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“You’ve been planning this all along,” Lyriat hissed. “I don’t appreciate being used, Cordelia.”

She raised a brow. “I would apologize, but I’m not actually sorry. Needs must, and all that. So, who wants to get in a little trouble?”

Fern laughed. “Let’s go fuck up the Evesong, eh?”

“Yes,” Brand pushed through his teeth. “Let’s.”

Nyri’s eyes were dull and he hated it.

The fire behind their mahogany color was dimming, like whole galaxies were blinking out star by star. Normally when extracting what he needed from his captives, that moment pleased him to no end. On her, it sat ill. He wanted the creature who drew his blood back. Wanted that worthy opponent.

Why didn’t any of them understand what was at stake?

If no one gave him answers, he’d have to keep promises he now regretted making. Ensuring there wasn’t a single creature on this wretched planet with reason to doubt him was of the utmost importance. And no matter how damned enthralled he was with her, Nyri would never be more important than the completion on his plans.

Which was taking entirely too long and getting skull-fucked from every imaginable direction.

He rounded Nyri, pausing to inhale against the back of her head. Her long, black hair tickled his nose. Pained groans echoed all around, accompanying the scent of rot and refuse, but none of it was enough to mask hers—clean and sappy, the underlying perfume of her beloved trilliatum clinging on in spite of her circumstances.

Hanging there, body gone thin from lack of proper food, she was still utterly captivating.

In front of her again, he pinched Nyri’s chin and forced her to look at him. “Why so sad, darling?”

The barest twitch of a brow was her only response.

“I don’t do this for my own enjoyment, you know,” he whispered, nail pressing into the faint line where her bottom lip met olive skin. “This is for you, too. So you understand how dire the situation is and stop withholding what I need. Look around. Only someone entirely deranged would do this for fun and without good reason.”

Stone cold silence.

“Did you ever consider that I might be the hero of this story, Nyriadne?” he continued, leaning closer to share her breath. “That the ones you hold your tongue for are the real villains? That they’ve committed the wrongs and I seek only to make it right?”

She blinked slow and shifted her gaze over his shoulder, utterly bored.

Sweet fucking Night, she was magnificent. He wanted that loyalty for himself.

But in order to earn it, to bring Nyri around and finally make her see, he needed time.

The farce with Okthana must end. His father would never forgive him if he killed her outright, though, already murderously pissed with their failure. More’s the pity.

He needed to find another way to crush her. To keep her alive but cripple her plans and constant interferences, so he might get back to his own.

It was all Okthana’s fault he was lax of late, by pure necessity.

Constantly dealing with her madness meant too many other things slipped from his control. Keeping up appearances so his own schemes were successful was getting harder by the day. Some were starting to notice his absences, his interactions too brief for the circumstances. One even recognized him—or rather, recognized that particular face—in conjunction with a sordid deed and had to be dealt with. Killing creatures in broad daylight was not a habit he wanted to keep, however, even to protect his machinations.

Not to mention the fellow predator on his tail. Someone was sniffing out his old haunts and digging through the detritus of those former collections. Always gone before he identified them, no trace left behind.

Hence, the reason he began leaving false clues everywhere. To fuck with them. Confuse them. Buy himself more time.

There was no denying it. He was on thin ice. For now, most of it was easily explained away, especially since turning a few of those closest to his main persona, but it wouldn’t last forever. As soon as more important people started asking better questions, he was fucked.

The last thing he needed was to be backed into a corner, forced into someone else’s life. Someone with power and influence. The time required to do it convincingly was a luxury he didn’t have.

He dug his fingers harder into Nyri’s jaw and bent, bringing them nose to nose. She had no choice but to look at him. “I don’t care what it takes, little lamb. I’ll get what I need, and you’ll be on my side by the end.”

And then, because he knew it would get a rise, he murmured, “Perhaps I’ll even tempt you into my bed. I know how dearly you desire a mate and I’d adore being yours.”

The tension in his shoulders bled away when some of those fiery sparks reignited in her eyes—right as she spit in his face.