She took a step closer to the table. “Nuala said the tea tasted odd. She didn’t drink all of it, but she drank enough.” Another step. Close enough now to jump from chair to table to—“I’m going to rip your heart out with my bare hands, just to see if you really have one.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Jean wailed.

“Breanna.” Now Fiona’s voice had turned sharp. “Is something wrong with Nuala? Is she ill?”

“Nuala is dead.” Breanna’s voice broke. Her control shattered. “You little bitch, you killed my grandmother!”

Chair to table, and she was flying through the air straight at Jean. Strong arms caught her around the hips, hauling her back.

Kicking and flailing, she screamed her grief and rage. “You killed my grandmother! You killed her!”

Her legs buckled. The strong arms that had held her back now eased her to the floor, wrapped around her to hold her close as she howled her pain.

“I’m sorry, Breanna,” Liam murmured, his voice more a rumble in the chest she was held against than words she understood.

Keely, yelling, “Mama! Mama!”

Fiona, shouting, “Keely! No!”

Someone brushing past her, someone with strength as formidable as earth.

Ashk, implacable, saying, “Get out of here. Stay out of the house until we get her calmed down.”

Aiden’s voice, and Lyrra’s. Part of a swell of voices lost in the waves of pain.

Another voice saying, “Are you sure? She needs to grieve.”

Ashk. “Yes, she does. But not like this.”

A woman’s hand on her hair. Gentle. “Sleep now. Sleep.”

She tried to fight against it. “I’ll die.”

“I’ll keep watch over you until Falco returns,” Liam said. “We won’t let you die. I swear it.”

The woman’s voice again. “Sleep now. Sleep.”

Nothing she could do but follow that voice. Nothing.

Selena moved away to the window, leaving Ashk standing at the foot of Nuala’s bed.

“Is Breanna right?” Ashk asked. “Did the girl put something in the tea, intending mischief but resulting in this?”

“I don’t know,” Selena replied, moving the curtain enough to watch the people milling around on the back lawn. “I stayed away from the girl as much as possible.”

“Why?”

She let the curtain fall and turned to face Ashk. “Because every time I saw her, I wanted to change into a shadow hound and tear her throat out.”

Ashk stared at her. No revulsion, no criticism in that look. Just assessment.

Finally, Ashk stepped away from the bed and blew out a breath. “If your instincts were that strong, the girl’s lucky to be alive.”

“And I’m wondering if I have reason to regret not following that instinct.”