Damiros is still talking. "...consideration for the breeding program as well. The demand for juvenile hellhounds continues to exceed our current production capacity."
"We'd need to expand the lower stables." I force myself back into the conversation. "The current configuration can't support additional breeding stock without compromising security protocols."
"Agreed. Which brings me to staffing concerns." My brother's tone shifts slightly—still controlled, but carrying an edge that makes my attention sharpen. "Have there been any additional incidents since the Sythrak situation?"
The question sits between us with more weight than it should. I know what he's really asking:Has Lenna caused problems?
"No incidents," I say carefully. "The beasts have actually been more responsive during feeding and maintenance cycles."
"More responsive." Damiros sets down the document he was holding, giving me his full attention. "To the staff in general, or to someone specific?"
I meet his gaze evenly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort. "The new laborer handles them well. Better than most of the previous staff."
"Lenna Fentris."
Hearing him say her name makes something tighten in my chest. I don't let it show. "Yes."
Damiros leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful in ways that feel dangerous. "Interesting. From what I've observed, the beasts seem to have becomemoretemperamental since her arrival, not less. Azhrael in particular has been notably difficult."
My jaw tightens. "They calm around her. His temperament seems to be in response to being handled not by her."
"Is that so?" My brother's tone remains pleasant, but there's steel underneath. "Your beast refuses your commands whenshe's present? With the way the other beasts orient toward her instead of responding to established hierarchy?"
"They respond to her competence." The words come out sharper than I intend. "She handles them with skill that exceeds her supposed training level, which makes them more cooperative overall."
"Or it makes them confused about authority structure." Damiros taps his fingers again—three precise strikes against the desk surface. "Confused beasts are dangerous beasts, Malrec. You know this."
I do know this. It's foundational to everything I've built in the stables. Clear hierarchy. Consistent authority. No ambiguity about who holds power and who submits to it.
I also haven't forgotten how Damiros looked when he saw her. I don't doubt this has something to do with that.
But watching Lenna with Azhrael didn't feel like confusion. It felt likerecognition.
"The system is stable," I say, keeping my voice level. "There haven't been any breaches, no injuries beyond minor incidents that are standard for this environment."
"Yet." Damiros stands, moving to the observation window that overlooks the estate below. "I'm simply suggesting that perhaps we should consider rotating staff again. Fresh personnel might restore the original behavioral patterns we established."
Something cold slides down my spine. "You want to remove her."
"I want to maintain optimal stability." He doesn't turn around. "If that means adjusting personnel assignments to reinforce proper hierarchy, then yes. It's worth considering."
The suggestion hits me with visceral rejection that I can't quite justify. Lenna has been here less than a month. She's a laborer. Replaceable by definition, like I told myself when she first arrived. There's no logical reason why the thought ofremoving her from the stables should trigger this immediate, absolute resistance.
But it does.
I think of Azhrael settling under her touch. Think of the way she moves through the walkways with cautious competence that somehow feels practiced. Think of her eyes—warm brown that becomes expressive when she thinks no one is watching—and the way they tracked across my face two nights ago like she was trying to remember something just out of reach.
Think of the dreams.
I've had more recently.
The first one was sexual—intense enough that I woke with my heart pounding and her name on my lips. I could have dismissed that as simple attraction, my subconscious processing physical response to a woman who happens to be beautiful despite my professional distance.
But the second dream wasn't sexual at all.
I was in my private quarters, reviewing stable reports at my desk. Simple. Mundane. Then Lenna walked in carrying two cups of something warm—tea, maybe, though I couldn't identify the scent. She set one beside me without asking, pressed a brief kiss to the top of my head, and settled into the chair across from me with her own drink. We worked in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging comments about nothing important. Domestic.Familiar.
I woke from that one more disturbed than the sexual dream because it felt likememory. Like something that had happened repeatedly enough to become routine.
