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PROLOGUE
HENRY
It starts with a single drop of blood. An oath. An allegiance that spans centuries, encompassing history and lasting lifetimes. It’s a pact that you live and die by from the moment you’re marked. A wolf that’s part of a pack doing what it takes to protect the crown and all its fallen jewels.
“Henry?”
I look up to find Percival standing in front of the secret door, his livery unruffled even though his chest is rising and falling with his rush to deliver the message—a simple nod that tells me what I must do now.
Taking one last deep puff of my cigarette, I throw it into the fire as the clock chimes two in the morning. Perfectly in time with the itinerary I planned.
I’m not sure if he hates me or fears me, but I am certain that my presence makes him uncomfortable. Percival never hangs around—like the grim reaper. He leads death to the girls he’s procured and quickly turns his back before the scythe has reaped another soul.
Today, however, he balks as I stand. The Persian rug beneath my feet cushions the quiet thud of my boots as I meander to the sideboard beside him and glance down at the instruments on it.
Gloves. Syringe. Switchblade.
The gloves go on first. I suck in a deep breath, then blow them open, making it easier to pull them on with a snap.
“You’re still here,” I point out as I check the pistol over and slip it into the back of my dark jeans. “It’s too late to grow a conscience.”
Percival lured these innocent girls into the devil’s den, handpicked and vetted each one to serve wolves, but somewhere along the way, he grew careless, and now I must take care of the problem.
He continues watching me intently while I make sure the switchblade is in working order. Closing the knife one last time, I fist the steel instrument in my hand before picking up the syringe in the other and pocketing each. One in the left, the other in the right pocket of my hoodie.
“Don’t forget your promise.”
“Henry.”
“A man is only as good as his word.”
At my remark, he shrugs. “She’s just a girl.”
Yes. Just a girl. A loose end I must cut off with my blade. A danger to the integrity of the crown. A reason my father’s corpse is rotting in our family vault.
Tightening my grip around the switchblade, I observe the guilt darkening his steely eyes. It doesn’t matter how many throats I slit or bodies I maim, the guilt never touches me. This is who I am. It’s what I do. I’m a protector of the crown. A killer. Death. I don’t feel. I strike, and I’m done. And in the dark, there’s nothing beyond me. A monster that I’ve made my peace with.
Something Percy should do instead of grabbing my arm as I turn for the door.
“Just a girl,” he tells me as though he’s begging for the life of the lamb I’ll slaughter tonight.
Just a girl. There’s no “just” in our world. A sharp scoff pushes past my lips at his tormented frown before I correct him. “A whore like all the others.”
“Pawns,” he states with an empathetic tilt of his head that causes my anger to flare. “They’re nothing but pawns.”
“They are whores.” He’s been the keeper of this place long enough to know this.
Letting myself out of the room, I wait to hear him leave through the panel door. It won’t take him long to make it downstairs, in time to see today’s sacrifice out.
The hallways of the old building are pitch-dark. The scent of spirits still lingers in the walls, sweetening the bitter edge of tobacco and dulling the sinful air still warm with sex, debauchery, and depravity.
There’s nothing but the apt hush that fills the place. The stillness in the air is heavy with my mission to kill. Every step is punctuated with the steady beat of my heart. Taking each carpeted stair down. One by one. Eating up the distance between me and my prey. Killing time between me and my target.
The front door opens, and I halt, watching and listening.
“Need a ride home?” Percival’s muted question causes her to frown while she casts a questioning glance around her.
“No. No.” The girl shakes her head when she looks up at him again. “I-I’m meeting a friend.”
