She knew, yet our new queen eyed her tea and took her precious time to answer while her mate glared at me. “I don’t know.”

“Have you attempted to?” Fang asked.

“Why should it matter?” Dade said through his teeth. “She’s still healing.”

“If you want her at these meetings,” I said evenly. “Then you’d better get used to us talking to her.”

Opal placed a hand upon Dade’s fist. “He’s right. Calm down.”

Dade closed his eyes, his shoulders lowering marginally. When they opened, he set them on me. “Why do you care?”

Surely, I couldn’t have been the sole reason an army of humans would cross the Night Sea. The resources, the danger, the uncertainty…

Let it be, my instincts warned, and I lifted a shoulder. “Merely curious.” Rising, I said, “Well, if we’re not making plans to torture some human royals for answers and their total submission, then I think I’ll take my leave to torture something else…”

None of them stopped me as I left the war room and crossed the underbelly of the Keep to the dungeons, where weeping humans awaited the attention of my claws.

The few that still lived hadn’t been incredibly forthcoming, but just in case, I’d made sure I was the only one permitted to pay them a visit.

Freshly bathed but unwilling to stay in the rooms I’d been given at the Keep, I warped back to the apartment to fall into bed.

Nothing was worse than wrapping a hand around my cock, only to have someone in the same guest wing ruin it with their snoring. That someone being Fang, who had no trouble falling asleep as soon as his obnoxious head hit the pillow.

Some of us needed to fucking unwind first.

All of that went straight to shit when I materialized inside the apartment.

My heart quietened to a racing patter in my chest. Every sense awoke with a ferocity and speed I hadn’t experienced in a long fucking time.

The door was open, swaying with a creak in the wind.

Blood stained the air, and the carpet beneath my boots in the shape of half a hand print. The carafe I’d left by the sink yesterday now shone in broken pieces upon the kitchen floor.

My lungs tightened with each short inhale. Her honeyed scent was everywhere. Fresh.

Just hours old.

Unable to believe it, unsure what the fuck was happening—if it were real or a fever dream—I did the only thing my baser self would allow.

I hunted.

I trailed her scent outside to the stairs. Swiping the rain-damp railing where her blood had nearly dried, I sniffed it. I shivered from the taste when I licked it, my skin trembling in response.

Then I stalked down the sloping street into the fog.