I braced myself.
When he opened his eyes again, they burned like rubies, a molten, seething red. He ran his tongue over his sharp incisors, his gaze fixed on my wound.
His fingers drummed against his thighs methodically.
If he had a tail, I was sure it would lash like a predator on the verge of striking.
“You should have brought this information to me sooner. Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
Balthazar’s eyes darkened. “You didn’t think it was important?” His voice turned deadly quiet. Then, with a snarl, “Telling me that Emily is Olivia’s sister is fucking important, you dumb fuck!”
I clenched my jaw. “Forgive me, master. I promise it won’t happen again.”
The words tasted like bile. I loathed bowing and scraping before him. I was no man’s bitch. And yet, here I was, playing the obedient servant.
Balthazar stared at me, rage twisting his features—until, suddenly, something shifted. His expression softened.
“Are you feeling better?”
I blinked, realizing the pain had dulled to a tolerable ache. “Yes.”
“Good.” His lips curled into a chilling smile. “I need to close this wound before you rot from infection. Ready?”
I swallowed hard. “I guess so.”
Balthazar pressed his palm against my stomach.
Agony exploded through me.
The stink of scorching flesh filled the air, thick and acrid, mixing with my screams.
Balthazar bared his teeth as he seared my wound shut, his arm trembling with the force of his power. My skin blistered beneath his touch, turning waxy and raw.
I couldn’t take it.
Darkness crashed over me.
When I came to, Balthazar was lounging in a velvet-upholstered chair, angled just right to soak in the fireplace’s heat while keeping a watchful eye on me. A golden goblet rested in his grip.
“How do you feel?”
I hesitated, taking stock of my body—no shooting pain, no gut-wrenching agony. My skin felt damp and cold but not ruined. Maybe I was just numb from the chest down.
I propped myself on my elbows, bracing for the worst. Expected charred, blackened flesh. Expected ruin.
Instead, my abdomen looked… normal. The skin was pinkish-brown and smooth as if I hadn’t been gutted open hours ago.
“Better.” My mind sharpened, bringing back our conversation from before I blacked out. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a son?”
Balthazar sipped his drink, unbothered. “I didn’t think it was any of your business.”
“But—”
“Besides,” he cut in smoothly, “you didn’t tell me about Emily. Why should I tell you about my son?”
I ran my tongue along the inside of my dry mouth. “Master, I asked for forgiveness. I swore my loyalty to you. I want to be your soldier. Please, tell me about him. Who is he? Where does he live?”
