Finally, Kenton turned his hard eyes on me. "Just what is she?" There was a glint of accusation in his gaze. A reprimand for not discovering it by now.

"She doesn't know." I didn't taste her lies when she'd spoken to me about it. And without witnessing firsthand what she was capable of, I was still in the dark.

My little bird was a knowledge gatherer. I knew that about her, but my irritation at being stuck in her company blinded me to that fact. On a few of those days we'd been forced together, she'd kept me holed up in her family's library. She had her own personal table and reading lamps and a high-backed leather chair. The table was always stacked with piles of books she'd dug out and read during the period between my visits. She'd perch on the edge of her chair, a furrow between her brows as she read. And whenever she had difficulty deciphering the old language, the tip of her tongue would touch her upper lip, and the pen loosely held in between her fingers, tap, tap, tapping on the folded leaves, slowed down.

While I sat there or stalked the quiet room, seething, she'd been researching our world, doing it right in my face and I'd been such a dumbass that it hadn't clicked.

Fuck, I was an idiot.

A spoiled princess—I liked to throw that in her face every opportunity I could.

She was just a girl who didn't know what she was, and perhaps didn't even understand it herself. But did that stop her or get her down? Fuck, no. No wailing or self-pity from Nelle. She just quietly got to work in the only way she was allowed to, sifting through the ancient tombs of the library, rifling through the Wychthorn history to find out anything about herself; by trying to find the location of some monstrous beast that might help her unpick the threads binding her secret.

Those pictures on her wall, now shredded into tiny scraps, were the lairs of monsters and otherworldly creatures she'd discovered, pinpointing their territory. The Uzrek was the closest creature she could ask about her dark power.

And how long had she been up to this monster hunting? Years, judging by the layer of pictures lining the walls in her quarters.

I'd misjudged her; we all had. Thinking her a spoiled princess—cloistered on the estate, pampered and coddled and clueless.

All this time, Wychthorn had been researching and planning and biding her time, waiting for an opportunity to find herself free and alone in the city of Ascendria.

And I'd provided that moment for her.

Just the cleverness of it all, her fearlessness, and the fact she'd duped me so easily when we'd ridden the subway... Her sharp mind was a godsdamned aphrodisiac and my body tightened with lust.

"Any ideas?" Kenton asked.

I blinked, adjusting my position slightly, and willed my stiffening cock to back the fuck down. My hair ruffled as I slowly shook my head. "I haven't figured it out yet." Whatever Nelle was, her power was close to a Horned God's might. And by the apprehensive look etched on Kenton's face, he'd realized it too. "Fuck, I don't know if we'll be able to contain her on the estate."

The Alverac would contain her. But none of us knew if the binding of the Alverac would contain whatever dark might prowled beneath her skin.

"She's turning twenty in a few weeks' time. And that..." Jett jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the adjoining door. "What the hells do we have to trap that?"

"That has a name," I snapped back.

Her name is Nelle Wychthorn!

But how often had I ever let myself utter her first name? Hardly ever.

I saw Jett's confusion at my angry reply turn into a stormy black look. Kenton eyed me shrewdly, contemplating my reaction. Both of them harbored deep resentment for Wychthorn. Can I blame them?

"Besides, you forget who we are," I grumbled, kneading my forehead with my fingertips. I had to sever those tangled feelings I had for Nelle. I had to, or else I'd never be able to do the things my family needed from me. I shoved those confusing feelings for Nelle down deep and filled my blood with ice.

She means nothing to me.

Nothing.

Straightening my spine, I eyed Jett and quirked up one eyebrow. "We are Crowthers. The oldest family amongst the Houses. We've weapons given to us by the Horned Gods, forged by Zrenyth himself." Somewhere in our armory, we'd find something to bind Wychthorn's powers.

"Besides, we have another problem," I added as I strode over to my saddlebags and pulled out a roll of velvet. No one, besides my brothers, knew Wychthorn and I had encountered the mysterious faction that was hounding the Horned Gods. How the hells I was going to find a way to inform Novak, without giving us away, was beyond me.

I unfurled the fabric, revealing the crossbow bolt I'd pushed from Sage's chest. "Those things, that army of the dead in the catacombs, they've got to be looking for others. That's why they're attacking our shipments, searching through our stolen souls. I don't know if Wychthorn and I were at the wrong place at the wrong time. But I'm certain, they were after her." I handed the bolt wrapped in velvet to Kenton. "This brought down a wraith-wolf." The bolt was the only thing left after Wychthorn had obliterated all of those things that were hunting her.

Jett got up from my bed, stalked over, and leaned in to stroke a fingertip along the length of the bolt. He snatched his hand back, flicking his wrist, cursing at the blisters rendered into his skin. He frowned. "What the fuck is that thing? I could feel myself unraveling."

I could only offer a shrug. I didn't know. But I'd felt the same thing when I'd worked it out from Sage. A tugging at my senses, my strength, the very blood in my veins, trying to steal the power we'd all been blessed with by my family line and our mother.

Kenton passed the wooden bolt to Caidan before his gaze sliced to mine. "And those things hunting you in the catacombs are equipped with these?"

"Yep." I poured a whiskey into a fresh glass and took a deep swig, welcoming the burn sliding down my throat.

Caidan gave the bolt a good going over before handing it back to me. I wrapped it back up in the velvet and placed it in my saddlebag, pausing a moment at the window. Our own extended family members were arriving on the estate. Aunts and Uncles, cousins who worked alongside us as enforcers or soldiers, were strolling into the marquee. Ferne would be here soon too, with our father and aunt.

I jerked my chin toward the outside door, indicating it was time for us to go and join the celebration.

***

My brothers and I gathered down at the back of the marquee. Our dark reputation and carefully schooled masks of indifference kept everyone else away, apart from a few servants who offered canapes and flutes of champagne, which I waved away. I'd brought a couple of Byron's aged Macallans with us. It gave me a childish sort of amusement to think how pissed Byron would be when he discovered the dent I'd made in his vintage whiskey collection.

Leaning my ass against a banquet table, with my hands braced on either side of me I narrowed my gaze on Caidan. "What have you got on Danne?" The motherfucker had kept a low profile today. I hadn't spotted him anywhere on the estate and I'd been purposely looking for him. I might have been spoiling for a fight, so it was lucky for Danne that I hadn't found him.

"Gambling again. Racked up quite the debt. Drowning in it," Caidan advised.

"With who?"

"Not any of our own," he replied, sliding a hand into a pocket of his dark gray suit jacket. "But I did find a name—Silas Boon."

"Who the hells is Silas Boon?" The name meant nothing to me.

Caidan shrugged one shoulder. "Still figuring it out."

"What do you think Danne wants with Wychthorn?" Jett asked.

I shook my head. I wasn't quite sure.

Caidan's cheek dimpled with a sly smile. "Have you considered he could actually like her?"

Mother—

Fucker!

Caidan was three years younger than me. Out of the four of us, he and I were the tightest. He'd also taken it upon himself to bring me back to myself after I'd survived that frigid well of darkness beneath the Keep when I'd fucking lost it after signing the Alverac.

Caidan was the one who knew me the best, but he liked to stir and stir until he got a reaction. And I didn't disappoint. The thought of Danne douchebag Pelan daring to even share the same breathing space as Wychthorn—

"That fucker likes only himself," I snarled.

And girls that scream—NO!

That thought must have been written all over my face because my three brothers suddenly grew still, sharing dark looks among themselves. Kenton tossed back the remains of his whiskey, slamming it down on the table so hard that glasses and even the candle sticks rattled. His deep voice rumbled, "He's going to get what's owed to him. Sometime soon."

I'd scented Danne's interest in Wychthorn when I'd found them in the marquee last night, dancing together—Danne playing her like it was some kind of cheesy-rom-com. Dickhead. As I'd marched for her, territorial possessiveness raging through me, I'd scented a faint trace of lust and something else—a tang that reminded me of stale spice that had sat in the cupboard for too long—retribution.

"He could want what? Maybe a way in with Byron? Find some way of paying off his debt?" Jett said, shifting his lean figure to snatch a couple of goat cheese canapes from the silver tray a servant offered.

Maybe me. Maybe getting back at me.

Last year, without my knowledge, Kenton had taken Ferne to speak with Danne while he was recuperating at home after I'd almost pounded him into an early grave. Ferne was strong-willed, and I guess even I wouldn't have been able to stand in her way once she'd made up her mind. Ferne had gone in alone, but Kenton had lingered outside, listening into their conversation. She hadn't begged on my behalf. Typically, like the Crowther she was, she'd threatened Danne and scared the ever-living shit out of him. She'd be the one to end him if he dared try to twist what had happened—what he'd been about to do to her—by bringing me to meet judgment before Byron or even Master Sirro for attacking him.

Then—

Something acrid stung my nostrils.

I sniffed the air in the marquee.

What the hells is that smell?

Smoke?

My attention snapped to my brothers as soon as I heard Caidan's snort-laugh. Jett's cheeks were red as he guffawed obnoxiously, his upper body bent in half with his hands splayed on his knees.

Even ice-cold Kenton cracked a smile and huffed a laugh.

"Dude, your tux is on fire," Jett crowed loudly, just as blistering icy heat scorched the flesh of my arm.

Fuck, my tux is on fire!

I tore off the jacket, throwing it on the ground and stamping out the flames beneath my leather shoes.

How the fuck?

I glanced around. Sure, I'd been leaning against the banquet table, but I was nowhere near a fucking candle.

I felt her then, that incessant prickling awareness thrumming across my skin. Swiveling around, I found Wychthorn standing just outside the entrance to the marquee, her silver dress shivering in a wind I was pretty fucking sure came from her. My gaze clashed with her fiery death-glare that screamed disappointment I hadn't exploded in a fireball of melting flesh. Hells hath no fury like a woman scorned. Nelle Wychthorn had kicked in the gate to Nine Hells, shoved Hazus off the throne, and proclaimed herself Queen.

She stared back at me with eyes as stormy as the angry clouds gathering overhead. I was fucking dead to her, and if she had her way I would be literally dead, and she'd prefer my death to be long and agonizing.

My brothers took her in. She gave each and every one of them a slow, lingering hate glare.

"Holy fuck," Jett murmured beneath his breath, brushing a hand through his long hair. "I think if an asteroid the size of Manhattan slammed into us right this moment, it still wouldn't satisfy her."

I fought the grin that threatened to expose itself. Yeah, I got the same feeling too. That fury she burned with...gods, it just made her all the more breathtaking.

She looked like moonlight, beautiful, ethereal in layers of silver that shifted and shimmered with the unnatural wind. I'd never seen her in anything so fitting before, or so grown up either. The gown's front split down her cleavage, right between the swelling of her breasts to her waist. And she was completely oblivious to the appreciation slithering her way from the males inside the tent who'd noticed her presence. The kind of appreciation that started to heat my blood, and not in a good way. My fingers curled into fists at the scent of lust filling the space.

My brothers and I were silent for a long, drawn-out moment, just staring back at her. It was Caidan who spoke first, and I caught the dimpled grin splitting his face when I glanced his way. "I like her."

"Did she...did she do that?" Jett asked, his eyes gone round as he toed the mess of smoking fabric at my feet with his shoe.

I picked up my burnt jacket, the stench of melted wool assaulting my nostrils. "Yep." And I was fucking lucky she didn't incinerate me on the spot. "That was a matchstick compared to what she's capable of."

I furtively scanned the other occupants of the tent. But those drawn into small and larger groups, chatting, sipping champagne, or nibbling on canapes, didn't appear to have noticed what had just happened. A few nearby had, casting curious glances before dismissing it, and turning back to their conversation with each other.

Thankfully, House Văduva hadn't arrived yet, as they hunted others. If they'd felt it, seen—

Shit, if Wychthorn exposes herself in her desire to fuck me over...

Where would that leave us?

We needed her.

I needed her—

Fuck, BLOCK IT!—I ordered myself.

"Why?" Kenton asked, cocking a perceptive eyebrow my way. "What did you do to piss her off?"

Gods, what I'd done shamed me.

I dropped my gaze to my smoldering jacket, but all I saw was her sweet face. The confusion that pinched her features, how her chin quivered as realization sunk in at all the vile ugly things spilling from my mouth last night. All intentional. All to hurt her.

And now that fire and brimstone and hate she burned with... I'd done that, and I fucking deserved it.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.

I had to be ice. I couldn't care.

Wychthorn is nothing to me.

She is a means to right a wrong.

She is the reason my mother was—

Gods, I couldn't even stomach my own bullshit!

Flicking my eyes open, I rubbed at my chest where something hurt. Fuck, I ached inside. What the fuck is that?

Kenton stepped up, close enough we were chest to chest. "The girl confronted the Uzrek and lived. She wiped out those things in the catacombs that even you couldn't take down." I met his ice-cold glare with my own. "She set you on fire. Destroyed her rooms. And I'm guessing your bumbling ass didn't trip over into mud, but that she did that to you."

All true, but I didn't say anything. I gritted my teeth.

"We cannot afford for her to reveal herself. We can't lose her, not when we're this fucking close—"

"I get it," I snarled.

"Whatever the fuck you've done to her, fix it. And find out what the fuck we're dealing with."

"Er, Gray..." Caidan jutted his chin in Wychthorn's direction.

And what I saw had red-hot rage searing my blood.

The milling crowd partly obscured them but I caught glimpses of some guy, as massive as Kenton, swooping in to scoop up Wychthorn. And that smile, that glorious smile lighting up her face, both wounded me and inflamed my rage further.

Some.

Fucker.

Is.

Touching.

Her!

Had her grinning that cute crooked grin and laughing in delight as he spun them both around fast and tossed her up in the air like a child.

They briefly disappeared, and without realizing it, I was shifting to find a better vantage, only to find the fucker's back to me. I had no idea who it was, but I fucking knew. I just knew what the fucker was doing as he dipped her slightly sideways so I could just see her warm expression, her pretty lips parting as his descended on hers.

Some other guy was kissing her!

Caidan slapped his hand on my taut shoulder, leaning in to whisper with a smug smirk. "Looks like you've got some serious competition there, brother."

All I saw was red.