She sat up, examining her arms and legs. Not a single scar remained, and her muscles felt strong enough to run a mile. If it weren’t for the bloodbath around her and the shredded gown, she might have been able to convince herself it had all been a terrible dream.

She rose, surveying the room. Blood everywhere. It looked like a crime scene, red spattering the rug and books. Stepping into the hall, she eyed the trail of gore that led back to the sigil room, overcome by a desperate desire to clean it all up. She didn’t know what sort of killer F.U. had been, but the sight and smell of it turned her stomach. Worse, the trail of blood in the hallway sparked something in the darkest recesses of her memory, something she didn’t want to remember…

Frantically, she rushed to the kitchen, yanking open the closet and grabbing a mop and bucket. Her hands still shaking, she filled the bucket with water from the sink, and a hefty dollop of soap. I need to get rid of the blood.

She nearly spilled the bucket in her rush to drag it back into the hall, where she manically pushed the mop over the boards, sopping up vomit and gore. I need this gone. She’d killed someone tonight, and she’d seen Kester die. She hadn’t known him long and hadn’t liked him most of that time, yet she had the strange feeling that she’d miss him terribly if he were truly gone. She could envision his perfect face, his lips as he’d kissed her. Please, Kester, don’t be dead. Maybe he’d bust through the door unannounced at any minute.

What the hell had happened in the fae realm? She didn’t even know what Abrax had been doing there in the first place. Kester had said the fae were unaligned—they had nothing to do with the god of night.

She scrubbed the crimson-stained floor, trying to push out the image in her mind—Kester falling over the ledge—but the horrible vision kept returning to her. Abrax had slaughtered him viciously, without waiting to hear what they’d needed. They hadn’t come to the fae realm to hurt anyone, just to get Zee’s soul back. And she’d failed—miserably. Again.

Something cold and primal chilled her heart. She wanted revenge.

She’d lost not one but two souls tonight. She glanced down the hall at the sigil room, hoping to see Kester’s athletic frame suddenly appear by some magical stroke of luck. But she was an idiot for counting on things like luck to save her—things like her stupid white stone. Luck was for the desperate, not for those with any sense of control over their lives.