THE BEAST RAMMED at Bane’s skull, anxious to escape, as he sped through a dense, moonlit forest. Tree limbs slapped his face and arms. Sweat dampened his skin, and he labored for every breath, the internal damage caused by the car wreck inundating him with pain. With one hand, he clutched Nola close. With the other, he continually sliced his palm on a dagger blade and flung blood over foliage to create a noticeable trail for their pursuers to follow. He had a plan.

His most violent instincts demanded he stop and fight. Will make Ronan and Petra pay! Alas. The well-being of his princess mattered more.

Did Nola realize she’d asked him to kill the couple and save their hearts? Did royal instinct demand she eat the organs to absorb the strength of her enemies? Every queen experienced the urge at some point.

He’d convinced himself Nola would be different, that her iron will might save her from such morbid desires, that she wouldn’t grow to crave the act, as Aveline and the other royals had done. Now...

He gnashed his teeth. If he performed the Blood Rite, he would lose sweet, giving and passionate Nola.

Can’t lose her. Not her.

Damn it! The woman was more dangerous than he’d ever realized. She’d done what no one else could: she’d snuck past his defenses, past internal barbed wire and into the maximum security prison known as his heart.

Did he love her? No. He didn’t. He didn’t! He wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t. Love without strength was misery. But he did care for her.

Can’t lose her, he thought again. Can’t relinquish my vengeance, either. Even the thought made him feel like he’d ripped out his rib cage and exposed his organs. As much as Bane hungered for Nola—franticly, frenziedly—he could not allow Aveline to live. She would only torture and torment his brethren. Would not allow her to enjoy life while her victims rotted in their graves.

Get Nola to safety. Figure out your next move.

The princess moaned and mumbled, “Hurts.” How much blood had she lost? The yellowish pallor of her skin and the blue tinge of her lips suggested a lot.

He bit out, “I know, dove,” and placed a hasty kiss on her brow. “If you can, rest. I’ll make you better once I’ve dispatched our pursuers.” If his plan failed...

Don’t let it fail.

What if she became mist again?

Why turn to mist in the first place? Had to be a unique supernatural ability all her own. But what was its purpose?

When he felt he was the perfect distance from their hunter—timing mattered—he opened a portal to a lavender field overseas...also a base camp that belonged to Ranger, a savage warrior able to spew fire from his fingertips.