Something was wrong with the forest, Hugh decided. Magic sped up the tree growth. That was an accepted fact. Five-year-old growth looked like twenty-year-old trees. The woods swallowed any abandoned property, and people in the forest towns spent a fair amount of their time trying to keep the wilderness from encroaching. But this place was something else.

An ancient wood spread on both sides of the path. Massive white oaks with trunks that would take three people to encircle. Hemlocks towering a hundred and thirty feet above the forest floor. Rhododendron and mountain laurel so thick, he would need to chop it down to get through. This forest felt old and rugged, soaked in the deep currents of magic.

Life thrived between the branches. Squirrels dashed through the canopy, birds sang, and quick feral cats slithered through the brush. Here and there a pair of glowing eyes blinked at them from the shadows as their party rode through what once was a two-lane rural road and now was little more than a few feet of asphalt, just wide enough for the horses and the truck to pass through.

The dual engine truck burned gasoline during tech and enchanted water during magic. Like all enchanted engines, it made enough noise to wake the dead and their top speed would be about forty-five miles per hour, but faced with dragging the salvage back by hand, Hugh had decided not to look a gift truck in the mouth. The sluggish vehicle lagged about two hundred yards behind them with the main body of his party, but its distant roar didn’t travel far. The forest smothered it, as if offended by the noise.

Bucky loved the woods. The stallion kept trying to bounce and prance, his tail straight up in the air. Hugh held him in check. He didn’t feel like prancing.

Yesterday, after the wedding, instead of getting drunk and celebrating, he’d walked through the second reception site, which Elara’s people quickly set up inside the castle walls, reassuring, healing those who needed it, and expecting another attack. Elara had made an appearance, in a clean dress and her hair still perfect as if nothing had happened, and did the same, moving through the reception area, smiling and asking people about their children. They passed each other like two ships in the night, uniting briefly to cut the second cake, a carbon copy of the first one, which confirmed what he had already suspected. The Departed had expected trouble.

The void crept closer with the evening, and by the time the subdued celebration finally died down and Bale found him wanting to get drunk and celebrate, it was gnawing on him with sharp icy teeth. Hugh knew that the moment booze touched his lips and he felt fire and night roll down his throat, he wouldn’t stop. The lure of a numb stupor, where the void was a distant memory, was too strong. But Hugh had to stay sharp, so he told Bale no. He went to bed alone. Vanessa was still sulking, and he didn’t care enough to look for her. Seven hours later, at sunrise, he was on horseback and out the gates. There would be no moat without the salvage.

Ahead, the two guides Elara sent with him halted their horses. Hugh rode up, Sam at his heels. He would’ve preferred just one guide, Darin, the one barely in his twenties and obviously starstruck at being invited to lead twenty Dogs into the wilderness. It wouldn’t have taken much convincing to get Darin to spill Elara’s secrets, which was probably why his lovely wife saddled him with Conrad, who was in his fifties and had that unflappable quality farmers and older tradesmen got with age. He would be a tougher nut to crack.

“See him?” Conrad asked quietly.

Hugh scanned the forest. A few yards away, from the side of a fallen chestnut, a big shaggy wolf stared back at him. It was the size of a pony, gray, with golden eyes that caught the light, glowing softly with magic. A dire wolf.

The wolf turned and stalked off into the woods, melting into the green shadows.

“Pretty boy,” Conrad murmured.

“Do they come close to the castle?” Hugh asked.

Darin nodded his dark head. “The woods are full of them. We’ve got three packs by the last count.”

Three packs of dire wolves meant there was plenty of prey for them to hunt. “Any other predators or game?”

“There are all sorts in the woods,” Conrad said. “Bears, cougars. Things.”

“We’ve got stags,” Darin jumped in. “Seven feet tall, with really big horns. Looks like there is a whole tree on their heads. And hippogriffs. We’ve got hippogriffs.”

Better and better. Hippogriffs only hunted in old-growth woods.

“We should be going,” Conrad said. “It’s not far now.”

Hugh shifted his weight, and Bucky danced forward. Hugh let him prance for a few steps and then reined him in.

“Tell me about this place we’re going to,” he said.

“Old Market,” Conrad answered. “About five hundred people lived there before the Shift. Not much there: a grocery store, a post office, a gas station. Your typical one-street-light, one-church town. It was a bit of a hub for the country people in the area, so they did have a decent hardware and county store, which is where we’re going. Should be some good salvage there.”

“When did it go dark?” Hugh asked.

“About fifteen years ago.” Conrad grimaced. “The flare came and the woods just blew up. Things came out of them that nobody ever saw before. That’s when a lot of small towns around here died. People left for the cities. Safety in numbers and all that.”

“What about the castle?” Sam asked. “When was that built?”

“That was pre-Shift. A guy called Mitch Bradford built it for Becky Bradford, his wife. His second wife.” Conrad paused for dramatic effect. “Bradford made his fortune in bourbon and then branched out to international trade. He called Becky his princess, and Becky liked castles, so he went and got one for her from the Old Country somewhere. After the Shift, his company didn’t do so well. Then there were some natural disasters. Fire in the left wing, bad plumbing, that type of thing. By the time we got here three years ago, his son practically begged everyone he knew to take the castle off his hands. It needed a lot of repairs, but we fixed the drafty old thing. It’s home.”

“Where was home before this?”

“Oh, we lived in all sorts of places,” Darin said.

“Why did you leave to come here?” Hugh asked, glancing at Darin.

“Because of the Remaining,” Darin said. “They—"

“Darin, why don’t you go on and scout ahead,” Conrad said. “Make sure we don’t run into anything.”

Darin clicked his mouth shut and rode on.

Conrad turned to Hugh. “I know what you’re doing. If the Lady wanted you to know, she’d tell you. Leave the boy alone.”

Hugh considered stringing Conrad up by his ankles. An hour or so with the blood pooling to his head, and the older scout would sing a beautiful song filled with all his secrets. Hugh was still deciding if he was going to do it, when Darin came riding back around the bend.

“A fort!” he reported. “Looks empty.”

Hugh looked at Sam and nodded at the column behind them. “Get Sharif.”

The kid turned his horse and rode back. Half a minute later, Sharif came riding up from the back. The lean dark-haired scout had been covering the rear. Sam followed him.

Hugh touched the reins, and they rode on. The path turned. A wooden palisade rose to one side of the road, a ring of sharpened tree trunks ten feet high. A crude guard tower stood on the right, just inside the palisade walls, overlooking the road. A bell hung from its ceiling. The gate of the palisade stood wide open. The road curved to the left, widening into what used to be Main Street. An old pre-Shift two-story house crouched on one side, a trailer on the other, both mostly eaten by the forest. He could just make out the sharp point of a church steeple in the distance between the new trees.

The palisade lay silent. No sentries. No movement.

Hugh glanced at Conrad.

“This is new,” the older scout said. “Wasn’t here nine months ago.”

Sharif dismounted. Light rolled over his dark irises and flashed green. He inhaled deeply, crouched and sniffed the road.

“Nobody’s home,” he said quietly.

Hugh dismounted and fixed Conrad with his stare. “Stay here with the boy.”

If something happened to those two idiots, Elara would screech at him for days.

Hugh walked inside the gates. Three large log houses waited inside, two to the left and one to the right. In the back, an animal pen stood empty. The wind brought a hint of carrion.

“The road smells odd,” Sharif said quietly.

“Human, animal?”

“Odd. Nothing I’ve smelled before.” He held out his arm. The hairs on it stood straight up. “I don’t like it.”

Shapeshifters had a freakishly strong scent memory, and among all of the shapeshifters, werewolves were the best. They had no problem taking a whiff of blood and sorting through a couple of thousand scent signatures to identify a guy they’d shared a drink with once two years ago. Sharif had been with him for five years. If he hadn’t smelled it before, it had to be one hell of a rare creature or something new.

New. Hugh smiled. “Well, that’s interesting, isn’t it?”

Sharif rolled his eyes for half a second before schooling his features into a perfectly neutral expression.

Hugh turned to the nearest house, walked up the wooden stairs onto the porch and touched the door. It swung open under the pressure of his fingertips. A simple open floor plan with the kitchen and dining area to the far left and the living room space to his right. Dinner was laid out on the table. He moved across the floor on silent feet to the table. The reek of rotten food made him grimace. Fuzzy blue mold blossomed on the abandoned food. Looked like pulled meat of some sort with mashed potatoes on the side and a serving of formerly green vegetables. A fork lay by the nearest plate, its tines covered with mold.

He crouched and looked under the table. A broken plate.

Sam was hovering nearby. Hugh pointed at the plate. “Thoughts?”

“It happened in the middle of dinner?”

Hugh nodded. “There is a walkway built along the palisade and a tower. What was under it?”

Sam blinked.

“Go look.”

The kid took off.

Sharif crossed his arms. “I don’t like it.”

“I heard you the first time.”

Sam came back. “A broken plate.”

“What does that tell you?”

“There was a guard on duty. They brought him dinner.”

“And?”

“Something killed him so fast, he couldn’t raise the alarm.” Sam paused. “Was he shot?”

“No blood spatter,” Sharif said. “But there is this.” He slid his finger down the wooden frame. Four long bloody scratches gouged the wood.

“And this.” He crouched and pointed to the floor.

A bloody human nail.

Sam’s face turned pale. “Something dragged them out of here.”

Hugh pivoted to his right. A row of guns and swords on the wall, just by the door. It would take him less than a second to cover the distance from the table to the wall. “Something smart and fast.”

“Vampires?” Sam asked.

“It’s possible.”

“I don’t smell the undead,” Sharif said.

“But you do smell something. If Nez has resorted to snatching people from isolated communities, he wouldn’t use the regular bloodsuckers to do it.” Hugh straightened.

“But why?” Sharif asked.

“That’s a good question.”

Vampirism came about as the result of infection by the Vampirus Immortuus Pathogen. The pathogen killed its human host and reanimated it after death. Because every loose vampire would slaughter anything it could get its claws on, to an average human, the idea of vampires was terrifying. But to Roland, the undead were an effective tool. He’d made his first one accidentally, thousands of years ago, and he found them exceedingly useful. He wanted to seed his Masters of the Dead into every major city. They were his spies and his secret arsenal.

To accomplish this goal, Roland had to position the People as an operation with a flawless record, beneficial to the community. They presented themselves as a research institution with a focus in undeath, financed by casinos and other similar venues, and they offered a valuable service. They removed and neutralized any undead reported to them free of charge, and they offered the dying a chance to guarantee a payout to their families. If you were terminally ill and chose to donate your body for voluntary infection by the Vampirus Immortuus pathogen, the People would deposit a substantial sum into the account of your choice. The People acted like academics, dressed like high-priced lawyers, and treated the general public with utmost courtesy, and it worked. The general public happily forgot that each Master of the Dead, armed with just one vampire, could wipe out ten city blocks in less than an hour.

It was one of Roland’s greatest cons. He would go to any lengths to preserve it. If said general public suspected that the Masters of the Dead had begun grabbing warm bodies to turn into vampires, people would panic, and the entire carefully constructed network of the People’s offices would collapse. Roland would be livid, and the guilty would be dead before they had a chance to repent their sins.

But the pattern did fit the navigators. A fast, stealthy surgical strike.

What are you planning, Nez? Is this you? Is this someone else?

Hugh needed more data. He headed for the door.

“Are there irregular bloodsuckers?” Sam asked behind him.

“You have no idea,” Sharif told him.

The other two houses showed the same pattern. In the animal pen bones and chunks of rotting hide and fur told the story of a goat massacre.

“A cougar,” Sharif said. “Came back more than once. Scaled the wall here and here.”

The invaders hadn’t been interested in livestock. Only in people.

Hugh walked out of the palisade. His convoy had arrived and waited on the road.

“Williams and Cordova, go through the houses. Do not touch the guns or any valuables. IDs only. Copy them and put them back.”

The two Dogs who were his best artists peeled off and ran into the palisade.

“We get our salvage and we haul ass out of here. The less time we spend here, the better.”

The Dogs moved. Hugh turned to Conrad. “From now on, nobody goes out alone, and nobody goes more than a mile into the woods without an escort. Pass it on.”

Conrad swallowed and nodded.

Hugh glanced at the palisade one last time and followed the convoy into the Old Market. This was, indeed, proving interesting.

Sometimes killing a man wasn’t an act of anger or punishment. It was a public service. One she would be glad to perform, Elara reflected as State Senator Victor Skolnik marched through the gates of Baile. Lean, about an inch or two above six feet, Victor Skolnik endeavored to personify his job: dark hair in that neither-too-long-nor-too-short, I’m-running-for-office cut, clean jaw, slightly droopy gray eyes, and a forced too-wide smile.

She knew entirely too much about the man. He was forty-eight years old, married, with two children. He made his money in real estate, prided himself on running marathons, and wore his piety on his sleeve. He’d also made a deal with Landon Nez. She didn’t know the particulars of the deal, but it involved running them off their land, so Nez could have it.

Skolnik had spent the last six months whipping up the congregations of Sanderville’s and Aberdine’s largest churches and lathering up spit, trying to turn the tide of public opinion against them and sever their trade agreements. He didn’t make much headway. Both Sanderville and Aberdine came to rely on their milk, cheese and beer, and especially on their medicines. Oh, they didn’t like her or her people, but they weren’t quite ready to storm the castle with pitchforks.

Thwarted, Skolnik went after the sale of Baile itself, trying to challenge its legality. The previous owner of the castle had left the state a long time ago and refused to come back from California to participate in Skolnik’s scheme.

Now the senator resorted to open harassment and had been getting more and more bold, trying to provoke her. The moment Elara used her magic, he would run back to the churches with horror stories, and then public opinion would turn against them.

She’d just come out of the side tower when he showed up. Normally she would’ve come down the ten stone steps to greet a visitor, but right now she was a good eight feet higher than he was and that was how she liked it.

“Good afternoon, Senator,” Elara said.

He saw her and turned toward her, plastering his fake smile on his lips. From her vantage point, she could see the entire yard. As he walked toward her, Hugh’s people fanned out around him. Stoyan, Hugh’s second-in-command, casually wandered on a course that would put him in Skolnik’s way just as he reached the stairs.

Everyone in the yard stopped what they were doing and came closer, instinctively uniting against the common enemy.

Stoyan got to the stairs first and stopped two feet away, a pleasant smile on his boyish face. Skolnik eyed him and halted.

“Good afternoon,” Skolnik said.

“What can I do for you, Senator?”

“I heard you got married. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Skolnik glanced around. “So, is your husband around? I’d like to meet the man.”

“He’s out,” Elara said. “Can I help you with anything?”

“You can reconsider my proposal.” Skolnik raised his chin.

“Thank you, Senator, but the castle isn’t for sale.”

“I guess I’ll have to talk to your man about that then. I’m sure he will see reason.”

Yeah, let me tell you about his moat… “As I said, he’s out.”

Skolnik looked around, raising his voice in a practiced pitch as if giving a speech before an adoring crowd. “You do realize that if the castle is sold, all of you stand to make a great deal of money.”

This was the same speech he gave the last time he came here. Alarm pinched her. He was up to something.

“Enough to make sure you are all set for life.”

Yes, the exact same speech.

“You can set up a settlement anywhere…”

“The castle isn’t for sale,” Elara said, sinking ice into her words.

“If your leaders are too short-sighted to understand, you have to use your head and think for yourself.”

The alarm blossomed into full-blown dread. Something bad was about to happen. Elara took a step down the stairs. She needed to get him out of the castle now.

D’Ambray rode through the gates on his enormous horse, a spot of darkness in his black uniform. One of the Dogs ran up to him and said something quietly.

D’Ambray turned Bucky toward her and grinned, a huge infectious smile. She almost smiled back, raising her hand to wave.

What the hell am I doing?

Elara snatched her hand back. How did he do that? How was it that this vicious sonovabitch of a man could smile like that and look as if he were the world’s best hope? Hugh grinned and everyone around him wanted to be the one to make him happy.

D’Ambray took a lungful of air and roared. “Honey, I’m home!”

Skolnik turned to look. The stallion bore down at him and the senator took an involuntary step back. D’Ambray dismounted, ran up the steps, and pulled her to him, clamping her against his hard chest. “Give us a kiss.”

She would murder him. He showed no signs of letting her go, so Elara brushed his lips with hers as quickly as she could.

D’Ambray was gazing at her adoringly. “Did you miss me?”

“Counted the moments since you were gone.” In joy. She counted them in joy, hoping they would last forever.

D’Ambray finally released her and turned to Skolnik. “Who’s our guest?”

“State Senator Victor Skolnik,” Elara said.

D’Ambray smiled at Skolnik. His face practically radiated a good-natured “aw shucks” attitude. He looked impressed. “State Senator? Well. How about that? We’re moving up in the world. Honey, couldn’t you have brought Senator a glass of tea or something?”

What?

Skolnik’s eyes lit up. “I do apologize for imposing on your hospitality.”

“Don’t mention it.” D’Ambray walked down the steps. Elara followed him, trying to keep her rage from her face.

“State Senator,” Hugh said, clearly impressed. “How many of you guys are in the Senate, what like a hundred from the whole state?”

Skolnik visibly relaxed, the tension seeping from him with every word. “Thirty-eight.”

“Wow. Thirty-eight. Say, have you ever met Governor Willis?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” Skolnik nodded. “We had dinner together during the last session.”

“Well, how about that, dear?” D’Ambray turned to her.

“Amazing,” she said.

“Say, I heard he has a honey of a wife,” d’Ambray remarked.

Skolnik grinned at him and leaned closer. “It wouldn’t be proper of me to comment, but yeah, she’s a good-looking woman, if you know what I mean.”

Hugh laughed and Skolnik smiled.

D’Ambray was pretending to be an idiot and was making her look like an idiot too, in the process. Elara strained to keep from grinding her teeth. Her magic coiled and uncoiled within her, an icy restless fire.

Stoyan had drifted away from them, moving all the way to the opposite castle wall.

“So, what brings you to our neck of the woods?” d’Ambray asked.

“Business.”

“A man after my own heart.” D’Ambray clamped his hand on Skolnik’s shoulder. “There are only two important conversations in this world. The first is the kind that gets you money and the second we won’t mention in mixed company.”

A big horse grin again. She had an irrational urge to punch him.

“So, what sort of business are we talking about?”

Skolnik opened his mouth.

“On second thought,” d’Ambray held up his hand. “I hate to be rude, but there is one small matter I have to take care of before we start, if you don’t mind. I’d like to give you my full attention.”

“Of course, of course.” Skolnik gave him a magnanimous wave.

“Excellent.” D’Ambray glanced at Stoyan. The Iron Dog raised his hand and made a come-here motion.

Four Iron Dogs came around the keep, dragging two men between them.

Skolnik froze for a moment. His expression shifted back to affable again, but she saw it, and the brief taste of his alarm was delicious.

The Dogs dragged the two men forward. The left one was taller, with a shaved head and hard eyes, his face pissed off. The one on the right, wiry and blond, wore a blasé expression as if this was just another day and he wasn’t being half-carried by two hard cases.

Professionals, she realized. Mercenaries of some sort or private security.

“Caught these two trying to climb over the wall.” Stoyan closed in and handed d’Ambray something.

D’Ambray held it up to the sun. A long, thin glass tube sealed with plastic with three pieces of cloth inside dipped in sand-like powder.

D’Ambray squinted at the tube. “Nasty bugger.” He held the tube out to her.

She took it and concentrated. Traces of her magic wrapped around the tube. The powder on the cloth shifted in response, crawling across the fabric to pool against the glass. Whatever was inside was alive and hungry.

Her magic touched it.

A living disease, boosted by magic, a disease that would spread like fire and kill within hours. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. She spat the word out. “Cholera.”

“Mhm,” d’Ambray said. “Our new friends planned to drop a present into our well. What would you say, honey, six hours and everyone in the castle would be dead and the disease vector would jump to the settlement, then to the lake? Or do you think it would be more like eight?”

She was too focused to answer, wrapping her magic around the vial, containing it.

The two mercenaries stared at him, the first still angry, the second still bored.

She finished the cocoon of magic and called, “Emily! Get Malcom and Gloria!”

Emily took off at a run.

Elara held the vial gently. They would have to dispose of this thing properly, with a lot of acid and fire.

Her gaze fell on Skolnik. It had to be him. He knew that once he walked in, everyone in the castle would gather around him, because he was a threat. While they were watching him, the two mercenaries would scale the wall and infect the well.

The fingers of her free hand curled like claws.

D’Ambray faced the two men, still smiling.

“Just get on with it,” the shorter of the men said.

“Good attitude.” D’Ambray pulled a knife out. It was a wicked blade, razor-sharp and thirteen inches long, with a tapered, slightly curved tip. The metal caught the sun and shone in Hugh’s hand. “Let him go and give the man a knife, for goodness sake.”

The two Dogs released the mercenary and took a big step back in unison. One of them pulled a black, foot-long blade and threw it. The knife bit into the ground by the mercenary’s feet. He grabbed it and grinned, dropping into a fighting stance.

D’Ambray stood motionless, seeming to ponder the shorter man.

Elara clenched her fist. D’Ambray was strong, but he was also large, and in a knife fight strength didn’t count and size was a detriment. Knife fighters were quick and small, and the mercenary looked like he’d been born with a blade in his hand. If d’Ambray lost…

If he lost, she would take matters into her own hands, Skolnik or no.

D’Ambray glided forward with predatory grace. His knife flashed, almost too fast to see. The front of the man’s dark shirt turned darker. He blinked. The gap widened, and she glimpsed the rosy clumps of intestines through the cut. It was so shocking, it didn’t seem real.

D’Ambray slashed again. The mercenary tried to counter, but the knife slid past his defenses, and he howled. Blood poured from where his left ear used to be. D’Ambray paused, frowning, like a painter examining a canvas, holding the knife like a brush. The mercenary charged. D’Ambray sidestepped and sliced off the man’s other ear. The mercenary spun away and somehow d’Ambray was there. A man of that size shouldn’t have moved that fast, but he did. The knife flashed again, slicing a gash across the man’s cheeks, widening his mouth.

“What the fuck?” the other mercenary cried out.

D’Ambray stepped forward, his movements beautifully liquid. His left hand caught the mercenary’s wrist. D’Ambray yanked the man’s arm straight, and stabbed into the inside of the elbow, twisting the blade. The man’s arm came off in d’Ambray’s hand. Blood poured.

He deboned him like a chicken. This isn’t happening, this can’t possibly be real, it’s too horrible to be real…

D’Ambray tossed the forearm aside.

The mercenary fell to his knees, his eyes wide, and toppled over. His intestines fell out in a clump.

The world had turned into a nightmare and she skidded through it, stunned and petrified.

“Look at that,” d’Ambray said. His voice froze the blood in her veins. “He’s going into shock. This won’t do. Not at all.”

D’Ambray held his hand out. A current of pale blue magic poured out of him, bathing the man.

The mercenary coughed.

“That’s right,” d’Ambray said. “Come on back. We’re not done yet.”

The blood over the stump clotted, sealing it. The mercenary tried to rise.

“Come on. Almost there. Let’s get your guts back in.”

The intestines slid back into the man’s stomach. He stood up, shuddering and gripping his knife with his remaining hand.

“Very nice,” d’Ambray said.

The current died.

The mercenary charged, trying to take a swipe at d’Ambray. He sidestepped and slashed across the man’s back, stopping just short of the spine. The mercenary turned, ripping his stomach wound open. The innards slipped out again. They were hanging from him like some sort of grotesque garlands. The air reeked of blood and acid.

Elara finally saw the crowd around them, dead silent, her people horrified, the Iron Dogs impassive. Skolnik stared, his face completely bloodless. The other mercenary shook like a leaf, clamped tight by d’Ambray’s people.

“Let’s do the nose next,” d’Ambray said.

“Hugh,” she called.

He halted. “Yes, darling?”

“Please stop.”

Hugh glanced at the disfigured stump that used to be a man. “My wife wants me to stop. We’ll have to cut this short.”

The mercenary stumbled toward him. Hugh stepped forward, clasping the man as if in an embrace, and slid the knife between the mercenary’s ribs in a smooth precise thrust. The mercenary shuddered, held upright by Hugh’s strength. His eyes dulled.

Hugh stepped back, freeing his knife, wiped it on the man’s shirt, and let the corpse fall.

Someone in the crowd retched. Nobody moved.

Hugh turned to the other mercenary. The man went limp. A wet stain spread on the front of his pants.

“Bring me a pair of handcuffs and a big plastic bag,” Hugh said.

A Dog ran off.

“Hugh,” she asked again, hating the begging note in her voice.

“My wife is softhearted,” Hugh said. “That’s why I love her. You came here to murder my beautiful kind wife and our people. Families. Children.”

The mercenary made a small strangled noise.

The Dog returned with handcuffs and a plastic bag.

“Let him go,” Hugh ordered.

The Dogs released the mercenary. He fell to his knees. Hugh dropped the bag in front of him. “Pick up your friend.”

The man gulped, grabbed pieces of bloody flesh and dropped them into the bag one by one.

“Don’t forget the ear over there.”

The mercenary crawled on his hands and feet.

Hugh caught her gaze and winked at her. She couldn’t even move.

The man picked up the bag and straightened. Only the body remained. “He won’t fit,” he mumbled with shaking lips.

“That’s okay. What you’ve gathered is good enough. Cuff him.”

Two Dogs grabbed the mercenary’s arms, forcing his wrists together. A third slapped the cuffs on. Hugh took the bag from the mercenary’s hand and hung it around the man’s neck.

Hugh took a few steps, circling the mercenary slowly. The man turned in response. Skolnik was directly behind him now. Hugh faced the mercenary, looking past him at the senator.

“You’re going to go back to the man who hired you. You’re going to give him this bag. You will tell him that if I see him or any of his people around here again, I will ride into his town. I will kill every man who gets in my way. We’ll kill his wife, his two beautiful children, his pets, and we’ll set his house on fire. We’ll hang him from the nearest tree by his arms and then we’ll leave. He’ll hang there staring at the ashes of his house and begging for help, and the people of his town will pass by him as if he were invisible because they’ll know that if anyone helps him, we’ll return. Did you get all that?”

The mercenary nodded.

“Good man. Off with you.”

The mercenary didn’t move.

“Go on.” Hugh waved him on. “You’re losing daylight.”

The mercenary spun and ran for the gates.

“Bury the garbage off somewhere,” Hugh said, nodding at the corpse. “And clean the lawn. Fire, salt, the usual.” He turned to Skolnik. “Senator? You had a bit of business?”

Skolnik opened his mouth. “Go.”

“Sorry?” Hugh tilted his head.

“I have to go. Now.” Skolnik started through the crowd. People parted to let him pass. He strode to the gates at a near run.

Hugh watched him until he disappeared. His face turned hard. “I don’t believe Senator Skolnik will be visiting us in the future. Alright, show’s over. We’ve got a truck full of metal to unload. Let’s go, people. Every hour we don’t work is another hour without a moat.”

Hugh liked high places, but the price of height was measured in stairs, and today of all days he didn’t feel like climbing them. There was no help for it, so he did. By the time all of the metal was unloaded and appraised by the smiths, fatigue had settled into his bones. He needed a shower and quiet.

At least most of the haul had been good. The smiths took everything except for the karaoke machine, which he had the Iron Dogs stash in the barracks. When tech hit, they would find out if it worked.

Hugh conquered the long hallway to his bedroom, pushed the door open, and walked in. He never locked it. There wasn’t anything of value in the room. The most expensive item he owned was his sword, and he usually carried it on him.

How the mighty had fallen.

He needed to wash the forest and blood off. He pulled off his boots and tossed them in the corner. His socks followed. The floor felt nice and cool under his feet. Better already.

His jacket followed, then his T-shirt, and his belt. He was about to take off his pants, when the door behind him swung open. He didn’t need to turn to look. He recognized the sound of the footsteps. High heels were rare among Elara’s crowd.

“Not tonight,” he said.

Vanessa slunk into the room. The spectacle in the bailey must’ve proved too much for her. She was hot and bothered. He wasn’t.

“I said, not tonight.”

Vanessa leaned against the wall. She wore a skintight white dress and red shoes. She licked her lips.

“We haven’t done it since you got married. Did you give Elara your balls at the wedding?”

He caught the slight tremor in her voice, fear and excitement wrapped in lust. Trying to goad him. He knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to grab her by the hair, slam her against the wall, and fuck her. She wanted proof that the man down in the bailey and the man in the bedroom were the same. He was too damn tired, and he had no interest in it.

Hugh turned and looked at her.

She squirmed, then threw her arms out to the side. “What? What?”

Someone knocked on the door. It wasn’t an “emergency had occurred” knock. It was brisk and pissed off, which meant Elara.

Well, that didn’t take long. From how green she looked after he started on the merc’s ears, he thought she’d take the evening off. The hopes of mice and men…

“Not tonight,” he called out.

The door flew open. Elara marched in, her jaw set, brimming with rage and magic.

Elara didn’t bother looking at Vanessa. “Leave.”

Vanessa opened her mouth. Something snapped in her eyes. “No.”

Elara swung toward her. The storm within her was straining to break out, and Vanessa had just designated herself as a lightning rod. This ought to be good. Hugh landed in a chair and leaned back, his head resting on the interlocked fingers of his hands. He wished he had a beer.

“I’m not leaving,” Vanessa said. “You leave. You’re interrupting.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Elara said. “After I’m done, you can come back and entertain the Preceptor all you want. But right now, I need you to go.”

Vanessa swung to him. “Tell her I can stay.”

“I already told you to leave,” he said.

Vanessa pushed from the wall. “I’m staying.”

Playing for keeps.

“You’re pissed off, because he doesn’t want you,” Vanessa said.

And now she decided to dig a hole.

“He wants a woman,” Vanessa said. “Not an iceberg.”

Doubling down.

“I understand why that’s upsetting, but I don’t really care. He likes me, this is his room, and you’re intruding. Go. You’re not wanted or needed here.”

Hahaha.

Elara regarded Vanessa for a long moment. She reminded him of the black-footed cat he had seen in southern Africa on a long trip to retrieve one of Roland’s artifacts. They’d had to search a wide area, and every night, once they came back to camp, he would take the midwatch, and the little black-footed cat would leave her burrow to hunt for food for her two kittens. She would sneak up on the birds and rodents, line her jump, wait, motionless, calculating distance and wind, and spring just at the right moment to break her prey’s neck. She was relentless, and she killed with a precision he had never seen in great cats. Now he saw the same calculation in Elara’s eyes. She was about to leap into a kill.

“I was going to give you time to correct yourself, but you leave me no choice,” Elara said. “First, the Preceptor isn’t going to help you. He’s here because he’s responsible for the welfare of his people, just as I’m responsible for the well-being of mine. We rose to our positions of power, because we have learned how to lead and compromise. We hate each other, but we are both cognizant of the fact that we have to work together for our mutual survival and we both sacrificed a great deal for the sake of this partnership. There is much more at stake here than sexual gratification. In an argument between you and me, the Preceptor will always side with me. I’m the bigger threat. All you can do is withhold sex, while I can divorce him and throw his soldiers out of the castle.”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes.

“Before you speak, remember that you are also one of my people. Your welfare is important to me,” Elara said. “It’s critical to your safety that you understand this: he isn’t besotted with you. He is a cold, calculating bastard. Love isn’t in his vocabulary. You don’t hold any power over him and if you annoy him enough, he will replace you with a different warm body. You must never gamble your safety on his attachment to you. There isn’t one.”

Vanessa turned to him.

“She’s right,” Hugh said. “I told you this when we started.”

Vanessa opened her mouth.

“I’m not done,” Elara said, her voice cold. “According to your performance evaluation and the testimony of your coworkers, you are laboring under the mistaken impression that having sex with the Preceptor excuses you from your duties. As of last night, you have a nine-day backlog. You speak down to your colleagues, you imply that you are better than them, and you argue with your supervisor. One of your colleagues described your behavior as toxic.”

“I do my work!”

“Should I ask Melissa to come up here and give you a detailed breakdown of the assignments you failed to complete?” Elara asked.

“She’s lying.”

Elara grimaced. “Please. Don’t waste time, Vanessa. You’ve decided that you are better than your current position and you’ve made everyone around you aware of it. In this community, your position is based on merit, not your choice of bed partners. Having a relationship with the Preceptor doesn’t entitle you to any additional benefits. You don’t get hazard pay.”

Hazard pay?

“You have one week to catch up on your assignments. You won’t be paid until your backlog is cleared.”

Vanessa opened her mouth.

“You will apologize to your colleagues and to Melissa for your conduct,” Elara continued.

“I won’t,” Vanessa snarled.

Elara’s face was merciless. “If you no longer want to be employed as a paralegal, you are free to look for a different job. You know our rule: if you don’t contribute to the best of your ability, you receive no support. If you don’t like it, you know where the gates are.”

An angry red flush heated Vanessa’s face. For a moment he thought Vanessa would charge her. Instead, she spun on her heels and tore out of the room. The door slammed closed behind her.

Elara glanced at him. “Any idea what brought this on?”

“She thinks the balance of power shifted in my favor,” he said. “Now, what the hell was so bloody important?”

“You found an abandoned palisade.”

He got up, poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and drank. He missed the wine, not the alcohol, but the taste.

He realized she was waiting for him to answer. “Yes.”

“Were you planning on telling me?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

Something peeked out from inside her. Something cold and lethal, a power coursing through her. Her hair was down again, and it floated about her like a silver curtain. Her blue dress was cut wide, leaving her delicate neck exposed.

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“It does concern me.”

“It’s a matter of safety. There is no immediate threat. If there was one, I would tell you about it.”

“We have to report it.”

He frowned. “Report it to who?”

“The sheriffs. The county.”

“No.” The harpy was insane.

She turned, pacing back and forth. “You’re not listening to me. Something weird happened in the woods on the border of our land. If we don’t report it, we will be blamed.”

He crossed his arms. “Who will blame us?”

“The authorities.”

She was really wound up tight. It was kind of amusing. He decided to stab and see what happened.

“Is this paranoia recent or is this something you’ve had for a while?”

Elara stopped in midstep and spun toward him, the long skirt of her dress flaring.

“We are always blamed. I’m speaking from experience. Whenever anything weird happens, they come after us.”

“‘They’ won’t find out.”

Elara missed the sarcasm in his emphasis. “They will. They always do. We have to report it. You should’ve sent someone to report it the moment you found it.”

“Do you trust your people?”

“What?” She tilted her head, giving him a look at the fine line of her jaw all the way to her neck. He wondered what she looked like under the dress.

“Do your people report to the authorities on a regular basis, because I have to tell you, I wouldn’t tolerate that if I were you.”

“Hugh! You can’t possibly be this dense. No, my people don’t talk to outsiders.”

She’d used his name. Well, well. “Mine don’t either. So, who’s going to tell?”

“It will get out. It always does. Someone will come to check on them—"

“To check on three families of separatists living alone in the middle of the forest?”

Elara halted. “Separatists still trade, Hugh. They still need supplies.”

“Try to get it through your thick skull: they abandoned society, built a palisade in the middle of a dangerous forest, and got killed. It happens all the damn time and nobody ever makes any effort to investigate.”

“According to your own people, this time is different. You don’t even know what killed them.”

Hugh felt irritation rise. “I would know if I had access to a forensic mage. How is it that in all of your settlement there is not a single mage?”

Elara crossed her arms on her chest. “We have no need for mages. We have plenty of magic users who can do everything a mage can do but better.”

“So why don’t you take some of those fabled magic users and analyze the scene?”

“So when the forensic team does arrive from the sheriff’s office, they’ll find an empty settlement and our magic signature all over it? Brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Leave this alone. If you stir that pot, your pal Skolnik will run back here with torches and pitchforks. Is that what you want?”

Elara narrowed her eyes. “You know what, never mind. I’ll take care of this.”

Hugh’s irritation boiled over into full-blown fury. His voice turned to ice. “You won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“I forbid it.”

“Good that I don’t need your permission.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Says who?”

“Says the contract we both signed. Or did you forget the part where I asked for autonomy on the safety-related decisions and you put in the provision that all of them have to be jointly approved by you and me? It cuts both ways, sweetheart.”

Her magic boiled just under her skin. Her eyes blazed. Didn’t like that, did you?

“Do it,” he dared. “Breach the contract. Give me an excuse for free rein.”

Elara’s hands curled into fists. Her cheeks flushed. She was so mad.

God, sex right now would be amazing. He would throw her on the bed and she would scream and kick and lash him with her magic. It would be fucking hot.

“I hate you,” she ground out.

“Right back at you, darling.” Hugh kissed the air.

Her face jerked. An ethereal growl rolled through the room, an echo of a distant snarl. Elara spun and within her he almost saw something else, hidden within silvery translucent veils of magic. She swept out of the room. The door slammed behind her, shaking the heavy wooden doorway.

Twice in one night. He’d have to replace the door if this continued.

Hugh poured himself another cup of water. For a few seconds, while she’d been in the room screaming at him, he’d felt alive. He lost it again and he could already feel the void drawing closer, but he’d tasted freedom in those fleeting moments and he wanted more.

Elara paced in her room. Traces of her magic slipped out of her, trailing her body. The gentle glow of custom fey lanterns bathed the room in a soothing buttery-yellow glow, but her temper needed a hell of a lot more than some ambient light to soothe itself.

That asshole.

That fucking bastard.

When she’d insisted on the joint decision provision, she was thinking of limiting his reach. At the time, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable choice.

Elara closed her eyes and whispered, projecting her voice. “Savannah.”

The echo of her power flew through the castle, finding its target. Savannah was on her way.

Elara wanted to march back into Hugh’s bedroom and crush him with her power until he groveled. To wipe that smug grin off his face.

She stopped and took a deep breath. Her magic swirled out and Hugh stood in her room, exactly as she remembered him, a perfect copy of the man, just slightly transparent when she looked at a fey lantern through him.

She circled him, examining the broad powerful shoulders, the sculpted arms, the flat stomach, the tree trunk legs… Built to crush all opposition. The man emanated a predatory confidence. If he said he would kill something, it would die. She was sure of it now.

A trail of faint scars marked his chest, no more than light lines across his left pectoral, over the heart, ribs, and side. She’d felt him heal his people. He had to be able to heal himself, or he would have a lot more scars.

What sort of damage was severe enough to resist his healing?

Food for thought.

Shapeshifters sometimes radiated a predatory power too. Theirs came from the natural sleekness of their lines, from the way they held themselves, ready to burst into action, never one hundred percent comfortable in either of their skins, always expecting an attack. Hugh had a different flavor. The shapeshifters were born into their power; he achieved his. His body was trained and honed, and the arrogance came from experience.

She looked into his blue eyes. There was something else there, in the eyes. A bone-deep weariness as if something gnawed on him, and no matter what happened, life hadn’t fully reached him. She’d seen that same look in him when he carved the mercenary apart. There was no anger, no satisfaction. Just methodical precision. He’d decided it had to be done, so he did it.

It would be so much easier if he was an idiot, but no. D’Ambray was sharp and manipulative. She couldn’t trust a single word coming out of his mouth. He would pretend to be a man’s best friend, then stab him in the back and keep moving. He said one thing, did another, and thought only he knew what. She had no idea where he actually stood on anything.

And yet they clashed against each other like fire and ice. He hadn’t bothered to manipulate her. Why? Did he think she wasn’t worth the effort?

No answers hid in his eyes. Elara took a step back and looked at him again.

“Nice specimen,” Savannah said from the doorway.

“He is.”

“Vanessa certainly thinks so.”

“Vanessa likes attaching herself to dangerous men.” Elara shrugged.

“Tell me you’re watching them.”

“I know every whisper that passes between them. What do you think of him?”

“Brutal. Efficient. Trouble. To be watched. Take your pick.” The older woman swept into the room. The light of the fey lantern brought out the rich red undertone to her skin. Normally a green wrap hid her curly hair, but right now it was down, floating about her head like a storm cloud. Power emanated from Savannah, vibrant and strong. So strong.

“What do you need?” the head witch asked.

“The palisade,” Elara said.

“Conrad told me.”

“Do we still buy supplies from that trader, Austin Dillard?”

“He comes around.”

“Next time he comes around, someone might mention that there is a palisade near the Old Market in need of supplies, except we haven’t heard from them in a bit.”

“Someone will mention it. Do you want a divination?”

Elara shook her head. “Conrad didn’t get inside to take anything to anchor the vision, and I’m not sending anyone to retrieve anything. Whatever took those people could come back. Besides, they would leave the signatures of their magic and their scent at the scene, and I don’t want to chance it. I just need d’Ambray to see reason.”

She stared at Hugh some more.

“We can always poison him, you know,” Savannah said.

“Hugh?”

“Mhm. Something quick and sweet. He’ll fall asleep and never wake up. Won’t even know what hit him.”

Elara grimaced. “We can’t. We need his army.”

“Men.”

“Yes. Can’t live with them, can’t kill them.” Elara crossed her arms.

“What’s upsetting you?” Savannah asked.

“He makes me angry, Savannah. Raging angry.”

“Has it been calling to you?”

“It always calls to me.” Elara sighed.

“Do you worry you’ll manifest?”

“I worry he may push me too far.”

“Have you thought about going the smarter route?” Savannah asked. “When you offer men opposition, they take it as a challenge. Sometimes a softer approach is better. A bit of flattery here and there, an appeal to his pride, a moment of helplessness. You know.”

Of course Elara knew. She’d done it before when she’d had to and she was good at it. “This one is too… aware. Besides, if I could bring myself to do it, I would’ve already done it. He opens his mouth and I want to kill him. I’ve actually had fantasies of ripping his head off, Savannah.”

The older witch looked at her for a long moment.

“What?”

“Don’t do it in front of his Dogs.”

“Hopefully, I won’t do it at all. If things get too bad, I’ll divorce him.”

“Better sooner than later. People aren’t marbles. You can’t keep them separate by the color of the uniform they wear. The longer his people stay with us, the more ties we forge.”

“The harder it will be to purge the Dogs from us. I know.”

“What do you want done about Vanessa?” Savannah asked.

“Nothing. I’ve handled it. Her choices are her own.”

“Betrayal should be punished, Elara.”

“What would I punish her for, Savannah? Bad judgement? Trust me, he’s punishment enough.”

Savannah nodded and left the room.

Elara raised her hand and touched Hugh’s chest, tracing the line of hard muscle under the skin with her fingers. The projection rippled as if liquid.

It was too bad… If it was anyone but him…

She laughed quietly at the absurdity of it and dismissed the construct with a wave of her fingers.