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Vivvy flinches. It fills me with a delicious satisfaction that my stone-faced bitch of a sister can be insulted after all.

“Of course not,” she hisses, blinking as if she’s regaining control of her mind. “I’m using him for information. Once I’ve sought my revenge, I’ll purge him from this world too.”

“Who?”

“Mihal.”

“And who fed Mihal the information?”

“His spies.”

“Very well,” he says, tilting her face up so his eye contact is even more intense. “It’s a shame Rory and Quill escaped before reinforcements arrived, isn’t it?”

“W-what?” The thumpthumpthump of her heart intensifies as if it’s beating a desperate rhythm to out-pump the compulsion he’s nudging into her word by word, syllable by syllable. “They didn’t. They⁠—”

“They escaped.” His voice deepens. Velvet laces every word in a silent command to alter her thoughts, her memories, entirely. “You followed them into the dark, and they overpowered you. But before you succumbed to your injury, you heard them mention Seagrove. You believe they ventured there. Don’t you remember?”

She nods. “I remember. I can’t believe I let them get away.”

“Tell me exactly what you’re going to tell the others.”

“Rory and Quill got away,” she says slowly, her tone shifting into a dreamy haze. Too much. He’s using too much compulsion. They’ll never believe her. They’ll— “I trailed those fucking monsters into the dark and injured one, but they overpowered me. I tried to stop them before they fled to Seagrove, but I failed.” She chews her lower lip, eyes filling with tears. “My failure let them get away.”

Quill stands there cradling her face as I lurk in the shadows behind him. A minute passes, then five, and only after Vivvy is a slobbering mess in his grip does he let her fall to the stone ground in a heap of skin and bone and tears. She scrambles to her feet and bolts, leaving the scent of peonies in her wake.

Chapter 34

QUILL

Hours after the confrontation with Vivian, Rory and I sneak from the library and into the deep black of nightfall. Rain continues to pour in thick sheets, the cobblestone streets slick underfoot as we cut through the city to the East Quarter.

Neither of us speaks. Rory’s been quiet since I compelled Vivian, and I can’t tell if she’s angry at me or for me. Her possessive growl when I touched her sister sent a skitter of need through me. I hadn’t wanted to lay a finger on the woman who abused my mate, but compulsion is risky business. It takes a lot of control to slip into someone’s mind and manipulate their thoughts and memories into precisely what you need them to be, what you need them to do—whether that’s telling a lie, making them forget, or revealing the truth.

To make them do far worse things… for that, touch is not nearly enough. For that, there needs to be an exchange of blood. The bite marks on Vivian’s neck and wrist rise to the forefront of my mind as Rory and I cross Gregor Street and aim for Lionheart. Mihal has bitten her. Only someone who believes they’re untouchable would even consider taking control of a hunter the way he’s clearly done. He’s likely the one who sent her to Nightfell, too, with the help of Tallis.

Hopefully, Mihal’s going to have a hard fucking time manipulating Vivian all the way in Seagrove.

A carriage meanders past, the window’s curtains spread open. Rory and I turn into each other instinctively, lips brushing as we do our best to hide her face from anyone who might identify Adelphi’s former sacrifice. Our kiss is tense, dispassionate. We separate after the carriage rolls past and dart down the alley that connects Gregor to Lionheart.

The alley spits us out a stone’s throw from Carver’s stoop, and the door swings open as Carver says, “Thank fuck.”

He ushers us inside and glances behind us before shutting the door and locking it. I take Rory’s cloak and hang it on the hook beside my own.

Carver’s eyes are wide as he takes in the holes in my shirt, the blood along Rory’s neck and likely crusted around my mouth.

“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” Risna says, rushing forward. Eivor’s hot on her heels. She plucks a cobweb from Rory’s hair. “You both look like hell.”

“You should’ve seen us a few hours ago,” Rory says, leaning into Carver’s half hug. “Vivvy shot Quill with a crossbow. Two bolts.”

Eivor grimaces. “You fed?”

“Not on a mortal,” I say, pushing past the cluster of my kindred and down the hall. “Rory needs blood.”

“Hello to you too,” Risna snaps, following me into the small kitchen. Carver, Eivor, and Rory don’t follow. “We were worried sick when you didn’t show up, you know.”

“Well, we’re here now,” I mumble, opening the ice box and retrieving a jar of blood. “Tell me you have an update on your reconnaissance?”

She leans against the counter as I place a copper pot on the stovetop and empty the blood into it. “Ash’s information is solid. There are wards in place throughout the city to sound alarms the moment a creature mysts.”