Some fucker was shaking me awake.

The waterbed rocked beneath my weight as I grumbled, shirking away from the fucking arm-shaker and rolling to my side, still half-caught within the dream world. My hand blindly skimmed the rumpled sheets and blankets, hunting for Tabitha to pull her sweet body into mine, but the space beside me was cold and empty.

A reedy male voice pierced through the thin veil of sleep. "Mr. Crowther."

"Fuck off," I grouched, my voice rusty. All I wanted to do was drift a little longer in the tranquility of slumber.

"Mr. Crowther," came again. Louder. This time the insistent voice hauled me abruptly out of the soothing murkiness. I pried an eye open. My eyelids felt like concrete as if the lashes had fused and set together. The sleeping potion Tabitha had given me dragged through my system like mercury, tempting me to glide drowsily back to sleep.

I squinted up into the puffing-cheeked face of a short, stocky servant. One of his hands was clasped on my body, still shaking me even though clearly I was awake. He was young, late teens, and someone I didn't recognize. A footman perhaps, judging by the formal attire. I glared at his stubby fingers spread over my shoulder. He yanked his hand back and snapped to attention beside the bed. He flashed an awkward polite smile, but trepidation shone in his rich brown eyes feathered by thick black lashes. "Mr. Crowther, thank goodness you're awake."

I'm awake because you fucking shook me awake!

His dark brown hair was in disarray and a sheen of perspiration gleamed on his tawny temples. His chest rose and fell fast and shallow as if he'd run all this way to wake me. I sat upright, scrubbing sleep from my eyes, the bedding slipping to fold around my waist. I frowned and gruffly asked, "What do you want?"

"Your phone seems to be disconnected," he replied, gesturing toward an upended table where the phone had tumbled to the ground and the handset had consequently fallen away. His gaze continued onward, floating over my discarded clothes leading to the bathroom, and the tipped-over lamps, furniture, and broken artwork peppered over the burgundy shag-pile carpet. It wasn't so long ago that I'd trashed the Deniauds' Winter Room like a fucking rockstar. His stubby fingers kneaded his throat, and the corners of his mouth turned slightly downward, as, I supposed, he busily calculated how long it would take to clean the mess up, and probably mentally cursed me for being an asshole and destroying the room in the first place.

I snorted, rolling a shoulder to ease a pinch in a muscle. He should be fucking thanking me. The ridiculous amount of swans and ducks hanging on the walls would be a nightmare to dust every week.

Tabitha...

My heart kicked into a frantic pace as my gaze quickly scoured the floor.

I swallowed back a sigh of relief. There was no obvious sign of Tabitha, her evening gown, or shoes. I suspected she'd left well before the servant had arrived, perhaps as soon as I'd fallen asleep. Selfishly, disappointment crushed my chest. I'd wanted to wake with her curled against me, her leg hitched over mine, warm breath wisping over my chest and sex-mussed hair tickling my neck. But I understood, we couldn't ever be caught together, especially like this.

Then an awful realization hit me like a brick in the face as soon as I glanced toward the window. The curtains were half-pulled open and early morning sunlight spilled into the room. This deep into autumn the sun was waking up later. And so had I.

Shit, shit, shit...

I'd missed meeting Tabitha beneath the oak tree this morning.

Godsdammit!

Flopping back down on the bed, I flung a forearm across my forehead, pissed off and gutted. Staring up at the gaudy popcorn ceiling, I heard the servant say, "Mr. Crowther, the Butler sent me up here to warn you of an impending visit."

My stomach clenched painfully as the first person that came to mind was my father. He'd probably come to personally drag my sorry ass off to the Szarvases. I hadn't told Tabitha about Irma, nor had the time to even think of a way to explain to her how I was pincered in my role as heir to my House. Remorse, devastatingly useless, expanded in my chest at having to have that conversation with Tabitha.

I'd selfishly wanted one night of just us.

And I'd taken something from her I didn't deserve. Something she wouldn't have offered if she'd known the truth. At that thought, unbidden memories surged to the surface. Of dilated pupils within sea green eyes blissfully glazed. Sunkissed features pinching in ecstasy as glistening lips parted on a sultry gasp when she'd come undone. I hadn't been able to stop myself from sharing how I felt for her. And like a fucking sap I got misty-eyed when I whispered against her lips that I loved her just as she'd spiraled into a climax.

All those lovely thoughts of Tabitha shattered when the words spilled in a hurry from the servant's mouth, "It's Master Sirro. We had word from the gatehouse that he's entered the estate and is on his way to meet with you."

My mouth fell open as I yanked my gaze from the ceiling back to his. I repeated stupidly, "Master Sirro? Here?"

Shit, had Sirro come straight here after arriving back into the city from wherever he'd gone? How long had been back in Ascendria? Had he been trying to get hold of me while I'd been with Tabitha last night?

The servant nodded frantically. "It's urgent. That's why the Butler sent me to warn you of his arrival."

I gulped. That didn't sound good.

"I think you'd have less than a minute to be ready before Master Sirro's pulled up outside the mansion," the servant backed away from the waterbed to give me room.

I sat up quickly, shoving the bedding aside and swinging my legs over the side of the waterbed, completely unmindful that I was naked. The servant's eyes flared wide and he quickly avoided my nudity by swiveling toward the wardrobe where my clothes hung. He squeaked out, "Would you like me to—"

"No," I cut him off. I'd earlier refused the Deniauds' offer of using one of their valets while I was accommodated here. I could dress myself, thank you very much. I wasn't a godsdamned kid. "I'm good."

The servant scurried off, and in a blustering whirl of Crowther speed, I showered and dressed. Half a minute later the bedroom door slammed shut behind me and I strode down the hallway, wearing a dark navy Valentino suit and crisp white shirt. I raked my hands through my shower-damp hair, smoothing the unruly strands back. There wasn't any time to waste. From my previous experiences with the Horned God at House Meetings, he didn't appreciate tardiness.

I threw myself into a bolt of speed and hastily made my way through the mansion. As I hurtled through long hallways, they became a blur of gold streaked with rich oil colors. I careered down staircases twined with wrought-iron ivy, and dodged servants, leaving them in my wake, spinning around with surprise.

I quickly tripped down the wide staircase leading down to the mansion's grand entrance. The echo of my rapid footfall pounded against the walls and into the upper reaches of the vaulted ceiling like the skittering of drumsticks against taut skin. An erratic flickering ensnared my attention. My gaze whipped upward to the ostentatious chandelier dripping with crystals and diamonds. The lightbulbs fizzed and crackled. Dimmed and brightened. My pace slowed right down just as it shoved up against me.

A chilling wall of might trembled the floor beneath me and rattled artwork and antiques.

Thrumming dark magic skated across my body, ruffling the loose fabric of my suit, teasing the locks of my hair like gusts of wind. Unease prickled my skin into goosebumps and a shiver inched down my spine. Tremendous power. Malevolent darkness. A violent tempest that thundered the air, beating in time with my quickened heartbeat.

A Horned God.

Savage magic leaked inside the mansion through the slender gaps between the double doors. Whorls of dark mist and swirls of silver threads extinguished natural light and deepened the grand foyer into gloom. Wood creaked and groaned as the heavy oak doors seemed to buckle and warp at his approach. Two servants opened the shuddering doors and then fell to bended knee.

Sirro took a single step inside, halting within the threshold—a lone figure surrounded by a storm of ferocious wrath.

A cold sensation of dread plummeted right through me.

The Horned God was clad in silver armor.

And he was armed to the teeth with Zrenyth's blades.

Sirro fixed ancient amber eyes on mine, sharpening, as I took the last few steps down the staircase and onto the marbled floor. He marched toward me, and I folded myself instantly to one knee, bowing my head in submission. I stared downward at the chequered marble floor watching his combat boots come into view, then stop before me.

"Rise," Sirro ordered and there was a gritty edge to his normally polished voice.

"Master Sirro," I greeted, as I rose to stand at my full height. The silvery threads of his dark magic feathered around my body, minutely tasting and testing me with stinging nips and caresses.

Sirro's armor was similar to my own with intricate fish-scaled cuts, but his was fluid and flowed with his movement as if it were formed from quicksilver and molded to his figure. His Familiar, connected by those vibrating strands of might that leeched her life force into his, came to a halt just to the side of him. My gaze sliced briefly downward. No elegant dress for her, nor high heels. She wore the same armor as Sirro, and her deep brown skin contrasted against the shifting silver. There seemed to be more of Sirro's wavering strands arcing around her figure than normal. A shield, I realized, to protect her.

And then I swallowed hard when I saw what was buckled to Sirro's spine. An enormous double-headed battle ax that hummed and crackled and spat with cursed magic.

Fuck me.

What the hells were we facing with this Kinslayer?

The Horned God smiled coldly, and his voice was just as icy. "As soon as we touched down in Ascendria I headed here."

Oh, hells...

Now was the moment of truth when I would discover what the Horned God had said down the crackling line. Had he wanted me here or had he told me to keep away?

I cleared my throat weakly and went to hook a finger nervously into the knot of my tie and loosen it when I realized I wasn't even wearing one.

He dragged an indolent gaze over me, and drawled, "Since you're still alive, Varen, I'm assuming you kept to my orders."

"Well, you know...the line was kind of crackling in and out..." I gestured uselessly, flipping a hand around, searching for the right words. "I wasn't quite sure what you'd said, but I figured the right thing to do was hunt for the Kinslayer while you were away."

His cunning eyes hardened. "Not quite what I said, Varen."

I pursed my mouth in a silent Oh.

I was aware just how on edge he was, how his threads of power sifted the air as if hunting, how he seemed to be aware of every distant and nuanced sound coming from within the mansion.

Sweet relief fell through me when he relaxed his posture, resting his weight on one hip. The hard edge in his gaze softened. "But close enough. I advised you to not engage if you did manage to track it down here at the Deniauds', and to keep away until I returned." He swept an inquisitive glance around the foyer, a quick look along the sweeping staircase to the upper floor. Amber eyes slid sidelong to meet my violets. "Have you scented it?"

I shook my head, no.

He blew out a troubled sigh through his nose. "Not that I doubt your talent as a hunter, Varen. But I need to be sure it's not hiding somewhere in here." His dark hair had a windswept look about it that ruffled when he pivoted around, the soles of his boots squeaking on the marble. He strode back outside. His Familiar trailed behind and I fell in beside her.

It was a blustery autumn day with the sky cast in somber gray. Clouds swirled in discontent. The bleak wind tugged at my hair and cooled my skin. Rusty, curled leaves skittered across the terrace and twisted between our ankles as we strode to the edge of the weathered steps leading down to the cul-de-sac. Parked on the cobblestones was Sirro's Rolls-Royce limousine, sleek and classic. Through the tinted windows, I spied his driver, and in the rear passenger compartment, his personal assistant sat talking on the car phone.

In the corner of my eye, I spied Sirro's gaze ranging over the long stretch of front gardens, the deciduous trees almost barren of leaves. With the stripping of truesight, I realized his armor and weapons were glamoured, much like mine could be. Everyone else without truesight would see him wearing one of his elegant pin-striped suits.

He caught my wide-eyed gaze weaving back up his body and correctly guessed what I'd discovered. "I don't want to needlessly worry anyone, especially if we don't find the Kinslayer here," he murmured. "And as far as my recollection goes over the past years, nothing untoward has occurred at the Deniauds'."

I nodded. "This Kinslayer..." I broached the subject. "The last time we spoke I couldn't make out everything you'd said."

He drew in a deep breath and his fingers twitched by his side. "It began when our Chapter left the Old World for the New World."

Centuries ago, my ancestors had sailed with the Houses in a fleet of Caravel and Carracks across the Atlantic Ocean to begin a new life in the Americas. Those mortals enslaved to us had rebuilt our manors and palaces and the Keep too. Once we'd fortified our position the Horned Gods began their journey across the ocean on an armada of Galleons under the protection of our warbands.

Sirro began to walk down the steps and I joined him. Our footfall rang on solid stone then chinked on pebbles when we hit the path. The static hum of his dark magic played above the gentle rainfall of water coming from the ornate fountain. The Horned God swept a hand toward the cultivated gardens of the Deniauds' estate. "The Houses settled near the lake, while some of my brethren went further afield, and others, like Jurgana and her sisters, chose to reside within the Hemmlok Forest." Both of us glanced toward the savagely knotted treeline of the forest. Dark and foreboding. "We didn't know it at the time, but this forest had been the beast's home for over an age. And like lambs, we wandered onto its hunting ground."

"What is the Kinslayer?" It sounded more than a lesser creature, and the name given to it, as my father suggested, held a deeper meaning.

Feeble sunlight warmed Sirro's rich coppery skin as he tilted his head, angling his gaze to mine. "We call it the Kinslayer because it hunts its own kind. It's a Horned God."

My brows shot up.

"Not every Horned God is part of the collective. And this one is ancient and gluttonous." His eyes darkened to bronze, with hard lines creasing from the corners, and his voice lowered with distaste. "The Kinslayer only cared about its own affairs. It did not acknowledge my brethren or the world of Houses that serve us. It only wanted to gorge itself on what we possessed, what we were born with, the fragmented power from Zrenyth's last breath, which fuels its own existence."

"It needs to consume you to live?"

"Yes and no. It has its own might but it simply wants more." He began walking along the path and my brown Oxfords crunched across the pebbles, skittering them as I strode alongside. His strumming powers tangled in the gusty air, thrusting and probing and weaving around me. I felt like I was walking at the head of a wild thunderstorm. "Many of my sisters and brothers were slaughtered over the years. And with every death, every ingestion of their might to its, the Kinslayer grew powerful, too powerful." I hung off every single word, fascinated and horrified at the same time. "It was also elusive. But a pattern appeared. It would hunt during a full moon and I suspect slumber in between."

"But you fought it and won."

"Barely."

I couldn't imagine what kind of beast, a Horned God, would go up against Sirro and almost defeat him.

We crossed in front of the vast banks of windows with the Deniauds' Great Room behind its panes. Edging the path, leafy greenery swayed and brushed up against my leg as I passed by. Sirro continued speaking. "I stalked the Hemmlok Forest with a few of my brethren and laid a trap." He glanced along his quicksilver shoulder to the wild forest beyond. One of his hands curled into a white-knuckled fist. "It took the bait and we met it in a violent clash of bloodshed. The Kinslayer was so powerful, the battle so vicious, that part of the Hemmlok Forest cannot regenerate."

I'd seen it. I'd walked amongst the remnants of scarred earth and blasted rubble.

His eyes lingered on the forest and glazed with the resurgence of past memories. His tone softened and there was a trace of pain that roughened his polished voice. "I was the only one who survived."

Sirro stopped walking and turned to face me, the angle of his head animalistic and predatory. Wrath curled his mouth. The words were rushed and harshly bitten. "It took every ounce of power I possessed to defeat it. I managed to obliterate it into nothing but scraps of lingering afterlife, and I shoved it so far down in a crevasse in the earth it could never escape." I stared into feral eyes with a wintry touch. And for a moment as swift as a heartbeat, something ferocious and ancient glared back at me from within their endless bronze depth, The sensation much like a threatening growl. A flash of glistening fangs. There and gone in a blink of black eyelashes.

Ice seeped inside my veins.

What the fuck was lurking deep inside the polished, debonaire exterior of the Horned God?