He doesn’t answer.

  With my free hand, I reach down and peel back the gauze on his hand. The flesh is mangled and coated in bloody tissue. From the looks of it, he’s lost all but his thumb, and even that is hanging on by a thread.

  He needs a healer.

  But he won’t get one.

  At my touch, he strains against the irons. “Don’t⁠—”

  “Four fingers gone,” I say. “One for each of the women and children you killed today.”

  He glares up at me, his defiance never wavering. Not a single shred of regret clouds his expression. It’s that lack of repentance that seals his fate.

  I smash the hammer against his hand, and he screams. The irons strain as he tries and fails to withdraw his arm. Blood runs from his hand like a wet sponge.

  His scream turns to a wail of pain.

  “Name,” I say again.

  “Barbas.”

  “And why did you bomb the wall, Barbas?”

  No answer.

  I start to bring the hammer down again.

  “Wait! We wanted to go through the portal.”

  I lean forward, eyes narrowing on his sweaty, dirty face. “Who is we?”

  “My family and our clan. We’re sick of being prisoners. Caius got to leave. So should we.”

  His voice shakes, but the entitlement remains.

  I shake my head. “And you think innocents deserve to die in order for you to take what you want?”

  His expression hardens. “Casualties of war.”

  My patience snaps. I bring the hammer down again, and while he screams, I open my mouth and let the hellfire burning my throat drip onto his arm.

  His screams heighten.

  The sound of it echoes off the walls, and the monster inside me stirs. More, it whispers.

  “Whose idea was this attack, Barbas?”

  I don’t wait for an answer before I let more hellfire drip onto his legs. His pants melt where the molten lava scalds, leaving craters of missing flesh beneath. Through his screams, he wails, “How the hell are you doing that? You’re not even shifted.”

  I smile. “It was a gift from my mother. Now, give me a name, or you’ll slow-roast right here in this chair.”

  An ember slips off the armrest and onto his thigh. The hot coal burns immediately through the fabric of his pants, and he screams again as his flesh burns anew.

  “My uncle, okay? It’s my uncle. Quincy. He’s our clan leader. The one who put this together.”

  “Where can we find him?”

  “The outlands.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Ah! The Western Isles. Fuck. Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

  “That was your choice, remember? Not mine. It didn’t have to go this far.”

  “He’s my family. What am I supposed to do? I can’t betray family.”

  “You can if that family is hurting innocent people.” I ignore the twinge in my gut as I say the words that hit way too close to home.

  Through the pain, he manages to glare at me. “Don’t you have family?”

  “I did. Once.”

  “Wouldn’t you do anything for them?” he pleads.

  “Yes.” Darkness presses in around me, old memories that weigh heavily even as I shove them back again. “That’s the problem.”

  He starts to argue, and the idea of whatever he’s about to say—to try to convince me of—is too much.

  I open my mouth and, using my shadow dragon’s powers, breathe the fires of hell over his flesh.

  He screams, his form morphing toward some kind of fur-coated shifter before his entire body is reduced to ash.

  The sudden silence echoes around me.

  “Ugh. I hate when you use the hellfire,” Pol mutters. “Smells terrible.”

  I look at him, my insides churning with a wound that hasn’t broken open this wide in a long time. “Put together a hunting party. Tell them to assemble in the courtyard. I’ll brief them in an hour.”

  Pol mutters something and motions for Marques to accompany him out.

  They leave quickly. I don’t blame them. The smell isn’t great, and it’s only going to get worse the longer the prisoner’s remains sit.

  But I don’t leave yet.

  Instead, I begin carrying the tools back to their respective boxes on the counter. There are plenty of soldiers suited for a job like this one, but I crave the distraction of cleaning up. Even now, the darkness of my past presses in around the edges of my consciousness, whispering reminders of what I am. What I did to earn a prison like Tartarus.

  “It smells like shit in here.”

  I look up at the sound of Styx’s voice and note the fact that the door never opened again. Which means she’s been standing in the shadows for a while now.

  She comes forward slowly. When she gets to the chair, she eyes the prisoner’s remains with mild interest then returns her attention to me as she approaches the counter where I stand.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask.

  She shrugs, but her expression is strained. “I caught the show.”

  She rubs at her temple, wincing, and I snort.

  “You too, huh?”

  She scowls. “I blame you for my choices.”

  “Oh no. I did not tell you to empty the bar of all its bourbon. That was all you.”

  She glares at me. “Is someone beating on your skull from the inside?”

  “Right behind my eyeballs,” I say.

  “That makes me feel better.” She sniffs. “We’ll call it even.”

  I shake my head.

  A beat of silence passes, and then she says, “Is that why you went so hard on that asshole just now?”

  I go back to straightening and putting away my tools. “It had to be done.”

  “Right.”

  “I have the name of the leader,” I say even though I know she already heard it earlier. “We’re sending out a hunting party to locate him and bring him in.”

  “I thought Caius said to make it clean next time.”

  I motion to the unused tools. “I did.”

  “He gave you the name. We could have called the healer.”

  I scowl at her. “You’re telling me you disagree with my choice.”

  “Hell no. I would have done the same thing. Besides, if you’d put him in a cell for holding, the soldiers would have done way worse.”

  She’s not wrong. They’re all itching for a fight after what happened with the guardian. Our greatest enemy turned out to be Caius’ mate. Good for him. Not great for battle-thirsty soldiers whose war has been snatched away in the name of love.

  “Then what is it?” I ask.

  “I couldn’t help but notice how he mentioned family and betrayal, and, well, it almost seemed personal at the end.”

  “Fuck off, Styx.”

  She braces her elbows on the counter, leaning in and pinning me with a look I don’t like. “Legion. You’re not yourself.”

  “Is this the part where you say something about how I need the love of a good woman to heal me or something?”

  “Actually, I was going to say you should get laid.”

  I snort, and she straightens, heading for the door. “Caius wants a briefing in twenty. I’ll see you in there.”

  “Yeah, fine,” I mutter.

  When she’s gone, I splay my hands out on the counter, letting my head hang forward, trying—and failing—to clear my mind. The prisoner’s last words continue to replay in my mind, conjuring memories that are better left buried. Even after all this time, thinking about it—about her—still feels like a poison inside me.

  It's so much worse than any physical pain I’ve endured. I’d do anything to take it away, but there’s nothing strong enough to cut this particular wound out of me.

  Family.

  The ultimate torture.

  The only thing I can do is make sure I never form an attachment like that again. Not with anyone. Especially not a mate.

  Chapter 5

  Tori

  Icheck my phone for what might be the millionth time today and note the lack of notifications. After my visit to his club early this morning, Uziah promised to ask around for some way to stop the Crimson Roses from coming for me, but so far, I’ve yet to hear back. My worry spikes with each moment that passes without answers.

  I need a plan.

  Somewhere to take Kendall until all this blows over. If it ever does. But my only real friend in this city is Niamh, and her job at the club makes her too risky of an ally right now. She’s already texted me about getting drinks tonight, but I haven’t answered her. I don’t even know where to start.

  All my focus is on making Kendall safe.

  Guilt tugs at me a bit for never teaching her the same fighting techniques my father insisted on teaching me. I’d wanted to protect her from the harsher aspects of life, but now I worry I’ve only made her defenseless.

  Juniper still hasn’t returned from her sojourn with the tree people. She’s always spent more time out there than she does in the city. I think it makes her feel closer to my mother. Usually, I’m a bit jealous of the way she’s able to commune with nature, but right now, I’m just glad she’s somewhere safe.

  Maybe I could talk to Natalia about hiding Kendall for me.

  Pulling out my phone, I fire off a text to her.

  Hey, can I ask a favor? It’s about Kendall.

  Her response is prompt as always, leaving me to wonder if the witch saw this coming and has been waiting on me. Sure, anything.

  Can Kendall stay with you for a few days? I need to sort out a work thing.

  I watch as the dots ripple, signaling her typing a response. Finally, she answers. What does Kendall say about that?

  I frown, confused.

  Before I can text back, a knock sounds at my bedroom door.

  “Tor, I know you’re in there,” Kendall calls.

  The sound of her voice sends my stress and fear up another notch. Up until that moment with Uziah, I’d almost believed whatever happened to me was a fluke or could be reversed, but drinking that poison proved otherwise. Or, more accurately, the fact that nothing happened to me after drinking it spoke volumes.

  Actually, not nothing. The black veins spidering across my stomach and arms are gone now. Almost as if drinking that poison healed me.

  Whatever’s going on, it’s clear I’m tainted by some kind of dark magic from the death dragon himself. A creature more powerful and brutal than anything I’ve ever encountered if rumors are true. Until I know more, I’m not about to risk another accidental touch—especially with Kendall.

  “Tor, you have to eat something,” she tries again.

  “Leave it outside,” I call.

  “Or you could come sit at the table like a normal person,” she says.

  Except that I’m not normal.

  “I’ll stay on the other side of the room,” she adds hopefully.

  “Too risky.”

  “You aren’t going to hurt me,” she argues. “I trust you.”

  That may be, but I don’t trust myself.

  “Fine. I’ll leave your plate here,” she says when I don’t respond.

  I count to fifty before sliding off my bed and venturing to the door. I stop long enough to pull on gloves that cover my hands and wrists followed by a scarf that covers nearly all of my face and hair. Listening, I make sure there’s no sound from the other side before unlocking the door and pulling it open.

  Kendall is nowhere in sight, but the plate is set a lot farther out than I expected. I’m forced to take three steps to reach out. The moment I bend down, Kendall pops out from around the corner and slides in behind me, pulling my bedroom door shut.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demand.

  “Proving my point,” she says, blocking my retreat to isolation.

  “Kendall,” I warn, taking a step back. I nearly trip over the plate but manage to right myself, sidestepping it and her. “This isn’t funny. Or safe. Move out of the way.”

  “No.” She gives me a hard look. “I’m not letting you spend the rest of your life in your room.”

  “Kendall,” I say again, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m not safe. I could kill you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “You can’t be sure⁠—”

  “I can because I’ve seen it.”

  That stops me. “What?”

  “I’ve seen how I go, and it’s not by your hand.”

  I gape at her. “You’ve seen your own death?”

  “Yes.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  Kendall’s always had visions of the future, but they’ve grown more frequent as she’s gotten older. And darker. Especially since she began training under Natalia. This is her first vision of death, but I can’t help shuddering because I have a feeling it won’t be the last.

  “How does it happen?” I ask softly, wincing at what I’m saying.

  But she folds her arms. “No way. I’m not answering that question.”

  “If you tell me, maybe I can help stop⁠—”

  “You can’t.” She holds her hand up to cut off my argument. “Relax, Tor. I live to be very old, okay. There’s nothing you need to do here.”

  I exhale, still wary.

  What if she’s lying just to calm me down?

  “Come eat dinner with me,” she adds and marches off into the kitchen without waiting for a reply.

  Alone, I glance down at the plate that lured me out here in the first place. Curious, I reach down and pull the lid off.

  The plate is empty.

  I huff and straighten, pausing long enough to make sure all my coverings are still in place. Then, I reluctantly follow her into the kitchen.

  Kendall’s seated at one end of the table. She looks up and gestures for me to take the seat opposite her. It’s already set for me, complete with a huge plate of spaghetti.

  My favorite.

  “Sit.”

  Cautiously, I do as Kendall says, sitting and taking a bite. The flavors hit my tongue, and I make a sound of appreciation. When I look up, Kendall’s watching me with one lifted brow.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  She smirks. “I’ll take the compliment.”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes, and slowly, I relax into the idea that I might co-exist with Kendall this way. If I’m careful. If I don’t let my guard down.

  But the relief doesn’t last. My future stretches out before me, lonely and long. A well of sadness rises to the surface.

  “Stop.”

  Kendall’s tone is sharp. When I look up, I find her glaring.

  “Stop what?” I ask.

  “Feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “I’m not⁠—”

  “It’s all you’ve done since you came home from that stupid bar.”

  I set my fork down, suddenly not hungry anymore. “I killed a girl last night.”

  “It was an accident,” she reminds me, but I’m not sure that matters.

  “One that could easily happen again,” I point out.

  “But it won’t. You’ll be careful. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

  I shake my head, thoughts crashing one into another as I try to decide how much to tell her. I’ve always kept her from the details of what I do—and the life I live as a professional poisoner. But I’m not sure I can do that anymore. And that breaks my heart.

  Kendall is quiet, watching me, waiting—because she knows there’s more.

  “Uziah said the woman was part of the Crimson Roses,” I add.

  Kendall’s eyes widen. “The gang?”

  I nod.

  “Shit,” she says.

  Kendall knows only the basics about them, but it’s enough for her to understand the gravity of the situation.

  “They think I did it on purpose. They’re taking it personally.”

  “Can Uziah talk to them? Smooth things over?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard back from him.”

  “You have to get out of here,” she says, voice rising as worry sets in. “They’ll hunt you down, find you here.”

  “I can’t go out there. I’m dangerous.”

  She sets her fork aside and sits back. “Fine. We’ll be ready when they come⁠—”

  “No,” I cut her off, rigid in my chair. “You will not be here when they come. If they come,” I amend though we both know it’s a futile thing to doubt.

  They’ll come.

  “I am not letting you face this alone,” she says.

  “Yes you are. It’s my job to protect you. I texted Natalia. You can stay with her.”

  “You got me a babysitter?”

  “Just for a couple of days until I figure this out.”

  “And exactly how will you do that?”

  A headache begins to pulse at my temples. “Uziah will find a way out of this.”

  She scowls. “Bullshit.”

  “Uziah—”

  “Uziah is a vamp out to make a buck. He doesn’t care about you. He only cares how he can use you.”

  “He was Dad’s friend.”

  “He was Dad’s resource. There’s a difference.” She softens and ducks her head as she adds, “He came into Spells the other day.”

  I stare back at her, thrown off by her admission. “What? Why?”

  “He asked me to work for him.” She lifts her gaze again, and I see guilt flash. “I know, I should have told you right away but⁠—”

  “Work for him how?”

  “He wants someone who can see the future.”

  “He wants to replace Stella,” I realize. She nods, and a new kind of fear twists in my gut. “I hope you said no.”

  “Of course I said no. Do I look stupid?”

  Relief courses through me, but it’s short-lived. “How did he take it?”

  “He promised to be back in a few days so he could change my mind.” She hesitates. “I told Natalia I needed the week off.”

  “Smart. It’s best to avoid the situation rather than face him head-on.”

  “I know.”

  The fear threatens to drag me down, so I force a smile and tease, “When did you get so street-smart?”

  “I haven’t changed,” she says, brows arching. “Maybe the way you see me has.”

  I shake my head, unwilling to get into that particular argument right now. “He might be dangerous, but Uziah has connections. If anyone can find a way out of this, it’s him.”