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Before I can move, Dean Shea steps onto the dais with Whittaker and clears his throat. Goddess, but men do love a fucking performance.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Seems our youngest and newest was a little trigger-happy.” There’s a ruffle of brouhaha, laughter riffling through the cavern of the chapel. Dean Shea can’t hide the irritation twitching his forehead, but he has to assure them all that he’s still in charge. “The brotherhood is strong at Preston, and beyond. And this year, one of our youngest professors has proven himself worthy of a spot among us.”

A hush of Old Norse across the church, picking up and strengthening into a chant: “This is a way to live forever.

“This is a way to live forever.

“This is a way to live forever.”

Shea lifts a hand for quiet. “Tonight, we honor his induction because he’s come to us with a singular opportunity. The capture of the draugr drottning.” He tips his head to Lyle, I notice with a snap of new, fresh anger. Motherfucker. I’m leverage. It rankles, even though I expected as much. “And we have a new vessel to replace the old. A prettier one,” he says with a soft laugh, as he gestures toward Lacie. “Though it seems Lyle was a bit hungry on the way, hm? Well, we know a creature must whet their appetite. After all, we’re a diverse and understanding organization, aren’t we?”

A chorus of old-man laughter fills the chapel again and I want to scream, or cry, or rip the entire fucking church down.

And I will. Patience, I tell myself. Patience.

Lyle steps up to the dais. Raises the journal.

And when he begins to read, time stops.

I know, as the words echo in the chapel: this book is signed with my name. When he reaches the end, I’ll be his monster. Their monster.

Slowly, slowly, I school the energy inside myself, bringing my hackles up, my teeth down—not enough they can see, mind you, but enough that every sliver of flesh in my body quivers with tension. They may know who I am, but they know not what it means to tangle with me.

If you poke the panther, you will, ultimately, get the teeth.

The vættir in the crowd grow restless, the old men and the women who allow their disgusting behavior whispering anxiously. They can taste the danger on their tongues, curdling the air to vinegar. Hearts hum too fast, pulses quickening to a death rattle.

Shea turns and smiles at me, toothsome and overlarge. “Lyle?” he queries, his voice tight. “Shall we begin the rite with our bound kitten?”

We shall fucking not.

But to do what I intend will be a direct disavowal of all my promises. I made a promise to myself that I would never harm Lacie, that I wouldn’t take energy from her.

That I would protect her.

I wanted to. I wanted to keep her safe.

But safety is no longer an option. There is only one choice left.

Lyle begins to speak, “Marhei—”

He does not get the chance to finish.

Shuffling my skin off my body with a wet slop, I scream, rising into my form. Armored black skin bursts forward, my teeth splitting my jaw wide, my eyes widening, my pupils lengthening. I stream chartreuse fog, the sweet smell of rot.

The humans scream, backpedaling in their finery, falling over pews toward the main door. But, of course, it’s been barred with magic.

I did that myself.

I cast an unsuspecting Lyle to the side with a flick of my wrist, talons digging deep into his side. He falls with a muffled grunt, his shoulder hitting the marble church floor with a wet snap. It will not last. He is too strong.

But this gives me a single moment.

“Drottning,” Shea screeches. “Don’t!”

I leap for Lacie, my jaws yawning wide as I tear into her soft, exposed throat. She gives a little scream, her eyes locking with mine before they roll back in her head. My tongue whips down her throat, deep into the heart of her. I linger, watching her pure bright pulse darken, become something altogether worse but lasting. Outlasting.

Time slows for a bitter instant, and inside her gaze I read the terrible rage she’s built up over long years of being a silent, good girl.