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Valentin’s power rises so fast the glass tabletop splinters beneath his hand. The Twelve shift around us, silent and lethal. Aaron’s attention sharpens into calculation. Iskander’s hand settles on his blade. Gideon and Cassian move closer to the exits, while Rook appears from shadow so suddenly, I nearly flinch.

Selphine notices all of it and looks bored. That frightens me more than fear would have.

‘What did you do to her?’ Valentin asks. His voice is quiet. Lethal.

And a dangerous, beautiful kind of rapture fills my chest because he didn’t ask about his condition, his poisoning, first. The Vampire King of New York is concerned about me, a mere human.

Selphine’s smile deepens. ‘You’ll need to be more specific, vampire. I have done many things to ensure she survived long enough to stand here glaring at me with all that wounded indignation.’

I taste blood in my memory as my throat remembers trying to tear itself open. ‘You gagged my mind and my throat,’ I say. My voice comes out rough, but whole.

Selphine’s eyes return to me and, for a heartbeat, the woman I knew is there. The one who set soup in front of me when I was too hollow to feed myself and taught me the difference between a protective ward and a pretty trap. The one who knew when nightmares had dragged me out of sleep because she would appear with bitter tea before I could pretend I hadn’t woken screaming.

Then that woman’s gaze hardens. ‘I protected you from your own recklessness.’

I laugh once and it sounds ugly. ‘Is that what we’re calling magical throat violence now?’

‘You were always going to do something foolish.’ Her voice remains gentle, which makes it worse and me definitely homicidal. ‘You run until cornered, then you mistake confession for bravery and sacrifice for control.’

Valentin’s eyes flash. ‘Careful, witch.’

Selphine glances at him. ‘How touching. He growls when I tell the truth.’

‘He will do more than growl,’ Rowan says.

‘Will he?’ Selphine looks around the war room, at the savage vampires itching for violence, the fractured Heartshard Glass pulsing behind Valentin, the maps and recordings and blood-stained evidence spread over the table. ‘He has had several opportunities.’

The blow is aimed at me and sweet fucking fucks of Netheris do I feel it.

Because he did have opportunities. That night as he flew me over his kingdom, in his bed, in the dungeon. Every time he fucked me against the wall. Every time I lied, hid, deflected, locked my jaw against the truth, he could’ve killed me or broken me or handed me over to whatever old law governed vampire kings and betrayal.

He did not.

Selphine wants him thinking about that.

Unfortunately, it makes me think about it too. How he fed me his blood with panic in his hands and kept the mind-bond open after I gave him every reason to slam it shut.

Because?

The question slides under my ribs with the stealth of a blade.

Could the great Vampire King of New York have feelings for Eira Cross, his little hunter?

The world is crumbling around us, and apparently my brain has decided this is the perfect time to offer me an emotional grenade with the pin already pulled.

I shove that thought away to unpack very carefully later.

Valentin bares his fangs. ‘If you are attempting to provoke gratitude, witch, refine your technique.’

‘Oh, I rarely need gratitude from men. They weaponise it poorly.’

Rowan steps closer. Runes bloom along her forearms, bright as frost under moonlight. ‘You have a lot to answer for, Selphine.’

‘Not to you.’

I surge towards her, my fingers itching for my Mercy Pin. Show her how she’d like her throat torn and bloody. ‘Then answer me. You poisoned him through my blood, then layered a gag vicious enough to rupture my fucking throat. Why?’

‘Your throat remains intact.’ Selphine’s gaze moves to me. ‘Because I knew he would feed you.’