(Carlos’ POV)
The Compound was quiet. He had just had an urgent message delivered by one of Steel’s shifter guards.
Carlos moved down the corridor toward the sublevels, the air turning warmer with every step. Even the walls here seemed to hold their breath. The metal door at the end of the hall hissed open at his approach, revealing a stairwell that descended into flickering light and the faint scent of blood.
The Originals were whining again.
He carried two glass decanters of blood in his hands, fresh, still warm. They hissed softly when he entered, like feral cats caught between hunger and pride.
“Breakfast,” he said.
Three pairs of eyes turned toward him, pale, ancient, rimmed with shadows. Their beauty had curdled into something unsteady. The madness still clung to them, though s
