Lucian rises from his chair in one smooth, dangerous motion, the scrape of wood against stone loud in the sudden silence. His eyes have gone blood red and they are fixed on Whistler, his expression darkening by the second.
“What,” he says coldly, “is the meaning of this?”
Whistler lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, like he didn’t just drag one of my best friends into a supernatural power struggle.
“You instructed me to retrieve the cat and its accoutrements, my Lord. So that’s what I did.”
“I instructed you to retrieve the cat,” Lucian snaps, every word precise and sharp. “Not abduct another human—especially not another Curvy Queen! You know how dangerous it is to bring them here to the Shadow Realm!”
His voice cracks like a whip and Hanna stiffens against me. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze automatically.
“Why did you bring another human,” Lucian continues, his voice like ice, “When I specifically instructed you to bring only the animal?”
Whistler’s mouth quirks.
“Ah. Well. You did say everything around the cat—everything the cat needed, right?”
Lucian’s eyes narrow dangerously but Whistler hurries on.
“This woman,” he says, gesturing toward Hanna, “Was petting the animal. It appeared attached to her. The cat seemed to require her presence, for emotional support, maybe.”
Mr. Mittens chooses that moment to let out a loud, offended mrrrow. He’s twining around both our legs, as though asking for attention from me and Hanna.
Whistler spreads his hands and nods at my friend.
“The cat needed her, so I brought her. Along with the food, the litter box, the carrier, and assorted other objects that looked like the cat might need them. They’re in your office with your guards, my Lord.”
Lucian looks like he might actually tear the Realm-Hopper’s head off.
“This is ridiculous,” he growls. “You have taken an unnecessary risk bringing her here.”
Hanna’s fingers dig into my arm, and I can almost feel her fear. She’s worried that Lucian will hurt her—that he thinks she’s to blame for being here somehow. I open my mouth to reassure her but before I can get a word out, another voice cuts in—low, velvet-dark, and threaded with something ancient and cold.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Don Malthus Veyl murmurs. He takes a step towards us, his gaze trained on Hanna.
Every instinct in my body screams danger. Hanna shrinks against me and I tighten my grip on her.
Don Malthus moves closer with eerie grace, his shadowy robes billowing as though stirred by a wind only he can feel. The skeletal hands emerge again, pale and sharp, fingers long and deliberate. They seem like an odd contrast to the huge, muscular body outlined by the strange fabric he wears.
Everyone has stood up by now and we’re all congregated by the head of the table. The servants, perhaps sensing conflict, have vanished like smoke.
The Necro Don stops a few feet from us. He towers over us both—the specter of death with a deadly chill coming off him. It’s like standing next to an open freezer door…or maybe an open grave.
“Tell me, beautiful one,” he says softly, his skull-mask angled toward Hanna. “What is your name?”
Hanna goes completely still and her face—which had begun to get a little color—goes paper-pale again. She straightens despite herself, spine stiff with fear, and takes a small step backward—away from him and closer to me.
“I—I…” Her voice trembles. “You…you’re not—my name is none of your business.”
The bone grin never changes.
“Ah,” Don Malthus murmurs. “But it is my business. For I must know what to call such a lovely woman—such a beautiful queen.”
Lucian shifts, frowning. He looks displeased, but doesn’t interrupt.
“I have seen you before,” the Necro Don continues, still looking down at Hanna. “I am certain of it.”
Hanna’s breath seems to catch in her throat, and she just looks at him—clearly at a loss for words.
