force-feed him.”

  “He’ll be livid.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She didn’t care? Had she met our uncle? “When Uncle Bastien gets angry at you, you'd better say I had no part in this.”

  Natalia grabbed the front of Tyson’s shirt and bared her fangs. “This is why you shouldn’t be Bastien’s heir. You’re not willing to make the hard choices necessary for command.” She shoved him against the wall. “It doesn’t matter if someone is angry at you. That’s a child’s worry. What matters is that you did what was best for your people.”

  She released him, and Tyson tried to put his mask back on. Willing the pieces of his cracked façade to snap back into place. However, when he tried to smirk and brush off Natalia’s words, the jagged pieces didn’t fit as well as they had before.

  “Do you want my help?” he called after her.

  She offered him a one-fingered gesture as she continued down the corridor.

  Tyson leaned the back of his head against the wall and tried to silence the voices in his head that were screaming at him. Shouting at him with his uncle’s disapproving sneer. His father’s wrath. His mother’s insistence that he was something he was not.

  He wanted to drink. To fight. To fuck. Anything to drown out the sound of his own ineptitude.

  He exhaled slowly through his nose and dragged a hand down his face. He supposed he should do something selfless instead, like check on the wounded, or perhaps go and comfort Tansy, who wouldn’t stop crying over Devlinn’s rotted body.

  That’s what a commander would do. Wasn’t it?

  The only problem was that Chastity’s Stronghold was just as big a labyrinth as the underground tunnels, and he had no fucking clue where he was. He looked left, right, then stopped, stilled by the sound of shouting.

  Tyson drew his sword and edged closer to a bend in the corridor, back pressed to the wall.

  “This way!” a female voice said.

  “No, this way!” answered a male voice.

  Tyson pushed off the wall just as two figures came tearing around the corner and collided with him full force.

  The impact drove the breath from his lungs and sent all three of them stumbling. His shoulder struck stone. Someone’s elbow caught his ribs. For a tangled second, there was nothing but fabric and limbs. Normally, Tyson would welcome this kind of situation, with a lot more wine and a lot less clothing. But unfortunately for him, he was trying to act more lordly.

  He pushed to his feet and realized the two runners were unarmed. One was a man he recognized from Château Rose. He was almost positive he was one of Claire’s consorts, although he couldn’t remember the man coming with them into the Lawless Lands. In fact, he’d heard he’d gone missing.

  He dropped to one knee, head bowed.

  “My lord⁠—”

  Tyson froze, staring down at him. He didn’t just recognize him. It felt like he knew him. Every inch of him. From his dark hair to his smooth skin.

  “You don’t need to bow,” Tyson said strangely, because bowing was exactly what he was supposed to do. “Please, rise.”

  Tyson held out his hand, and the man glanced up at him with red-brown eyes. They were the most unusual shade he’d ever seen in his life. So captivating.

  He shook off the reaction as he helped him to his feet. He’d just said he wasn’t going to be fighting or fucking anymore. It was time to change if he wanted to be Bastien’s heir, but he didn’t know how to face himself or his fears without the distractions.

  He offered his hand to the woman who was still on the floor. She glowered at him instead of accepting his help. With tangled white hair and a face covered in dirt, she looked like she’d walked through the Underworld and had been spat out. But what bothered Tyson the most was that her dress was ripped and her bodice was loose. She lifted the dagger toward his throat without hesitation. He didn’t try to stop her. He was transfixed.

  “Move,” she said, breathless. “Or I swear to Diana I’ll cut you down where you stand, vampire.”

  Tyson stared at her. Her eyes were brown, just like the man’s, except hers were flecked with gold. She was feral and entirely unimpressed with him. He cut a look between them, and something inside him gave way. Like a rope being cut.

  It wasn’t attraction, not exactly. Nothing like the way he felt when he saw Chastity’s stocking-clad legs. This was a pull in his ribs, like a hook had caught him behind the breastbone. His body recognized both of them in a way his mind didn’t understand.

  Mine.

  The thought flashed through him so suddenly that it made him dizzy.

  And suddenly, a thumping started in his chest. Beat. Beat. Beat. His bloodstone. Tyson stilled. No. Not that. Anything but that. Two near strangers covered in dirt. One actively threatening to stab him. The other was a man who had almost been decapitated by his uncle when he caught him naked with his mate.

  If his bloodstone was right, he’d just found his own mate. But which one was it? Which one had the stone recognized?

  More footsteps thundered down the corridor, followed by the crackle of magick. Witches rounded the bend in a flurry of dark skirts and wands. Chastity’s coven witches.

  “There!” one of them called. “With the moonstones!”

  Moonstones?

  Tyson’s gaze dropped to the woman’s throat. An opaline stone hung there. One was also draped around the man’s neck.

  “Werewolves use those gems to control their shifting!” another witch shouted. “Shayla’s magick!”

  These two were wolves? But…

  “Thank you for catching them,” one of the witches said, lifting her wand higher. “These disgusting creatures will suffer our justice for breaching our defenses.”

  The woman angled her blade forward. The man beside her shifted as if preparing to lunge.

  He should hand them over and rid himself of the problem they presented. If one of them was his mate and died here, they would be reborn decades—perhaps centuries—from now, and he could still inherit Roselyn unencumbered.

  That hook that had landed in Tyson’s chest gave a rough tug. And despite every logical protest, his body stepped between them and the witches.

  Traitor.

  “These two aren’t werewolves,” he explained to the witches. “They’re consorts from Château Rose. When we killed the wolves in the tunnels, I gave them these necklaces as gifts.”

  The corridor fell silent.

  “If Chastity has a problem with it,” he continued lightly, “she can take it up with my uncle. Until then,” he slung his arms around both their shoulders, “they’re under my protection.”

  He internally cringed, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

  “We will take this up with Chastity,” one of the witches said. Then they backed slowly away. When they were gone, the woman neither lowered her knife nor thanked him. She simply studied him like he was a puzzle she hadn’t decided whether to solve or stab.

  He had sworn he would never let a matebond drag him back to the capital like a leashed dog. He wanted to be just like his Uncle Bastien.

  He’d meant it.

  “I think we all need to have a little chat,” Tyson said, guiding the two of them in the direction of his room. Or where he thought his room likely was.

  Chapter 28

  La Dévoration

  CLAIRE

  Achoking sound cut through the dark, followed by the warm spray of something wet against my arms. I jolted awake.

  Natalia was standing over Bastien. Her knee was pressed into the mattress beside his hip. Her fist was twisted in his hair, wrenching his head back. If that weren’t strange enough, a man I vaguely recognized as her sanguine partner was hovering at her side while she wrestled a silver cup to Bastien’s mouth.

  “What’s going on?” I screeched.

  Blood spilled over Bastien’s lips, down his chin, into the hollow of his throat, soaking into his tattered shirt. The coppery smell and the sight of someone else’s blood in my husband’s mouth made me more than sick.

  I snatched my wand off the bedside table, then knocked the cup out of her hand. It clattered across the stone floor, spilling the rest of the blood. “Get away from my husband,” I snarled.

  “There’s my fighter,” said the gruff voice in my head. I ignored him.

  “He hasn’t fed,” Natalia said flatly. “And I’m done waiting for you to do your job.”

  Heat and magick flared under my skin, and I realized the back of my head wasn’t hurting anymore. Someone must’ve healed me while I was asleep.

  Gorrath’s doing.

  Natalia’s eyes widened when she saw the flash of red in my eyes. “He wants to rest,” I said. “He deserves to rest.”

  His niece had never been my ally, and for good reason. I had been deceiving her uncle. But nothing in me wished to harm him. Not anymore. I wasn’t the scared girl who had first met Bastien at his Sanguination Ball.

  She flashed her fangs at me. “This is your plot, isn’t it? To play sick. To starve my uncle. To weaken his command with every breath you take.”

  “No. You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?” she spat back. “Because the evidence keeps stacking up.” She began counting them off on her fingers, as if listing crimes. “His sudden, inexplicable matebond after centuries of nothing. Your necklace. The way you shattered his alliance with one of the oldest covens in his land. Your new, conveniently broken magick that required you to summon one of the most dangerous demons. Your wolves. Your sudden desire to bear his child.” Her gaze sharpened. “And let’s not forget disobeying Bastien’s order to stand down in the cavern. Now our entire army knows you are his mate, which puts his life in danger because this very union goes against our laws!” She growled. “You are a traitor.”

  Even though I could understand how her long list made me seem traitorous, I lifted my wand to her chest. Natalia’s gaze dropped to the tip of it, then slowly climbed back to my face. “Touch him again,” I said, “and I will set this entire room on fire. Starting with you.”

  The fire in the hearth popped and hissed as if on cue.

  “As if I needed any further confirmation of your treachery. He might allow you to prance around unchecked. But I will not allow you to kill him.”

  “If I were trying to kill him,” I shot back, my wand trembling in my grip, “I could have done it a hundred times by now.” My throat tightened, but I forced the words through anyway. “We are on the same side.” My voice broke. “I love him, Natalia. I love him. I don’t know what else to say or do to convince you.”

  She pulled a dagger from her chest rig and handed it to me. “Feed him.”

  I swallowed hard, remembering the way she demanded I bleed into a cup and take a blood vow. I had gotten out of cutting my hand that time, but I didn’t think I could escape it now. “If I do this, will you finally trust me?”

  “No. But,” she said, hedging, “I will consider it.”

  “Fine.”

  What was left of my blood phobia made itself known as I held the dagger in my right hand. I didn’t just want to do this to prove Natalia wrong. I wanted to do it for Bastien. She was right. He did need to eat.

  I dragged the blade across my palm and watched the skin part beneath it, watched red bead and swell and then spill in slow, trembling lines down the curve of my wrist. The sight of it still made my stomach twist. I forced myself to breathe through it. One breath. Then another. And I found I could bear it.