The woods looked different at night, the dark trunks and braided branches crowding the road. It was well past midnight and the forest was pitch-black. Things shifted in its depths, calling out with eerie voices. Glowing eyes tracked the long column stretching behind Hugh, filling the woods with human military noises: horses snorting, gears clanking, and muffled conversations coming from the back.

After he finished off the leader, he’d expected the warriors to run. They didn’t. They simply stood. When approached with a weapon, they fought back to the bitter end. They screamed when cut, but they didn’t speak. They didn’t fear. They didn’t speak even when overpowered, and when the Iron Dogs managed to restrain one long enough to tie him up, he burst into flames from the inside, burning the four people holding him. It cost him a good deal of his power to heal the burns.

They’d had to kill every last mrog fighter, and Hugh had walked that line, making sure the kills happened. It wasn’t fighting. It was slow, methodic butchery. Some of his people couldn’t do it. They would kill something that was fighting back if the odds were even, but hitting another person over the head with a mace until you were sure his skull was mush while four of five of your friends jumped them was beyond them.

He spared his people from it as much as he could.

It took forever. And when they were done, he worked with the wounded, while the rest of his troops fought the fires. By the time they put the flames out, it was well past midnight. Nobody wanted to sleep in Aberdine tonight. It took another half an hour to arrange the survivors into a column, load the injured onto carts, and move out to Baile. He was dragging almost half a thousand extra people with him. Elara would just love that.

He wanted to go home and wash away the blood. It clung to him, seeping into his pores and coating his tongue, and he had to fight the urge to spit every few seconds to clear it out. He’d been through hard battles before, but it never felt that raw. The void was so loud tonight, Hugh could almost see it hovering over him.

The woods parted, the trees falling back, and Bucky carried him into the clearing. A full moon shone in the sky, spilling silvery gauzy light onto the grassy slopes. On the left Baile rose. He had expected it to be quiet and dark. Bright fires burned on the side towers. Someone had set out fey lanterns along the path leading to the gates, and their pale bluish glow fought back the night. The place was lit up like a Christmas tree.

A lone figure stood on the battlements, her dress bright white against the darkness. She’d waited for him.

He jerked himself back from that thought before he read too much into it.

A horn sounded in the castle, triumphant. The gates swung open. Bucky raised his head and pranced.

“What are you doing, you fool?” Hugh growled.

The stallion doubled down. They pranced to the gate. A huge cistern was set by the gate, with a shower rigged to it. The air smelled of fresh bread and roasted meat.

“Oh my god,” Stoyan groaned behind him.

They went through the gate. Long tables waited in the bailey, with a buffet line against the outer wall, the cooks waiting.

“I’m going to cry,” Bale announced from somewhere down the line. “Does anybody have a hankie?”

People ran up to take their horses. Hugh turned in the saddle. Elara was still on the battlements. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then June came to take Bucky’s reins and Hugh dismounted.

Hugh stepped out of the shower, toweled dry, pulled on a pair of pants, and dropped into the chair by his desk. He’d stayed in the bailey long enough to make sure everyone would be settled, but it was quickly clear he wasn’t needed, so he’d climbed the stairs to his bedroom, took off his armor, cleaned it, then went into the shower.

He’d stood there for a good quarter of an hour, letting hot water run over his face. Alas, he couldn’t stay in the shower forever. Tomorrow he would need to review their losses. Three of his Iron Dogs had died. Twenty-one of the villagers. Twenty-four was better than two thousand, but math didn’t make the weight of the dead any lighter.

His whole body ached, but his brain was awake.

He’d made a blood ward and used a blood weapon. How? The purge hadn’t failed. He couldn’t feel Roland. He shouldn’t have been able to do it, but he did. And he could do it again. He stared at the cut on his arm. He could feel the magic humming in his blood. That was one hell of a mystery.

He needed sleep, but he knew the moment he closed his eyes, he would see fire and blood and death. If he managed to fall asleep, he would dream tonight. It was inevitable. He would relive the battle. It would cycle through his head until the morning. The void gnawed at him, taking long bites with its sharp teeth, and the void was never satiated.

Tattered memories slid across his mind, death groans, blood spray, the screech of a sword forcing its way through metal into the flesh underneath… Right now Roland would be reaching through the distance for reassurance and absolution. The voice of reason, the parental voice of God, who would tell him he had done what was necessary and what he had done was just and right and would make everything better.

He had lost the soothing certainty of Roland’s connection, but he’d traded it for a grim clarity. He had done what was necessary. It was bloody and it tore him up, but he had done it, not because Roland deemed it right, but because Hugh himself decided it was right.

The fight still simmered under his skin, a hot spattering mix of adrenaline, bloodlust, and sheer endurance.

Hugh glanced up and saw her through the open door of his bedroom. She wore white and she was walking toward him.

Elara stopped in the doorway. She was holding a thick envelope in her hands.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“That’s for later.”

She walked into his bedroom, shut the door, and slid the latch, locking them in. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“We had a deal,” she said.

“Ah.” Wee lamb come to the slaughter.

A year ago, he would’ve stayed downstairs. He’d wash the blood off, eat, drink, and when a woman came his way, he’d fuck her until he couldn’t think straight. But it was no longer simple. He didn’t want to be her Aberdine.

“Leave.”

She put the envelope on the chair by the door.

“Did you not hear me?”

“I heard,” she said.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear. I don’t want your noble sacrifice.”

She raised her hands to her hair. Her braid fell from her head. “Oh please. I gave you three gorgeous naked women, and you practically dislocated your knees chasing me around the pool instead.”

She ran her hands through her braid and it fell apart, her long white hair spilling over her shoulders, soft and silky. It framed her face, bringing something new to it, some unspoken intimate promise. He almost never saw her with her hair down. He wanted to think it was for him alone.

Elara shook her head. He watched her, because he was a raging idiot, and he noticed everything: the bend of her neck as she leaned forward to take off her sandals, the way her hair fell, the way the dress hugged the curve of her ass…

He didn’t want payment. He didn’t want obligatory sex. He wanted her to want him. To scream for him. He wouldn’t get what he wanted, and right now, he wanted her gone.

“Last chance, Elara. Leave.”

Her light eyes laughed at him. “I’m staying.”

They stared at each other across the room.

“Well?” she asked. “Or should I get an apron?”

The remnants of the fight drove him on. He would make her run from this room screaming and then he would rest.

There was something irritatingly erotic about the way he sat.

He sprawled in a chair, huge and golden, his muscular body draped over it. His shirt was nowhere to be found. Strong powerful muscle corded his shoulders. His carved chest was clean-shaven, his body slimming down to a narrow waist and flat, hard stomach. His dark hair, still wet from the shower, fell on his face. His blue eyes were cold and dark.

“Fine,” Hugh said. “Rules are simple: while you’re here, you do as I say. Any time it gets too much for you, say ‘stop,’ and everything will stop, and you can walk out that door.”

“Fine by me.”

He tilted his head and looked her over. She could almost feel his gaze sliding over her face, down, lingering over her breasts, and moving down, to her hips. He looked at her as if he were buying her and was trying to decide if she was worth his money.

Oh, it’s like that now, is it?

Elara raised her arms to the sides and turned, rolling her hips as she did. There you go, get the whole picture.

She completed her turn and winked at him. He didn’t move.

“Take off your clothes.”

She pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders, and let it fall off her chest. She wore a lacy white bra underneath. She had picked it especially for today. It cradled her breasts, lifting them up, the outline of darker nipples barely visible through the lace. It wasn’t the kind of bra a woman would wear for comfort, and she’d been stuck in it for several hours, waiting for him to come back.

He stared at her. He still hadn’t moved.

The thin fabric of the dress snagged on her hips and Elara pushed it down, revealing a pair of lacy panties, so small they were barely there. The dress fell and pooled around her feet. She stepped out of it and kicked it aside.

He looked almost bored. Arrogant prick.

Her hands went back, and she unhooked her bra. The pale straps came loose, and she pulled it off her left arm, peeled it from her breasts, and held it out to the side with her right hand.

She opened her fingers. The bra fluttered to the floor.

Elara slid hands along her hips, hooking the panties with her thumbs, pulled them down, and kicked the tiny piece of fabric aside.

Something sparked in his eyes, a dangerous blue fire.

He wanted her naked. Fine. She would be naked for him.

Her stomach sloped, gently rounded, to the vee between her legs, dusted with white curls. Her breasts were full and heavy, and he wanted to crush her to him and brush his fingers over her nipples. In his mind he lunged from the chair, grabbed her, and dragged her to the bed.

His erection hurt.

The Ice Harpy stood naked in front of him. The Queen of the Castle.

It was a contest now. He didn’t think he had another fight in him tonight, but she goaded him, and he would not lose.

She smirked at him.

Hugh opened his mouth. “Crawl to me.”

He waited for her to grab her clothes, bolt, and slam the door.

A slow witchy smile bent her lips. She laughed softly. Her knees bent, and she went into a crouch, her hair brushing the floor.

An instinctual alarm pricked his spine with icy claws. Whatever was looking at him from the floor was not human. It looked like a human woman, it was shaped like one, but it was something else. Something ancient and cold, a thing of ice and sharp fangs, woven from eldritch magic. It looked at him through Elara’s eyes and it laughed.

She blurred and then she was right there, in front of him, crouching, her hands with long elegant fingers resting on his knees. Her hair floated around her, lifted by phantom wind. Alarm jerked his spine straight. She tilted her face up to him. Her voice caressed him, filled with magic. “Hugh…”

He stared at her. Every instinct he had screamed a warning. He had to decide now if he still wanted her if she was that. He didn’t even know what that was.

“Hugh…” She raised her head to his. Her whisper was a soft breath in his ear. “Guess what I want more than anything else in the world right now?”

Magic, no magic, human, not human, who was he to judge? He would punch this ticket here and now.

He moved. He hauled her upright, sliding his arm under her thighs, and heaved her up, to sit on his shoulders, her legs over his back. Elara gasped, her legs squeezing him, her hands in his hair. He pushed her closer and took a long, wet taste. The bud of her clit slid under his tongue. Finally.

She jerked as if shocked by a live wire.

He carried her to the bed and dropped her there, on her back. She landed on the blankets, her eyes wild, her legs parted slightly, the dark nipples of her perfect breasts erect. Oh yes. He had everything he ever needed right here.

Hugh pulled off his pants. Her eyes went wide.

He’d seduced women before. He had patience and finesse, but he couldn’t find any now. There was nothing slow and delicate about them. He’d wanted her for too long. He would make her beg for him tonight.

He moved over her. She snapped her teeth at him.

“Does that mean stop?” he asked.

“No. If I want you to stop, I will tell you.”

“Works for me.”

He leaned forward. She kicked his chest. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her toward him, sliding his right leg between hers. She tried to slap him. He batted her arms aside, pinning her wrists to the blanket. She stared at him, furious, her chest rising. She’d never looked hotter. He closed his eyes for a moment to keep from coming then and there.

She growled and tried to push him off her.

She wanted to fight.

The afterburn of the battle simmering under his skin took over and pushed him into overdrive. He felt hot and focused, the way he did before a kill. He pinned her down. She snapped her small white teeth at him again, and he muscled her back and kissed her neck, pinching the skin with his teeth, painting heat and lust down the slender column of her throat.

She moaned, strong and soft under him. He heard desire in the moan. She wanted him.

He let her have her right arm, and she punched him with her fist. He caught her wrist and kissed it, in just the right place, setting the nerves on fire. Elara struggled under him, trying to buck him off. The excitement took the last shreds of restraint he had. He forced her arms together over her head, grabbed them with his left hand, and let his right roam over her breasts. The rough calluses on his thumb snagged on her left nipple. She gasped. He dove down and sucked on the little dark bud.

Elara moaned.

He smelled the jasmine and green apple on her skin and it drove him wild. He ran his tongue over her nipple, winding her up. Her back arched. Her cool thighs squeezed his leg and she tried to grind against him, looking for his cock.

He was unbelievably strong. The feel of his huge body pressed against hers, all coiled power locked in hot muscle was almost too much. She wanted him desperately, she wanted his lips on her, his huge cock inside her. The need to have him pooled inside her, a hot, aching sensation somewhere on the verge of pain and pleasure.

He sucked on her breasts, squeezing them with his fingers, every stroke in just the right place, every touch with just the right pressure, as if he knew her body better than she did. She smelled the faint hint of sage and citrus from the soap and the heady scent of his sweat.

He was moving lower, his tongue painting heat down her body.

No, not yet. He hadn’t worked hard enough yet.

His hand slid off her right wrist. She sank her fingers into his hair and pulled. He jerked his face up and locked his lips on hers. His tongue thrust into her mouth, a hint of what was to come. She licked it and when they broke apart, she stared into Hugh’s blue eyes.

“Bastard!”

“Harpy.”

She slapped him.

He surged over her and flipped her on her stomach. His left hand caught her hair and he pulled her up, until she sat back on her knees, her spine pressed against his chest. His hand caught her ass from below. He squeezed it and pulled her up to her knees. She felt the blunt head of his cock press against her.

“Is this what you want?”

She struggled, caught by her hair, trying to pull free. His hand slid over her stomach. He yanked her closer and dipped his fingers into her. She was so wet and so ready, she nearly came.

He laughed into her ear. She jerked her head back, trying to ram his face with the back of her head, but missed. He grabbed her hips and jerked her onto him. His hard shaft slid inside her, thick and hot. Elara cried out.

“Is that why you came here?” He thrust into her again. The jolt of it sent electric shivers all through her.

“Harder, Hugh,” she breathed. “Harder.”

He thrust into her, again and again, each slide of his cock sending her closer and closer to the precipice. He let go of her hair. His hand caught her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple in a rapid rhythm. The pressure built in her.

His thumb slid over her clit. She sucked in a breath against the sudden burst of pleasure.

He thrust deep. She shifted the angle of her hips and felt him rub against the inside of her.

He groaned, a harsh male sound filled with lust. It drove her wild. She was moaning now too.

He kept thrusting, his clever fingers teasing her.

She couldn’t catch her breath, caught between his hand and his hard shaft inside her. She was close, so close…

“Hugh,” she cried out. “Don’t stop. Don’t—”

The climax broke over her in a flood of heat and ecstasy. She slumped forward, feeling her body squeeze him in a steady rhythm, and he caught her before she hit the sheets and turned her over on her back. She floated in a fog of pleasure.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her, repositioning her on the bed. She was still floating when he opened her legs and knelt over her left thigh. He pushed her hips to the right, so her right leg wrapped around his waist, and thrust into her sideways. The unexpected pleasure dashed through her, tearing through the happy fog. On instinct, she tried to jerk upright. He pushed her back down and kept thrusting, finding a smooth rhythm.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t shift her hips. She was completely at his mercy. He drove into her as if it were the only thing that mattered.

He was looking at her, his eyes a dark, vivid blue. His face turned harsh and slightly predatory, lost to lust. He bared his teeth and she realized the bastard was smiling.

Excitement and lust drowned her. Somewhere deep within, her rational mind acknowledged that watching him look at her made her want him more. It warned that she was surrendering some of her power. She snarled and tried to push away, but he held her down and went faster. His thick blunt shaft filled her with every move of his hips. The pleasure was exquisite.

A second climax began to build inside her.

He bent over her, blue eyes on fire. “Want me to let you go?”

She bit her lower lip, trying to keep from moaning. She knew exactly what this was – him proving that he could make her come without any help from her.

“All you have to do is say stop, Elara. Tell me to stop.”

Dear goddess, she didn’t want him to stop. “Fuck you,” she breathed.

“Lady’s choice.”

He hauled her upright and suddenly she was sitting on him as he sprawled on the sheets, huge and muscled like some hot dream.

“Fuck me, honey,” he dared.

And she did. She rode him, grinding her hips, taking his shaft inside her and letting it out as he kissed her neck and sucked her nipples, his hot hands locked on her ass, his fingers squeezing her and pulling her onto him.

The second orgasm washed over her, and she slumped over him, out of breath, her hair falling over their faces like a curtain hiding them from the rest of the world. The pleasure drained her so completely, she whimpered.

His lips found hers. He kissed her, and it was almost tender. Her head spun. She had to reassert herself, or she would kiss him back, and he would know she surrendered.

She arched her back and turned on him, facing his legs.

“Fun,” he growled. His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves between her cheeks, just above her anus. She rocked on him, slipping his shaft into her, and slid her hand over its base.

He swore.

She rode him again, her fingers squeezing and pumping him, milking his shaft as she thrust herself onto him. His body tensed under her, the powerful muscles growing tight from strain. She worked him faster, arching her back, pushing against his hand, slipping him in and out. Her magic slid out of her, winding around her in curls of white vapor. She was losing control.

His shaft thickened in her hand.

He swore again.

“Tell me to stop,” she told him.

He thrust into her, arching his hips. They built to a frenzied rhythm. The pleasure crested and broke in her. She cried out, her power simmering around her. He shook under her, every muscle taut with strain. She felt magic coursing through him, so powerful and bright, it shocked her. His shaft flexed in her hand. She felt the hot stream of his release inside her and let go, reveling in his pleasure. They stayed like that for a long moment, out of breath and slicked in sweat. He reached for her, pulled her down to him, and wrapped his arms around her, tucking her against his side.

Sex with Hugh d’Ambray. She should’ve never done it, because now she wanted more. He was the last person she should’ve given that much power over her. And he was holding her now. Being caged in his arms, stretched out next to him felt too good.

Elara sighed, still breathless. “Done, Preceptor?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice casual. “We still have a couple of hours until sunrise. Let’s see what happens.”

Elara stretched and slid off the bed. Hugh’s hand snapped out and locked on her wrist.

“Hands off,” she told him.

He leaned to glance out of the window, where gray pre-dawn light brightened the sky. “The sun isn’t up yet.”

“That’s good then, because I’m not leaving yet.”

He let her go and she stood. Her weight hit her feet and she swayed.

“Need some crutches?” he asked.

She flipped him off without turning and made the ten-step journey to grab the envelope. Her body felt liquid, her muscles tired and pliant. She was sore. She’d spent four hours in his room and none of it was sleeping, except for the few stretches when she cat-napped. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, but there was something irresistibly comforting about him stretched out next to her. She wasn’t sure if it was his size, the heat of his body, or simply knowing that if anything tried to enter the room intending to harm them, he would kill it, probably with his bare hands. Maybe all three.

“You want me to take care of that for you?” he asked.

She glanced at him. A faint blue aura coated him.

“No,” she said.

He smiled. It was a self-satisfied smile of a man pleased with himself. She rolled her eyes and collapsed on the sheets next to him, the envelope in her hands.

“Tell me about Aberdine,” she said.

“It was blood and fire,” he said. “Stay out of my dreams for a while, Elara.”

“Fire?”

“It’s an army, as we thought. The officers are marked with gold. They spit fire. High heat. One of them caught Richard Sams with it. He died almost instantly.”

She heard it in his voice. He’d tried to save Richard and failed.

“They don’t run,” he said. “They don’t beg for their lives. They fight until they die and when you try to restrain them, they burn from inside out.”

She drew a sharp breath. That kind of magic was beyond what most human magic users could do. “So, an elder being?”

“Yes. There is a benefit to taking out their officers. In normal circumstances, an officer dies and the next in line takes his place. With them, nobody stepped out. Once you cut them off from leadership, they fall out of formation and stand there until someone with a weapon approaches. Then they fight to the death as individuals. Once I took out the head guy, even the remaining officers stopped responding. That’s the only way to fracture and break them.”

“This makes no sense. How can an army function this way?”

Hugh grimaced. “It makes sense in a twisted way if you suppose something is controlling the top officer.”

“Like a possession?”

“Possibly. Even an elder being can’t control that many fighters at once. If it controls the commanding officers, and the rest are blindly obeying orders, it directs the entire army.”

An elder being. She sighed. “Did Aberdine survive?”

“Most of it. The Dollar General is a husk and a couple of other buildings are not much better. But we put the fires out. The battle cost us three Iron Dogs. Aberdine lost twenty-one people.”

He said it matter-of-factly, his voice flat. It ate at him, she realized. Every time he lost someone, it ate at him.

“Do you think they will try again?” she asked.

“They will, but they won’t target Aberdine again. We don’t know if there was any communication between the invading forces and reserves back where they came from, but it would be unlikely that there wasn’t. We have to assume that they know we were waiting for them in Aberdine. We painted a target on our chests with that move. The next strike, if it comes, will be aimed at us.”

She’d thought as much. Elara held the envelope out to him.

Hugh grabbed a pillow and pushed it behind his head to prop himself up. She liked the way the biceps rolled on his arms. Stop it, stop it, stop it… The pep talk wasn’t quite working. She had opened a can of gasoline and set the fumes on fire.

Hugh opened the flap and pulled the paperwork out. She’d reviewed it with Savannah. It laid out exactly what Nez had promised.

His expression went hard.

“Nez came to see me,” she told him. “Via a vampire.”

“When?” Hugh asked.

“While you were in Aberdine.”

“And you’re absolutely sure it was Nez?”

“Yes. I’ve met him before when he tried to negotiate the purchase of the castle. He always speaks as if he is two steps above you on the intelligence ladder.”

“He’s a stuck-up asshole.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“Thinking of taking him up on his offer?”

She arched her eyebrows at him. “Why, do you think I should?”

Hugh tapped the file. “Some years ago, Landon Nez and I were clearing the way for Roland in Nebraska. There was a small remote town on the northern edge of the state called Hayville, protected by a Winnebago shaman. Roland wanted the land the town sat on. The shaman’s family lived there for generations and once the Shift hit and their powers returned, they’d started laying wards around Hayville to protect their home. During magic, the place was a fortress. The town was well armed, so direct assault during tech was a bad idea. One day Nez showed up and laid siege to the town. Cut off the two roads leading to it and cut the power and phone lines. The state had its hands full with the Curva cult at the time, so nobody caught on for a bit.”

The hint of some emotion flickered over his face. She couldn’t quite place it. Pain? Regret? Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant.

“Nez didn’t want to bloody his nose against thirty years’ worth of wards, so he sat on Hayville for a week and brokered a deal. If they delivered the shaman to him, he would sign a treaty with the town swearing to leave them alone. They brought the shaman to him trussed up like a hog. Nez got the shaman and left.”

“And?” Elara asked.

“And the next morning I came through the town and burned it to the ground.”

She stared at him.

“There was an investigation,” he said. “Federal government came down. Witnesses were questioned. Reports were written about mysterious people in black burning the place down. Nobody mentioned Nez, because they sold their shaman to him, and nobody mentioned me, because they knew once the authorities left, I would be back. The town was a charred ruin and the next spring Roland bought the land for nothing.”

“What happened to the shaman?” she asked.

“Nez tortured and murdered him,” Hugh said. “Nez is part Navajo. His family never lived with Navajo Nation, but he went there when he was fifteen. He told them he wanted to learn about his heritage. They taught him for a while until they realized he was a navigator. They consider undeath to be unnatural.”

It was.

“There are prohibitions against doing evil,” Hugh continued. “The Navajo believe that humans are meant to be in harmony and piloting undead disrupts that harmony, bringing about hóchxǫ́, chaos and sickness. Nez was given a choice: to abandon necromancy and continue learning or to leave before his sickness could spread. He left. Since that point, he goes after every shaman, medicine person, and hand trembler who crosses his path. He hunts them down and kills them. Doesn’t matter what Tribe.”

“Why? Is he trying to punish the Nations?”

“Yes and no. Mostly he is proving to himself that he’s superior.” Hugh grimaced. “Making deals and agreements with Nez is a waste of time. Might as well write a contract with a fork on the water in that moat out there. His word means nothing. His promises mean nothing. If the man’s mouth is moving, he is lying.”

She stretched next to him. “Are you worried I will sell you out, Preceptor?”

A hungry spark lit up his eyes.

“Did you buy us any time?” Hugh asked.

“Two weeks.” She checked his face. “Tell me you have some sort of plan, Hugh.”

“We’ll have to deploy the barrels,” he said. “I would’ve liked another week to make sure the moat holds water. If it doesn’t, we’re fucked.”

“What’s in the barrels?” she asked.

“If you play your cards right, I’ll show you.”

His voice had a drop of smugness. He thought he had her. She had to leave now, she realized. If she delayed any longer, she wouldn’t get out of his bed at all. She would just lay here, luxuriating in the warmth of his body, cozy and safe.

Get up. Get up, get up, get up…

“The sun is up.” She slipped out of the bed and swiped her clothes off the floor. “I’ve upheld my end of the bargain, Preceptor.”

“Paid in full,” he said.

She stretched, giving him one last good look, yawned, and went out the door naked.

The door slid shut.

It hit Hugh like a gut punch – she was gone. For the few blissful hours she was with him, he had forgotten about the death, the blood, and the void. He’d poured his rage and wretched ache into her, and she’d drained him so completely, the only thing that remained was a satiated calm. Happiness, he realized. For the first time in years he felt happy.

She was only a few feet away, walking to her bedroom. The sheets where she’d lain, curled up against him, still held the warmth of her body. He missed her the moment the door closed behind her. His mind conjured up her face, her scent, the way her skin glided against his. The ache rose in him. He wanted her back.

He would get her back. But first, he had to make sure they survived.

Nez was coming. He showed up “in person” to bargain with her, which meant their time was short and when Nez came for them, he would hit them with the full force of the Golden Legion. They weren’t ready. They barely had two weeks.

His mind cycled through everything that still needed to be done to make them ready for the assault. Sleep wasn’t in the cards. He would sleep when he was dead.

Hugh pushed himself off the bed, took a pitcher of cold tea from the refrigerator, and drained half of it. He shook himself, sending the magic through his body, fixing small aches, knitting battle cuts closed, realigning, healing, bringing himself back to fighting shape.

He had to make sure Baile stood firm. He had to make certain that when Nez came, his Golden Legion broke on the old castle like a wave on a pier.