The true crest of House Vale had been cut into the dead man’s chest with careful precision.
Three mountain peaks rose beneath an upward crescent, each line deep enough to expose pale bone beneath torn flesh. Whoever had carved it understood the crest intimately. The proportions were correct, the central peak slightly higher than the others, and the crescent curved at the exact angle used on the old Vale standards.
This was not the distorted symbol left on the previous victims.
This was deliberate.
Zinnia stood just inside the hunting lodge, unable to look away from the body sprawled beneath the message welcoming Aurelia home. The dead Lycan’s hands were bound behind him with black cord. Blood had spread between the floorboards, though not enough remained in his body to explain the amou
