THERE WAS SOMEONE in his room.

Someone who was not Ava.

Kincaid woke with a growl, his vision sliding through shades of gray. Every sense was alive in a way he'd never known before, when he was human. Malloryn came into focus, standing by the window and looking out, his hands clasped behind him and his face awash in the cool afternoon light. Kincaid automatically winced as that very same light stabbed his eyes.

"Good afternoon," the duke said. "You're looking better."

"Where's Ava?"

"Definitely better, if one is to judge by the surliness in your tone," Malloryn said, with no small amount of amusement, dragging the chair out beside Kincaid's bed and sinking into it. "Ava has gone to visit her friends at the guild, to make sure the guild master is all right."

"And is he?" He owed Garrett and Perry a debt, after all, for taking care of Ava for all those years.

"Garrett's wound has healed," Malloryn said, "though the next stage is to fit him with a biomech arm. Lynch and I pushed the Council to pay for it, considering all he's done for the city."

"Takes a bit of getting used to," he said, looking down at the ruined stump of his own hand. "I can show him how it all works."

"Ava would be appreciative of that, I think. How are you feeling?"

He considered the question. Every day he felt better than he ever had. There was a strength in his legs and arms he'd not realized was lacking. Every step he took was stronger, and he no longer feared falling.

The craving virus had worked. He'd not be 100 percent certain his illness had abated, until he had a chance to test his limits—or perhaps until years passed and he could be certain he wasn't getting worse—but hope filled him.

"As fit as a bull," he confessed.

"And mentally? The craving's not easy to get used to."

Heat flushed through Kincaid's cheeks. "Insanely irrational," he admitted. "Territorial. All my emotions seem heightened, and I have... strong urges at times." The last few days ran through his head in a sudden series of vignettes; of fucking Ava over and over, interspersed with moments where he drained a flask of blood dry, before he took her again.

The duke couldn't be referring to that, but all the same....

"Is it always like this?" he growled. The others seemed to be able to control themselves in polite company, but at just the thought of her, his cock was stiffening again.

"Not... always. You're facing a dilemma few blue bloods encounter. Not only are you newly changed, but it seems you're also claiming a female."

"Claiming her?"

"I'm told it's a phenomenon that occurs when blue bloods give themselves over to the primal nature of the blue blood within whenever they meet their match."

Kincaid scraped a hand through his unruly black hair. He needed a shave by the feel of it too. "Jaysus."

"Indeed." Malloryn shuddered, as if the thought horrified him a little. No doubt it did, for the duke lived and breathed control. "What do you remember?"

The memory of the duke breathing into his mouth sprang to mind. "Were you fuckin' resuscitating me?"

Malloryn paused, his knuckles whitening on the hilt of his cane, an odd look on his face. "That is one of those moments we shall never speak of again."

Fine with him. "Right. It never happened." He could remember other things too, and none of it made sense. "You came back for us. And you carried me out of there."

Malloryn arched a brow. "I only wear my monster-who-crushes-humans-beneath-his-heel face on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. You were in luck. It was Thursday. Hero day. Besides, you saved my life in that factory. I'm a duke. We never allow ourselves to fall into debt to others."

Kincaid grimaced. "I think I owe you one now."

"Who's counting?" Malloryn asked, but his smile was evil.

"Thank you."

"Wonders never cease," Malloryn said, in a tone that mocked both of them.

Kincaid slumped back onto the pillows. He didn't want to like this man, but perhaps they had more in common than they'd expected. "What happened to the girl? The one you loved."

Silence was his only answer. He didn't think Malloryn was going to reply, until—

"It's the sort of thing I share only with my nearest and dearest."

"Aren't we friends now?" Kincaid drew his arm up to rest behind his head and smiled at the duke.

Who stared at him flatly.

"I got her killed," the duke said, very softly. "She belonged to someone else, and in my youthful infatuation, I believed I was invincible. That I could take what was his and walk away unscathed. The man she belonged to shot her, right in front of me. Straight through the heart."

Kincaid rolled his head on the pillow to look at the duke. If that was Ava, he would have burned the world to ashes to get revenge. "What happened to him?"

Malloryn's smile was chilling. "I spent the next ten years searching for a way to destroy him."

"Did you succeed?"

"Oh, yes." Malloryn's tone could have frozen an entire sea. "I ruined his every scheme. I destroyed his puppet prince consort, burned his little kingdom to the ground, set his tower ablaze, and then I cut his throat from ear to ear the night the revolution occurred. He managed to escape at the time, but I found his body later in the yard with a bullet to the chest. I wanted to burn his corpse, but the queen insisted he be buried. She wanted Lord Balfour to rot instead, and it seemed fitting."

This was why Malloryn joined the revolution to bring the prince consort undone, and restore human rights to England? "You're a dangerous man."

"I can be." Malloryn relaxed back into his chair. "As Ulbricht and his friends discovered. I have no intention of seeing London destroyed after I sacrificed years of my life to build it."

"What happened to the serum? The SOG?"

"It seems we entered the wrong factory. Ulbricht and the SOG set three of them to blow, and they planned on blaming the humanists. The remaining two factories are in perfect working order. If one doesn't consider the fact all the blood was poisoned."

Kincaid scraped his hands over his face. "So they blame the humanists, and set off a war, and with so little blood remaining, everyone rushes to get what's left."

"That was the plan, yes." Malloryn sighed. "And of course, the only blue bloods who keep enough thralls to feed themselves—and therefore don't require the blood—are the Echelon. Some of them might have died, but it was a risk Ulbricht seemed content to take. I must have pissed him off last month."

"It's your winning charm," Kincaid muttered.

Malloryn barked a laugh. "Perhaps. Ulbricht used to fawn at Balfour's feet, so I was never his favorite person. I wish I'd gotten a chance to question him before he died, to ask him why he suddenly decided to launch this foolish scheme to destroy London. What stirred him up after three years of kissing the queen's hand and pretending he was on board with her plans?"

"That's the problem with dead enemies. You can't question them afterwards," Kincaid replied sleepily. "If I had my time again, I'd have tried not to shoot him for you."

"No matter." Malloryn shrugged and stood, his shadow falling over the bed. "I just wish I knew where those bloody dhampir were now. They can't have just vanished, and I suspect they're up to something. Hurry up and get better. Now we've got Byrnes and Ingrid back, I want all hands on deck. Ulbricht and his Sons of Gilead have been vanquished, but now we need to work on the real mission: discovering just who has been pulling the strings behind the SOG and the dhampir. The mastermind behind all of this nonsense."

"Sounds good." Kincaid yawned. "But you'd better get me a new hand first."