The hall was silent except for the ragged sound of breathing. Blood slicked the floor, reflecting the glow of the torches. Wolves lay sprawled across the stone—some wounded, some dead, and some who had simply walked out, leaving a void behind them that felt worse than any corpse.
Aria stood frozen, her chest rising and falling too fast. The bond throbbed painfully, echoing Killian’s rage, but there was something else beneath it—something colder, darker. The man’s voice still rang in her ears.
Little vessel.
She swallowed hard, clutching her arms as if she could hold herself together by force.
Killian stalked through the hall like a predator, silver eyes burning, his bare chest streaked with blood and dirt. He looked like a war god, terrible and beautiful.
“Gather the loyal,” he ordere
