Cursing softly, I gathered Nelle into my arms and lowered myself to sit on the cool marble floor, rocking her back and forth gently on my lap. Her tiny fingers dug into my t-shirt as she clung to me. I rested my chin on the crown of her head and murmured quietly, "Ending lives is something you should never get used to."

Nelle buried her face into my chest and her tears soaked into my shirt. Her voice was muffled when she asked, "Have y-you?"

Loosening a sigh, I offered her the truth. "Yes. Often those lives I ended deserved it." Killing was part of our world, especially in my line of work as an enforcer. "But not when they're innocent." There were times my House had been ordered to do so on behalf of the Horned Gods and those were the deaths that haunted my soul.

Sniffling, Nelle shivered, and I briskly rubbed a hand up and down her trembling arm. "Little bird, those we faced down in the catacombs, they weren't alive." Her fingers bunched into my shirt, tightened, relaxed, then tightened again. I wasn't sure if knowing that we'd faced an army of dead was going to lighten her soul.

I'd been seventeen years old when I'd taken my first life. I'd held on until I'd gotten home, then headed straight for the forest and hurled everything in my guts up. I'd curled up on the forest floor and wept like a fucking baby.

Like the Uzrek had said, I was a death-dealer. That was my purpose amongst the Houses—a weapon in the form of flesh and bone. It didn't matter that who I'd killed was dark and deserved a swift death. Something had died inside of me, the last flickering goodness of my mother had winked out.

Had all my brothers felt the same when they'd taken a life?

Kenton, no. Ice-cold, just like our father and our aunt.

But Jett, probably. He'd made himself scarce the day he'd taken a life for the first time. Caidan, I knew for sure, because I'd spied on him when he'd returned from the Widowmakers with dried blood crusting his sword. He didn't even make it as far as I had. He'd stumbled in through the massive front doors and emptied his stomach all over the stone floor. He'd locked himself in his quarters for the rest of the day.

Nelle lifted her grime-smeared face, and her haunted gray eyes met mine. I wiped her tear-slick cheeks but only managed to smear the soot and grime further. "I reacted much like you." I tucked a lock of wild hair behind her ears. "After I killed for the first time, I cried like a baby."

She blinked, sniffing. Scrubbing an eye with the back of her wrist, she said, "A baby?"

"Tell anyone that and I'll make your life miserable," I half-teased.

She attempted a smile, but it wobbled, and her brows slashed up as silver filled her eyes. Her little fists bunched the soft fabric of my shirt. "I can't stop shaking," she whispered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

"It's the adrenaline. You're in shock."

I tucked her back against my chest and gently stroked her head. The ash that blanketed her pale tresses coated my fingers. The only other girl I'd comforted this way was my baby sister Ferne when she had hurt herself, tripping over her feet or bumping into something unforgiving. And it didn't feel so bad holding Wychthorn like this either.

This tiny little thing has me wrapped around her finger.

Her bathroom was luxurious and spacious, and the only room that wasn't tacked with pictures. Lines of gold streaked through the white marble tiles. A large claw-footed bathtub sat beneath a smoky window. There was an open shower and the large mirror-backed vanity was cluttered with her skin products. The space smelled of that strawberry soap she liked so much, mingling with bitter smoke that tainted her skin, and her trademark scent unique only to her.

Nelle's fingers unfurled, releasing my fisted shirt, and she spread a hand against my chest. Her cheek shifted slightly as she angled her head to look up at me and her sweet breath caressed my throat. "Are they the same ones you spoke of yesterday to Master Sirro?"

"I expect so." Too much of a coincidence not to be. They'd swifted in and there'd been no trace of scent about them.

Her whole body tensed in my arms. "How do they even know about me?"

I toyed with a lock of her hair as I thought it through, twirling the dirty strands around a finger. How did they know she was other? I was pretty fucking sure this afternoon hadn't been an attempted kidnapping of royalty. Byron had been clever, keeping his youngest daughter in plain sight of all the Houses and allowing her to attend just enough gatherings so no one suspected. He'd been over-protective with all his daughters, so no suspicious eye would be cast her way.

The truth of it was, I didn't know how they knew about her.

Besides the Wychthorns, only one other person had known about Nelle—my mother. She'd known all along that Nelle was other, and she'd protected Nelle's secret to her own detriment.

We Crowthers were the only ones who knew Nelle's secret. We'd kept purposely quiet all these years to later use.

Has someone she trusted betrayed her?

I tugged on a lock of her hair to get her attention. She rounded her miserable tear-soaked face to peer up at me. "How did they know you were off the estate? Where you'd be?" Had they sought her because she was other or was she more to them than just that? And what were those things going to do once they'd captured her?

She hitched a shoulder. She didn't know.

Pushing up she looked at me sidelong. There was a wariness to her gaze and she nervously linked her fingers together. She asked softly, "What are you going to do, Graysen?"

Fucked if I knew. She was right. I couldn't go telling anyone what she'd been up to. Her father, yeah, sure I could inform him, but what could he do? He certainly couldn't alert the Houses, because they'd want answers to why we were hunting down the Uzrek. I ran a hand through my damp hair. "Shit, Wychthorn, I don't know."

One of her dress's shoulder straps had been scorched, leaving just a thin webbing of melted fabric barely clinging together. I couldn't resist trailing my fingertips along the exposed skin of her shoulder, grazing over charred material too. Her skin rippled and pebbled at my touch, and that electric prickling sensation bounced between us and coursed along my hand.

"No. I mean about me...about me being..." She glanced down at her hands. A worried frown creased her brow as she slid her fingers anxiously back and forth against one another, the adamere bracelet gently chinking with the motion. Her cautious gaze slowly returned to mine and she gave a defeated sigh. "The Horned Gods, they'll—"

"Take you," I interrupted, my expression as cold as my tone. "Maybe give you over to House Pelan. Maybe one of the Horned Gods will claim you for their own. But they'll strip you bare to discover what you are and what you can do. Then they'll either steal it for themselves or worse, let you live—"

"My family..." She swallowed, her graceful throat bobbing. Fear and panic flooded those pretty gray eyes.

"An example will be made. Great House Wychthorn hiding an other... All this time...?" I tsked. "I'd hate to be in Byron's place." I was being a prick. And I knew it.

Brushing my hand back along her shoulder I wound my fingers around her vulnerable throat. She sucked in a breath and went rigid, her eyes rounding. It was a threat, my hand wrapped around her neck, and I tapped my forefinger on the pulse point on her throat, feeling it kick into a rapid beat. But she held my gaze, unflinching, waiting to see what I'd do, what I'd reveal.

"They won't accept a sacrifice like House Simonis did for their little boy. They'll wipe out your entire House. Every single Wychthorn. Every single servant. They'll burn your home to the ground so nothing remains."

If it was mere revenge we were after, that's what we Crowthers would do—hand her over to the Horned Gods. But she was so much more to us than that. She was a pawn on a board that extended far further than eight rows wide and eight rows high.

Nelle wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "And?" What are you going to do?—her gaze silently demanded.

"I'm not going to say anything."

She slanted her chin, staring at me through narrowed eyes. "Give me your word."

Clever little Wychthorn.

I let myself smile, maybe a touch too cocky, because she needed to bind me. Smart to bind me. But she didn't know that I'd never willingly give her away. I'd already done that twelve years ago. And besides, she wasn't currently in possession of any dark magic or a device that would ensure my word would be bound.

I nodded. "You have my word, little bird."

Her pent-up breath left her in a whoosh. The tension in her slender shoulders relaxed, and she shook her head at me, her knotty hair swaying down her back. She rubbed her temple with blackened fingers and shot me a look of disbelief. "Why? Why wouldn't you?"

Simple. Complicated. We needed her alive. We needed to keep her hidden.

And me... I just needed her.

Something had happened when I'd kissed her in the woodland well of water. That jolt of energy that had passed between us—I'd felt the turning of the Alverac, its iron teeth biting harder, and something else twining around me, filaments of magic, of power. I was connected to her, bound to her more than ever before. That was blindingly obvious by my panic down in the catacombs.

Fuck, I'd almost lost her.

I needed time to sort it out and work out what it was. Because there was something inside me she'd tamed and claimed.

Nelle shivered, teeth chattering, and I stupidly realized, "Shit, you're freezing."

I shifted her off my lap, rose quickly to my feet, and flicked the shower on. It was one of those open tile spaces with a single wall for privacy. Steam began to plume and billow within the bathroom. Assisting her to stand, I reached for her dress about to tug it off, but she stepped swiftly out of reach and frowned.

I shrugged, a little disappointed. Instead, I let my gaze skate leisurely down her figure and the dress half-eaten by flames. There was something fucking sexy about that wild untamed hair, the rawness of her emotion—the puffy, red-rimmed eyes and lips salted with tears. The defiance shining back at me as she locked her spine straight and raised her chin imperiously.

"If you're sure?" I purred, taking a step closer, forcing her to back up against the elegant vanity. I bent lower, enjoying how her pretty eyes flashed wide and lips parted in surprise as I ghosted her neck with my mouth and coasted my hand along the outside of her thigh. "But I could make it so much more—"

But before I could finish, something pinched my ear painfully.

Her thumb and forefinger twisted unmercifully.

"The fuck!" I bellowed.

Her eyes were thin glacial slits as she forcefully tugged me away by the ear. "I'll say this once, Crowther," she growled. "No thanks."

***

The shower was to warm but the water scalded my frozen, shivering flesh.

In solitude, it didn't take long for those dark thoughts to wind themselves around me and sink their rusty teeth into my mind. I stood beneath the falling water and let it wash all over me, wishing it could cleanse the blackness from my soul as easily as the rain of water sluiced the grit and ash down the drain.

I am a killer. A life-ender.

A monster.

Sinking to the bottom of the shower, I wrapped my arms around my knees and burst into tears. I'd ended them. Dead or not-quite-living didn't matter; what I'd done was still murder. And what frightened me the most was my dark power.

So much power resided inside me.

The creature was currently curled up, sated, and spent in my gut, but the enjoyment it took in rendering those things to mere motes of ash...

And if I were honest, at that moment, engulfed in the icy darkness of the catacombs, when rage burned my blood so hot that they'd dared to harm what I loved most, Sage, or take from me what was mine—Graysen—I'd reveled in retribution.

And that in itself scorched my soul and burned it black.

A monster... I was a monster...

I don't know how long I sat there with the steam billowing around me and the cascading water muffling my sobs. But I think I must have fallen into a fugue, because when I finally heard Graysen say—"Wychthorn"—it felt as if he'd been repeating my name for a while.

I jolted.

What is he doing in here?

"Graysen?"

His rough voice filled the bathroom. "You've been in there for ages."

I glanced down at my palms and saw how wrinkled they were.

"Need a hand?" he coaxed, his voice gone velvet. "I could soap up those perky breasts of yours."

Something other than despair wound through me—a heated annoyance. "Get out," I hissed. Sniffing, I scrubbed my red-rimmed eyes with the heels of my hands.

"Ah, come on. I can't see you. See, I have my back turned...kinda."

"Kinda?" I very nearly shrieked. Rising, I canted myself forward to peer around the wall of white-gold marbled tiles, while being careful to keep my body obscured.

Graysen was leaning against the vanity, arms crossed, blatantly not with his back turned.

Those strong biceps flexed as he shifted his ass, and propped one bare foot, knee bent slightly, against the cupboard door of the vanity. His height and breadth seemed to take up all the space, and he stole the air from the room, or maybe he stole it just from me. I reminded myself to refill my lungs and to stop staring at those glorious arms...the coils of ink...the strain of muscle...

He grinned, and one of his eyebrows arched with mischief. "Well shit, Wychthorn, I've already seen you in your underthings, and they barely left anything to the imagination."

I felt the hunger in his eyes like a caress that sent a heavy wave of heat rippling down my spine as his gaze drifted down my throat, to my shoulders, the only part of me appearing around the wall. But as soon as he said, "I'm curious as to how they might look...how they might feel... Go on. Show me. Just a peek. I'm guessing they're perfectly perky tits." I gasped, indignation exploding in its wake.

Gods, the guy has a one-track mind!

"Get out of here!"

He laughed, and the sound bounced against the walls. "Not until I hear that crack of the shampoo cap and some kind of movement."

I grumbled under my breath, retreating back to the safety of the shower head. I snatched up the shampoo and got to lathering, cursing him with every filthy word I'd gathered throughout my life. Soapy suds slid down my neck and shoulders. Rinsing off my hair, I slathered thick goops of conditioner through its length and began scrubbing the remaining grime from my limbs with body wash. The scent of strawberry bloomed in the room. I stilled, cocking an ear and straining to hear anything. "You've not gone, have you?"

Silence.

I frowned, pausing in washing myself. Maybe he had.

"Nope," came from the room.

I muttered a few more choice curses and scrubbed harder at my limbs.

"Gods, Wychthorn," he groaned, deep and low. And it wasn't the sound of exasperation, it sounded desperate and greedy. "That mouth of yours. Filthy. Utterly filthy. You put me to shame. Though..." I could hear playfulness kick into his tone. "...I could put better use to that waspish tongue, your pretty mouth, the back of your throat."

My jaw dropped. Droplets of water clung to my lashes as I slowly blinked.

What the hells did he just suggest?

As if I'd ever do that with him!

I swung back around the tiled wall and bared my teeth, snarling.

He only grinned wider, shaking a finger at me. "Uh-uh, little bird, you'll learn not to bite," and he winked.

I grabbed the bottle of conditioner and hurled it at him. He easily dodged it, laughing as it clattered against porcelain, scattering my moisturizers. I threw the shampoo, the body wash, the tub of hair masque, and the long-handled loofah.

Godsdammit, the guy moves like the wind!

And then I'd run out of things to throw at him. Fuck it.

And he had the body wash.

I huffed and stretched a hand toward him, my palm upward. "The body wash."

"The body wash?" He chewed the word strangely as if he'd never heard of it before.

"That one down there." It had rolled beneath the shelves of towels. He bent, searching for the dark green bottle, and I tried hard not to look—tried and failed.

What am I doing?

But he was here in my space, and though my bathroom was large, it suddenly seemed tiny with him in it, in those sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Gods, he was blessed with a fine piece of—

Nelle! Get a grip!

"You do realize I can feel you staring at my ass," he said, picking up the bottle and turning back with a cocky smirk.

I gaped, flushing.

His smile got more wicked as he lazily moved toward me. He leaned a shoulder on the other side of the shower wall. "That's my favorite color on you, by the way." He reached out to skim a fingertip along my cheekbone, the simple touch flaring my nerve endings to life. "That flush of rose-pink. Adorable."

I snorted and batted his hand away, before snatching the bottle from him and disappearing from his view.

"No—thanks—Wychthorn?" I could almost feel the disparaging shake of his head. "Your manners are atrocious."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I'd rather fuck you."

I let out an exasperated growl, and he answered with a chuckle. I rinsed the conditioner from my hair, and furiously cleansed my skin with the strawberry body wash. I shut off the shower. "Towel...please."

"Better," he murmured. A moment later he stretched his hand around the tiles offering a soft fluffy towel. "Just say the word and I'll help rub you down."

I grabbed the towel from him. "Thanks, but no thanks."

A moment later, I heard the bathroom door open and shut. Quickly drying myself, I stepped out of the shower and twisted the towel around my wet hair before unhooking the bathrobe from where it hung on the wall. It was then, as I tied the belt around my middle, that I wondered if he knew what he'd been doing. He'd dragged me from the deep dark well of self-hatred and despair with his endless taunting. A small smile curved my lips as I entered my bedroom, only to find him reclining on my bed like an emperor, Sage asleep at the end of the mattress.

Graysen pointed a finger at me and boomed, "Robe. Off. Now!"