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I picked up the knife, carried it with the plate and turned around. “I expect nothing less.”

“It’s starting again, isn’t it?”

I stopped. Breathed. Felt. “Yes.”

I carried her food along the hallway. The scent of cloves and concrete thick in my lungs. I stopped at the door to her wing. Closed my eyes. Movement inside. Near the window. I knocked once. Waited. Then opened the door.

Silence followed as I stepped inside.

The soft, sweet scent of her hit me. I dragged it in deep. Let it carve through the horror.

“Alaric? What are you—what are you doing?”

I stopped in front of her. “Your fruit… and your knife.”

“Knife?”

The blade rested beside the fruit already wrapped carefully in black cloth.

I faced her quietly. “This one is better than the one from the kitchen. It’s sharp. You’ll need to learn how to use it. I’ll be in the study, waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“To show you how to kill a man.”

Her breathing caught sharply.

Silence.

Then—

“How much do you know?”

“Enough.”

I placed the fruit and the knife beside her. Straightened and headed for the doorway.

“Why are you helping me?”

Her question stopped me cold.

Broken fingers.

Blood-soaked hair.

“Because… I failed once. I won’t fail again. Eat your fruit, Nyssa. Then come find me.”

I left her. Headed to the study. Hate. Rage. Longing. It all collided. I didn’t know which one made me more dangerous. Killian’s death… or her.

The crime-scene photos were waiting in my inbox. I sat, hit the button and the email from London was read out loud. Blood patterns. Impact arcs. Controlled placement. The killer wasn’t just right-handed. He was also methodical.

I already understood that much.

The only thing I didn’t understand…

Was what he’d done to her.

I picked up my cell, pressed the button.