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Chapter 1

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My palm scrapes the rough stone wall as I stumble into the night. I sway, unsteady. An airy giggle escapes my throat as I wipe the damp sweat from my forehead. The tavern behind me was full tonight. The crowd’s energy was infectious as patrons danced to raucous music and downed too many drinks.

Dabbing Jem’s special perfume along my neck, I flirted with the barkeep and anyone else I could make eye contact with, tossing smiles and my hair, doing exactly what I needed to get the right type of attention.

‍ I felt the hungry gazes crawling over my skin. I invited it, dressed for it. My skirt barely skimmed mid-thigh and a black corset cinched my waist. I danced, sipping my drink, lost in the noise and chaos of bodies.

Until I felt it.

A shift to the air.

A tingle at the base of my spine.

‍ The presence of something other—like darkness and malicious intent.

He spotted me.

I had tried to pretend I didn’t know he was watching—couldn’t feel it in my core like an animal knows it’s being stalked. I stayed. Safe in the throng of people. He didn’t approach. But still, I knew he was there. Waiting.

‍ ‍ As the hours wore on, I wobbled on my feet, bumping into other dancers. I couldn’t stop the world from spinning. I had to go—and I only had one shot.

‍ ‍ The back door was the best option, and now, I release a breath of relief. I’m alone in the empty, narrow stretch of cobblestone. This alley winds between the backsides of several of Five’s storefronts and, farther down, the Wolves Den—a gambling hall for those choosing to tempt Fate.

‍ ‍ At this time of night—or early morning, really—the shops are abandoned and the alley is dead. I still feel the way his attention lingered, and I shiver, despite it being midsummer in Fain, when even at night humidity wraps everything like a thick blanket. I take another deep breath to burn off the awful buzz from that last drink. I don’t drink often—hadn’t even drank much tonight—but Fates, it goes straight to my head. I can imagine the way Blade would tease me for it if he were here, before slipping a strong arm around my waist to help me home.

‍ ‍ I straighten my spine, toss my white-blonde hair over my shoulder, and try to exude confidence as I walk at a steady pace down the alley. My heel catches a stone, nearly turning my ankle. I grab the wall and curse.

‍ ‍ “All right, honey?” His voice is smooth as silver, sneaking up on me like smoke. I whirl, pressing against the wall.

‍ ‍ “Just fine. Thanks.” I wet my lips. He seems to note the movement, then approaches slowly—saunters, really. My breath hitches as I watch the distance shrink between us. With each step he takes, his smile grows.

‍ ‍ “Where ya off to? Want some company?” He’s tall. Brown hair curls at the nape of his neck, and a pair of bright eyes rake over my outfit, stalling at the cleavage pressing from my corset before trailing down my legs. Everywhere his gaze strays is like a phantom touch.

‍ ‍ “No, thank you.” My voice quivers. His smile sharpens. He takes another step forward, leaving only a foot of space between us. I can smell him now. A mixture of vanilla and leather.

‍ ‍ “Ah, come on. Don’t be like that. I saw you dancing. There is something that is so”—he breathes deeply, as if savoring my scent—“enticing about you.”

‍ ‍ I shrink back, flattening against the wall, only to be greeted by the rough texture of stone against the back of my bare thighs. Adrenaline spikes in my core. There’s nowhere to go.

‍ ‍ “I’m nice,” he continues, his attention pulling up from my breasts before dropping to the pulse beating wildly in my neck. “I bet we could have a real good time.”

‍ ‍ He’s moving. I suck in another quick breath, sliding one hand against the wall as if looking for a hidden door to escape, while my other hand sneaks up my thigh.

‍ ‍ “Please, don’t.” It’s a whispered request, a weak plea for help.

‍ ‍ He rests a hand against the wall by my head. Two of his long fingers twist playfully around the loose strands of my hair. His other hand braces against the wall near my hip, effectively caging me, trapping me in this damn alley. A place where no one ever comes, where no one will see what is about to happen. His focus slides to the place above my clavicle—where my pulse beats a fervent dance—before coming back to lock onto my eyes.

‍ ‍ I widen them in response. Rather than fight or flight, I let fawn take over. I try to look soft, innocent. If I look like a lost little doe, would he show mercy? His eyes take on a strange gleam, and his rich voice drops an octave. “You’re going to be very silent. Not a peep. I’m going to have a good time with you. Then, I’ll drain the sweet blood from your body and leave you here in this alley. How does that sound?”

‍ ‍ I nod mechanically. Eyes wide and unblinking.

‍ ‍ His lips curl to reveal a pair of sharp fangs, and his throaty chuckle is deep and low. So full of victory he hasn’t been paying attention to my hands.

‍ ‍ Stupid blood sucker. I roll my eyes at the surprise now shining in his. Vampires are so predictable. A little of Jem’s pheromone perfume, a short skirt, a drunken stumble, and they’re on a girl like flies on shit.

‍ ‍ This particular vampire’s mouth drops wide as he realizes what’s happening.

‍ ‍“Feel that, do you? You’re not the only one with something hard they can push into places it’s not wanted.” It’s my turn to smirk. Blood-thirsty bastard didn’t even notice I slid the stake from where I’d attached it to my upper thigh. The tip now pokes gingerly into his chest, resting between the ribs over his heart. Right where I could thrust it forward with one quick, practiced move and turn him into dust.

‍ ‍“Wha-how? You’re under my control—”

‍ ‍I let out my own chuckle. “You didn’t think that whole, ‘you’ll be a good girl’ thing was going to work, did you?” I press the stake further, earning a warning hiss in response. “Honestly, not into the whole ‘good girl’ kink, if I’m being really honest here, Dante.”

‍ ‍Dante makes a quick strangled noise at the use of his true name.

‍ ‍I feign surprise. “Oh, did you think I didn’t know who you are? What the bounty is on your head? Speaking of good girls… I hear you’ve been a naughty boy, Dante.” I smile without warmth, then press forward, keeping him where I need him. “And as much as I’d love to kill you right here for all the pain and harm you’ve been causing...” I shrug one shoulder, then press a button on the stake. A needle ejects from the end, and Dante hisses again but I’m already moving, knocking him off-balance, and grabbing hold of the hand he’d placed by my head, twisting him away from me so I’m behind his back holding him in an armbar. “Your bounty calls for you to be turned in alive.”

‍ ‍Dante’s body sags. Seven hells, he needs to lay off the blood-rich diet. Heavy bastard. What’s worse is that vampires don’t actually need to drink human blood to survive, they choose to. It’s one of the many things that makes them so damn vile.

‍ ‍“What did you… what is…” Dante’s head lulls forward as his voice slurs and I let go. He crashes to the ground in a heap, head landing in a murky puddle. That’s unfortunate for him.

‍ ‍“Let me just…” I place my shoe on the side of his head and roll it back, letting the spiked heel press into his temple. “Can’t be letting you drown, now can I?” I slip off my shoes and walk barefoot to the cart I stashed earlier. I grab my leather boots and slip them on, tossing the heels into the cart.

‍ ‍Dante watches. It’s fun to see him helpless—the way he made his victims. His eyes burn with vengeance as he tracks my movements. I jostle the cart back over. The rusty wheel splashes another puddle, sending a spray of dirty water into his face. Can vampires get infectious diseases? Because this poor bastard’s probably going to contract something nasty after all this—not that he’ll live long enough for it to matter.

‍ ‍“Why did-why-wh…”

‍ ‍I heave a long sigh. “Not much of a conversationalist, are you? Well, lucky for me, the serum—you feel it, right? The mixture of holy water, wolfsbane, and the other special ingredients my friend Jem concocted that’s coursing through your body? It’s going to leave you incapacitated soon. I hear it burns like all seven hells, but,”—I give him another shrug—“I’ve never tried it, obviously. I’m just a human, so I can’t be sure.”

‍ ‍I squat beside him. The warm, stale smell of the alley is heavy as I meet his eyes. Eyes that saw the last moments of countless young women in Fain over the last months before he drained their blood from their still warm bodies. Eyes that watched their fear and horror, saw the very light of their souls slip away for a taste of their innocence.

‍ ‍Hatred consumes his stare. I smile brightly in return and send him a quick wink. I love when a bounty lets me rid the streets of a vampire. It doesn’t happen often; vampires are supposed to be sequestered to the Dreadlands, the realm to the north. It’s odd, actually, to have one make it all the way to central Fain. But when they do, I love when it comes to me to bring them down. They think they’re so powerful. Like Dante, using this stupid mind control to prey on the weak.

‍ ‍Then, they meet a real challenge.

‍ ‍They meet me.

‍ ‍I grip his silken shirt and heft him into my cart, then open a rough tarp and drape it over his muscled frame, shoving his limbs in at whatever angle they’ll fit. Hopefully he’s uncomfortable. I pull back the tarp to look into his face.

‍ ‍“I don’t know exactly what happens to vampires hunting humans in Fain, but I can tell you the price tag for your capture makes me think the Shadow of Fain will have a hell of a fun time watching whatever ends you come to when he delivers you.”

‍ ‍Fear shines on the vampire’s face as plain as the stars above.

‍ ‍I push the cart up the alley, hitting every pothole I can to jostle the vampire inside. Jem would berate me if she knew about the disappointment churning in my gut.

‍ ‍But Dante went down so easily. I thought when Blade sent me after a vampire he labeled as high risk it’d at least take a fight. My adrenaline had been pumping as I set the trap. There’s nothing like the cut of a knife and fresh blood in the moonlight to get a girl’s heart thumping.

‍ ‍I see an especially deep pothole and smirk as I veer the front wheel into it. Dante’s head smacks into the wooden side of the cart. That one probably gave him some splinters. He lets out a hiss, and I send him another wink in response.

‍ ‍“Enjoy the ride. It’ll probably be your last.”

‍ Chapter 2

‍It takes half an hour for me to roll the cart to Wilden Hall. The large stone estate sits on a sprawling plot of land on the outskirts of Fain. Most think Blade owns it due to family inheritance, hence its name. But those who know Blade’s true identity as the Shadow of Fain understand it’s also the operational headquarters of the most lethal and sought after group of bounty hunters, thieves, and secret gatherers in all of Fain.

‍ ‍The lanterns hanging at the front of the house come into view. Their warm glow illuminates two large front arches like a set of giant’s eyes. I smile at the familiar sight. The feeling of home settles over me as I pass the gates.

‍ ‍“Almost there,” I chirp. My captive continues to stare up at me with enough venom that he might be trying to mentally burn my face off, but he doesn’t reply. I smile sweetly in return and let the front wheel hit a loose stone. Dante’s cheek slams into the rough wood, and he hisses. “Don’t worry,” I assure him. “Pretty soon you won’t need to think about silly things like a head. Varance might be the God of Choice, but I don’t think there will be any bargaining this time. I’m willing to bet he’ll just take your head clean off.”

‍ ‍At the mention of Fain’s Divine ruler, Dante’s eyes narrow. I turn to the right, forgoing the front doors, and propel the cart along the side of the estate, following the thick green hedge growing against its wall.

‍ ‍It’s no secret Varance hates it when Drea, Goddess of Darkness, lets her vampires leave her realm to stray into Fain. Fain is, after all, famed as the safest realm for humans. And I may not be entirely sure how the seven realms came to be—the true history has probably morphed as all history does—but according to Blade, a vampire caught sneaking south from the Dreads would find themselves slapped quickly onto his bounty list.

‍ ‍And when it came to a vampire like Dante—one Blade warned me was not only high risk but also high priority—I’d be willing to bet his bounty had been commissioned by Varance himself.

‍ ‍I bring the cart to a hasty halt at the backdoor and wipe away the sweat on my forehead from this damn humidity. A gravelly female voice calls out from behind me.

‍ ‍“It’s about time, girl. I was starting to worry you’d gotten your ass drained.”

‍ ‍I turn, catching sight of Jem, holding her favorite pipe and leaning in the doorway to the kitchen. A small tendril of smoke curls from her lips into the night sky.

‍ ‍I hold my hand to my chest in mock horror. “You think a silly little vamp is going to be my end? I’m insulted.”

‍ ‍Jem snorts and blows another puff of smoke, this one a perfect circle. “I think your damn ego is what will do you in, girl. I’m just hoping I don’t have to say I told you so to your corpse.” I get the distinct feeling Jem loves to say ‘I told you so’ so much, she actually wouldn’t mind saying it to my corpse, but I keep that to myself.

‍ ‍“How many times do I have to remind you I’m not a ‘girl’ anymore?” It’s hard to say how old Jem is. Fifty? Sixty? The collection of lines creasing her brow could be from age or stress, but at twenty-eight, you’d think I’d have earned a new term of endearment—or admonishment, since that’s the older woman’s preferred communication style.

‍ ‍She crinkles her nose. “You’re dressed like a courtesan.”

‍ ‍I huff a sigh, ignoring Jem’s jabs. The insults are always worse when she’s been left to worry. Like she has to stick me with a few barbs to share her pain—it’s sweet, in a twisted sort of way.

‍ ‍“Is Blade here?” I yank back the tarp to reveal Dante. His head is stuck at an unnatural angle in the corner of the cart.

‍ ‍Jem hauls herself off the doorframe and tromps down the handful of stone steps. She lets out a low whistle as she inspects my cargo. “He’s a handsome bugger. I see why all those young things ran off with him so willingly.”

‍ ‍I look back at Dante again, cocking my head to evaluate him as his attention burns with the hatred of a thousand stars. “I’m going to go with his mind control. He was a total idiot, honestly. I don’t think he’s anywhere near skilled enough to tempt a woman with her full faculties.”

‍ ‍Dante bares his teeth in my direction.

‍ ‍“How’d the perfume go?” Jem asks, her voice dry as if the silent threat from the vampire isn’t worth noting.

‍ ‍“Like magic. It would have taken longer to lure him without it.” I glance up at the large stone mansion behind her. The windows are dark. The other Shadows are all either asleep or out on jobs.

‍ ‍Jem makes a humming noise that sounds like an acknowledgement. “He’s not here,” she adds, taking another long puff of her pipe.

‍ ‍I know who he is without Jem elaborating and try to ignore the pinch of disappointment in my chest. I hoped to deliver Dante in person. It’s always fun to see Blade react to my bounties—the crooked smile and spark of pride in his hazel eyes. I bite my cheek, pulling my attention back down to Jem.

‍ ‍Blade had been busy lately. But when the Shadow of Fain travels, those living in Wilden Hall know better than to ask too many questions.

‍ ‍Jem speaks again, “He said to drop this one in the cell.”

‍ ‍I reach for Dante, wrinkling his silk shirt as I haul him into a sitting position. He hisses, displaying his long canines again. Luckily, he still hasn’t regained his sense of speech, or I’m pretty sure he’d be trying to curse me.

‍ ‍“Careful of its teeth. Hate to have him nick you after all that. You never know where they’ve been. Hold on.” Jem leaves my side but is back in a moment, clutching a canvas bag for potatoes.

‍ ‍I nod my thanks and yank the bag over Dante’s head, then the two of us each grab a side of the incapacitated vampire and bring him inside to toss into Blade’s holding cell in the basement.

‍ ‍Once done, I help myself to some of Jem’s cooking, but even her delicious crumble isn’t enough to calm me. The house is quiet. The only noise is the scrap of Jem’s spoon as she stirs a pot at the stove. I think of my little bedroom upstairs, but there’s no way I can sleep right now. Not with the thrill of the bounty still pumping through my veins. I wish Dante had fought. I didn’t get to spill any blood and now mine is agitated. I need to do something to burn it off.

‍ ‍“When will Blade be home?” I focus on my fork as I shovel the last bite of crumble into my mouth, making sure I sound nonchalant.

‍ ‍But Jem, ever the reader of minds, turns from her spot near the stove and eyes me. “He’s out. Didn’t say when he’d return. But he was in a mood. I don’t think he’d much like you bothering him with whatever it is you have in mind. Think of something else to amuse yourself.”

‍ ‍I bring my plate to the sink and wipe away the crumbs. I did have something in mind; something I’m sure Blade wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Something to burn off this damned energy, which involved me waiting, naked, between the silky sheets of his bed upstairs.

‍ ‍I fight to keep the smile from my lips, and Jem notes it. She makes a clucking sound. “If he wants you, he’ll find you when he returns. But, like I said, girl, he’s out. You best think of something else to occupy that devious little head of yours.”

‍ ‍I dust off the pants I changed into after dumping Dante in the cell. The sky is tinged peach and orange above the trees outside the kitchen doors. It’s dawn, early still, but the sun will be up soon. Another idea blooms in my mind.

‍ ‍If I leave now, I can walk to the other side of town and get there as Gwen wakes up. Knowing my little sister, she probably has a lovely breakfast planned. Telling her all about capturing Dante while eating one of her famous cinnamon twists sounds like the best possible way to spend my morning. Well, second best, but I push my earlier thoughts of Blade’s bed from my mind.

‍ ‍Jem continues stirring something in her large black pot—not food from the smell of it. Sharp, tangy, like metal and vinegar. Most likely a newly concocted serum she’d have all of us Shadows trying out in the next weeks.

‍ ‍“What’re you getting into?” Jem asks without removing her attention from the stove.

‍ ‍“Trouble,” I reply with a wry smile, to which the older woman huffs a chuckle.

‍ ‍She waves a hand in my direction to shoo me from her kitchen. “I’d expect nothing less. Be gone, you wretch. If he comes home, I’ll tell him about the vamp.”

‍ ‍***

The air outside is still oppressive, but the soft light of dawn makes the trip through town peaceful. I could have taken one of Blade’s horses, but I like to walk and need to burn the residual adrenaline still pumping through my blood. I round a corner, following the path I know like my own heartbeat. Five is one of the larger towns in Fain. It spreads in spiraling streets that probably would make little sense to anyone who isn’t from here. But like most people, I’ve been here all my life.

‍ ‍Humidity hugs my skin as I weave through the darkened streets, lined with cramped stone buildings that seem to lean on one another for strength. Beyond town, Fain is all flat, with endless farmland and dirt roads connecting town to town. Not that I’ve ever been to more than a handful, but I’ve heard most of Fain is a cookie cutter of itself.

‍ ‍Except maybe in northern Fain, where it’s said the trees are taller, wilder, the closer you get to the Dreads. Or on the western border where our realm begins to morph into rolling hills like Catharsis beyond it, or east… Well, no one talks about Reckoning—home of Selene, the Blood Goddess—other than in whispered warnings of the demons that live there. Not that it matters. I have enough on my hands right here in Five. As Blade says, there’s no reason to worry about anywhere else.

‍ ‍A bakery’s door is open to release the heat from its ovens, and the smell of fresh bread, cinnamon, and cloves wafts toward me. I quicken my pace as my stomach growls, and my mind wanders to yesterday morning, when Blade gave me my bounty. Some of the other Shadows were bitter. Sore losers. But it’s fine—a Shadow works alone; what they think doesn’t matter. And if they want to be Blade’s favorite, they need to step up—do whatever he asks, take every job and task, train harder, longer, never tell him no. It’s what I’ve always done, and here I am, fifteen years later, helping him bring in a bounty that had to be sanctioned by Varance himself.

‍ ‍Merchants are setting up in the square as I pass. Dull fabrics drape over carts and tables to create stalls selling all manner of food, drink, and wares. Chickens cluck in cages, and the smell of smoked meat permeates the air. I pass a merchant selling intricate wood carvings. The sign of Varance and miniature likenesses of him and the other gods and goddesses of the Divine spread across a small table. A carved map of the seven realms with a representation for each Divine is on display in the center: Varance, Fain’s God of Choice; Drea, the Dreadland’s Goddess of Darkness; Kol, Lumos’s God of Light; Aargos, Catharsis’s God of Desire; Livayne, Euphoria’s Goddess of Bliss; Selene, Reckoning’s Blood Goddess; and a blank space left in the Hollows for the Lost Goddess, Nalia, Goddess of Life.

‍ ‍The artist has managed to paint each of the Divines’ figurines in such a way that their eyes seem to follow me as I walk. The Blood Goddess’s figurine is wearing a crimson gown that seems to emerge from a puddle of blood around her feet—fitting for the most ruthless of all the Divine. A shiver runs down my spine. I pull my eyes from her and shake off the feeling of being watched as I keep weaving through the stalls, leaving the small, lifelike figurines behind me.

‍ ‍Fain’s Divine, Varance, rarely interacts with humans. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a good thing. He’s probably cooped up in his grand palace having people serve him as he makes tough choices like whether he should wear the gold crown or the silver. I chuckle, leaving the market behind and taking the last narrow street. Children in Fain grow up hearing tales of the bargains Varance, our God of Choice, strikes with his people, but his palace and the Divine himself feel like they belong to another world, a fairytale.

‍ ‍What is real are my sister’s cinnamon twists—and I’m only a handful of streets from securing one.

‍ ‍Moments later, I come to a stop in front of a small home. Built of stone like the others and sharing outer walls with its neighbors, Sully’s house is just like him—a bit rundown and painfully common.

‍ ‍I push the small, rusty gate to the cramped front courtyard open. It lets out a high-pitched squeak of protest, and I grimace. Add that to the list of things to fix for Sully. I sigh. The house served its purpose. I’m alive. I’m a Shadow. I make enough to keep us all afloat, and I no longer live under this roof.

‍ ‍Wards don’t have the luxury of choice the same way everyone else in our realm does, but no one seems to care about that hypocrisy. To be a human in Fain is to be born lucky—we could have been born into a much worse realm.

‍ ‍I move over the front walk toward the door. Early sunlight glints off the upstairs window, like the first morning I came to Five. Eight years old without an item to my name and the stench of smoke in my hair. The memory stirs, slick and sour in my stomach, but I don’t think about it long. Or else the other memories—pain, the chill of a well, the tang of blood, the smell of burning flesh—would seep in. Shaking my head, I clear away the past like a cobweb. This is my life, and it’s brought good things too. It brought me Gwen.

‍ ‍I open the door without knocking and walk into the small foyer. It’s dark inside. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of life from the small kitchen down the hall. Oddly, Gwen isn’t up making breakfast, singing some annoyingly chipper tune like a songbird as she flits around the kitchen.

‍ ‍“Gwen?” I call, not caring about the early hour. If Sully’s home, he’s probably drunk or hungover. My yelling either wouldn’t wake him from his stupor or it will and he’ll have a hell of a headache. I’m okay with either.

‍ ‍There’s no sound. The house is silent as a corpse.

‍ ‍“Gwen!” I yell again, then take the narrow stairs up to the second floor two at a time, letting my boots thump against the wooden steps. “Are you still asleep, lazy bones? I’m here to regale you with the details of my latest bounty in trade for a cinnamon twist.”

‍ ‍At the top of the stairs, Sully’s bedroom door is open. I can just make out his unmade bed in the darkness. Old man must be down at the Wolves Den gambling. If he doesn’t bet the house someday, I’ll be surprised. I’ll check with Gwen that she’s been able to hide enough of the last money I gave them to buy food for the next few weeks. I don’t want her starving because Sully’s a notoriously lousy dice player.

‍ ‍“Gwen! I’m about to jump right on your—” I cut myself off as I swing the door to Gwen’s room open—what had once been the room we shared—and find Sully.

‍ ‍He’s sitting at the desk, head in his hands, shoulders heaving as he cries silently. His gray hair sticks up at odd angles as though he’s tried to pull it out, and when he looks up, there’s a shadow of a purple bruise beneath his left eye and his lip is split and swollen. He’s been in some kind of brawl.

‍ ‍I scan the room. Gwen’s bed is made. Undisturbed. A tickle of anxiety prickles my scalp. Something is wrong.

‍ ‍As if reading my mind, Sully whispers, his voice hoarse with tears, “They took her.” His skin is a sickly gray, and even as he says it, he doesn’t seem to fully focus on me. His eyes are glassy, and he lets out another long sob—this one far from silent. It’s strangled, like a donkey being kicked in the stomach.

‍ ‍“They took her!”

‍ ‍Panic blooms in my gut, and I close the distance between us in three short strides. “Took who? Where is Gwen?”

‍ ‍Sully closes his eyes and shakes his head, like he can shake away reality. I grit my teeth so hard they hurt. “What happened? Where’s Gwen?”

‍ ‍“It’s my fault. I-I-I thought I was heating up. I was on a good streak. I never imagined. Why would he? Who would actually make a person?” He’s babbling, incoherently jumping from thought to thought.

‍ ‍Any semblance of patience I had leaves in the span of a breath. I reach down and grasp Sully by his shirt, ignoring how damp it is from the mixture of tears and snot, then hoist him to his feet and fix him with a death glare.

‍ ‍“Focus, Sully! Where is Gwen?” I repeat.

‍ ‍But he keeps muttering nonsense about a dice game, and white-hot anger flares in my chest, burning away the fear. I strike him fast across the cheek to bring him out of his shock. He gurgles. A bit of blood flies from his busted bottom lip. I ignore it and take a deep breath.

‍ ‍My voice is deadly calm as I demand, “Tell me what happened, or so help me, I will slice your tongue out.”

‍ ‍That finally does it. Sully brings one hand up to dab the blood dripping from his lip. The pain seems to have broken through his daze. He winces, and I make a growling noise deep in my chest.

‍ ‍“The Den. I was at the Den playing dice,” he starts slowly. His words pick up speed as he focuses on me. “You know it’s my one vice. It really never causes no trouble.” I tighten my grip on his shirt. I’ve lost count of the number of times that game caused Sully to lose the rent, or the food money, or the protection taxes to be tithed to Varance. That was when I had to learn less savory ways to bring gold into the house so I could be sure Gwen would eat and we wouldn’t find ourselves without a roof over our heads.

‍ ‍As Sully’s ward, it was expected for me to find employment. Wardens take in orphans until the child turns of age at twenty years old. Then a ward could leave the family home, but they were still responsible for providing a benefit to their warden—as a thank you for them making the choice to house us.

‍ ‍While I’d turned twenty years ago, Gwen is still one year shy. She can’t leave Sully’s home just yet. Even when she does, she’ll still have to find a way to provide value to him—whether she comes to clean and cook or finds employment with enough earnings to offer him a small monthly sum. Though, it isn’t that way for all wards. Some get lucky, finding a home with a rich family who takes wards as children to grow their family’s heirs, but most get stuck with someone like Sully.

‍ ‍Since I was so good at bringing in coin, when Gwen joined us right after my thirteenth birthday, she got to go to school, have friends, live a more childlike life. Because that was the year I found Blade—or really, he found me.

‍ ‍Sully is still blathering on about something to do with Gwen and a dice game. Something that makes the anger in my veins run cold.

‍ ‍“… and if I’d ever thought I could lose! I’d never have bet. You have to understand! Never! I love her like my own child. I’d never imagined that monster would hold me to it! And when the die were cast—” He cuts himself off with another strangled cry, this one mixed with a moan. “Oh, Fates! They have her. They took her.”

‍ ‍My little sister’s sweet face pops into my mind. Her bouncing strawberry-blonde curls, the dapple of freckles across her nose, her quick, easy laugh. The fury in my chest mixes with a new, cool dread pooling in my stomach. I need to find her.

‍ ‍My training as a Shadow takes over, forcing the fear away. I need information. I need a plan. My features smooth as I work to bridle my anger.

‍ ‍“Who has her?”

‍ ‍The wet mixture of snot running from his nose and mingling with his tears drenches the gray scruff on his cheeks. My attention catches on the blood from his busted lip, and I release his shirt. “If you don’t tell me exactly who has Gwen right now—”

‍ ‍“Varance.” The word is quiet as a prayer.

‍ ‍My brow furrows. That can’t be right. Of course, Varance is known for his love of bets. As the God of Choice, he’s said to love nothing more than to use free will to trick humans into bargains and wagers they cannot win. He gets a sick satisfaction in proving how superior he is to all of us. Reminding us we are only human and prone to folly and emotion.

‍ ‍There were tales. Rumors whispered in dark corners of a person down on their luck who met a strange man—a man who ended up being the God himself come to strike a deal.

‍ ‍The bargain always favors the Divine. Yet, the human always accepts. It’s so cliché at this point I assume it’s more myth than truth.

‍ ‍I study Sully. “How much had you drank when Varance”—I emphasize the name to let him know I think he’s lost his wits—“made this deal with you?”

‍ ‍Sully’s expression is clear now. The fog from earlier is gone. His voice is so sure it chills my bones. He shakes his head. “No. Not him. But he’s the one they’re taking her to. This was a man… Well, from what I could tell… He said Varance loves a curiosity. You know the rumors. He loves to collect interesting things. Objects, animals… people.”

‍ ‍Sully seems certain, even as he slumps, his large shoulders rounding. “It was for Varance. He’s bringing Gwen to him. He said Varance is preparing for a party. He needs entertainment. Wants something new. I mentioned… my daughter has a voice like an angel.”

‍ ‍“Seven hells,” I mutter, dragging my palm down my face. “So, let me get this straight. You went to the Den and lost all your money. Then got in so deep you decided the best move was to offer Gwen’s services to entertain the Divine? Fates, Sully. That’s insane, even for you.”

‍ ‍To Sully’s credit, he flashes me a glare at the insult, but he knows better than to contradict me. Not in this situation. Not as I check my thighs for my daggers, not as my mind begins to whirl, plotting how long it will take me to get to Varance’s palace, how I’ll get in, how I’ll get out with Gwen in tow.

‍ ‍Varance’s palace is said to be home to not only a legion of human guards but others—demis, the offspring of other Divine, who defected from their realms to join him. I do not need to cross paths with one of them.

‍ ‍But I need to go. If Varance decides Gwen is interesting enough to keep around for more than his party, I’ll need to be ready.

‍ ‍“That’s not exactly all of it.” Sully’s words break my focus.

‍ ‍I stop, my gaze raking over him. “What else?”

‍ ‍He inhales a deep breath, then finally musters the ability to look me in the eyes. “It’s not just for the party. I bet Gwen’s wardship. She’s his now. For life.”

‍ ‍The world tilts beneath my feet. The adrenaline from earlier kicks back up. My anger breaks out of its cage. “She’s not your damn dog! You can’t bet a person. You…”

‍ ‍Sully holds both hands up, preparing to fend off my attack. But I shut my eyes and blow out a breath. He’s not worth it. If Gwen is on her way to Varance’s palace, I don’t have time for this. I spin on my heel, striding out the door in even steps.

‍ ‍“Arwin!” Sully’s voice is urgent behind me. I ignore him as I descend the stairs. The anger simmering in my blood driving me forward. “Arwin! Wait!”

‍ ‍I pause at the front door, hand on the knob, my back to where I know Sully has stumbled into the hall above.

‍ ‍“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You know I love Gwen. I would never have… But you can’t take her from a Divine! He’ll kill you… or worse. Please, I’ve already lost a daughter. I don’t need to lose—”

‍ ‍That does it.

‍ ‍I spin back toward him. My hands curl into fists, fingernails digging into my palms. By the blood, my little fighter, what will we do with you? The memory of my actual father’s voice whispers, and I clench my jaw as I stare up to where the disheveled Sully stands at the top of the stairs.

‍ ‍“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You are not my father.”

‍ ‍He doesn’t even flinch. He knows our relationship is nothing more than transactional. He kept me from being sent to another realm as an unclaimed youth where I could be sold into the human markets of Catharsis, or find my way north to be fed to Drea’s Death Dealers, or worst of all, be sent to the border to be fodder for the Blood Goddess’s sacrificial raids, and in return, I was a good ward, providing more for the house than expected. But aside from Gwen—her sweet, innocent nature tethering the three of us—there is no love in this house.

‍ ‍Sully takes two wobbling steps down the stairs, hand grasping the rail for balance. The bruise on his cheek looks darker in the dim light of the hallway. The sun has peeked over the horizon, and outside I hear cheerful birdsong, so out of place with the news of my sister.

‍ ‍“Arwin, please. You can’t steal from the Living God of Fain. Varance will end you.”

‍ ‍My lips curl into a sharp smile. The adrenaline of the upcoming heist, the blood dripping from Sully’s lip, the barely contained rage at his actions—they mix in a delicious cocktail that already has me feeling high, battle ready.

‍ ‍“I’d like to see him try.”

‍ ‍Sully’s eyes snap impossibly wide, and he taps his right ear, then drags his fingers in an arc over his forehead to his left—the universal sign of reverence for Varance.

‍ ‍I turn back to the door, grasp the handle, and fling it open. Wood slams into the stone wall, banging on its hinges. The birdsong cuts to silence.

‍ ‍“If he wants something he’s never seen before, I’ll give it to him. Maybe he’ll like the feel of a Shadow burying a dagger to the hilt in his immortal throat. I doubt that’s something he’s experienced.”

‍ ‍Sully makes a surprised choking noise at my heresy, but I step out into the day. I know what Blade would say, Slow down. Strategize. But there isn’t time. The plan forms, piece by piece, in time with each of my pounding footsteps as I run back through town. Get a horse and more of my weapons from Wilden Hall. Save my sister from the Living God’s Palace. And, if I have to—I take a deep breath to steel myself—fight a God in the process.

Chapter 3

I slow my approach as I come to the end of a long stone wall. I’d made quick work of infiltrating Varance’s palatial grounds. All the way from Five, I’d conjured up images of what it might look like. I’d never been to Varance’s home, obviously. No one went to Varance’s palace unless they’re summoned. We praise Varance from afar, pay our protection tithes, and hold celebrations twice a year in his honor—which he’s said to frequent, but truly, no one I’ve ever met has seen him.

‍ ‍Jem once heard me remark as a teenager that perhaps the Divine don’t even exist. Maybe they’re all just made up to keep us in line. She smacked the back of my head so hard and fast I saw stars, and when they cleared, a huge pile of dishes needing shining had materialized in front of me as punishment. She lectured me on how good we have it as humans in Fain, not like Lumos, where Kol the God of Light took young women to become his lifelong priestesses, or Reckoning, where the humans taken by the Blood Goddess are fed to the Red Chasm.

‍ ‍I polished the dishes until my fingers ached. Not because I wanted to hear about the stupid Divine or their lands, but because I’d rather let my damn fingers fall off than admit I was tired. Jem seemed to take a liking to me after that. At least I think so, since I was the only girl she pulled to stay with her in the kitchens when the others went to their courtesan lessons. Blade had come to find me in the kitchens and he and Jem spoke in quiet tones.

‍ ‍My stomach flutters with the memory of his quick wink and his kind smile as he’d told me I could learn about sex from someone who deserves me. Courtesan lessons weren’t for someone with my talent for light fingers and fast knifework—he had bigger plans for me, and I was too special to be had for a fee.

‍ ‍I shake away the memory and focus on the task at hand. The outer walls of Varance’s grounds are surrounded on all sides by thick timber. A foolish choice, really. Unless the Divine assumes by being immortal he is somehow also immune to thieves as well as knives. If I find anything worth stealing here, I’ll have to tell Blade.

‍ ‍But now, I have a different dilemma. I can’t see beyond the new inner wall I’ve approached. My fingertips trail along the oddly smooth stone. It isn’t built for protection. It’s for beauty. Whatever’s on the other side, likely a courtyard or a garden, could have people. Varance’s court.

‍ ‍Dawn sprung hours ago, before I took a horse from Wilden Hall, rode for another hour then left the horse and trekked on foot for another to reach the outer walls. Those walls were sturdier than these and rougher, though they lacked footholds. It stumped me for all of a second. Because the Divine idiot—or whatever idiot was in charge of his protection—didn’t order the trees to be cut back. So while scaling the wall itself would have been a chore, climbing a tree and hopping right over was not.

‍ ‍Honestly, the Fates should make intelligence a requirement for immortality. There was a guard on patrol, but I made quick work of him. He seemed genuinely surprised to see me, and I suppose I’d be surprised too. Not many infiltrate Varance’s home. The guard was human, and I left him alive… barely. Gagged and tied so he wouldn’t run off and alert others of my presence.

‍ ‍It’s full daylight. Birds chirp overhead and the sun is shining brightly on all the layers of green around me: leaves, grass, flowers, bushes. I shoo a butterfly from flitting around my head. It’s like the Goddess of Life ran wild out here and I’m not even into a proper courtyard yet. I pause at the end of the wall. The muscles in my legs tense, ready to spring if needed, and slowly peer around the corner.

‍ ‍It isn’t what I expect. I finally see the palace perched in all its glory on a hill rising above the grounds—all gray stone polished to such a smooth finish it almost sparkles in the late morning light. A puzzle of towers and turns, spirals and balconies and statues and stairs sweeping from one level while surpassing others. Divine damned. It’s a maze in castle form.

‍ ‍But it’s a ways off, and something closer catches my attention.

‍ ‍A hedge garden. It’s giant. A wall of green that seems to lead all the way up the slanting slope until it opens to a dirt training arena near the base of the palace.

‍ ‍Varance has his own labyrinth.

‍ ‍I dart from my spot near the wall across the small open yard to the entrance of the maze. It’s the only option. I’ll make my way through and just slaughter any guards who somehow manage the bad luck to have hedge duty today.

‍ ‍I enter quickly, making my choices from where I know the palace to be. Left, straight, left, right. I bet Gwen is terrified. She’s brave enough, but she has such a tender heart. She’s the sister who would save a spider from the kitchen and release it safely into the garden; whereas I would squash it under my boot without a second thought. Would Varance be amused if she cries? The idea of him laughing at her has my legs pumping faster. My boots pound the dirt path.

‍ ‍Left. Straight. Slight right. I meet a quick dead end and spin in the other direction. After another five minutes, I hear something.

‍ ‍Voices. Definitely voices.

‍ ‍Whispering something. I freeze, shift my back against the prickly hedge wall to my right. I’m not alone. My hands drift to the daggers in the hidden sheaths sewn into the seams at my thighs and hover. There’s a new noise like moving branches. They’re right around the next turn. If I went a few more steps, I’d run right into them.

‍ ‍I shift onto the balls of my feet to prepare myself. There’s no going back. The palace is on the other side of this maze and hells if I am going anywhere without Gwen. I grit my teeth, slowly slide one hand onto the hilt of my dagger, and peer around the corner.

‍ ‍There are two people. A man, his broad back to me, and a woman, her back against the hedge. Her eyes are closed, and the whispers I heard earlier, well, now I fully understand. The woman lets her head drop back. Her short brown hair tangling in the branches as she bites her bottom lip and lets out a small gasp. The man continues the work he’s doing on her neck. One of his hands finds its way up the woman’s blouse where her chest is heaving, and while I can’t see his other hand, from the position of her leg around his waist and the little moans she’s now releasing, I can imagine.

‍ ‍I scan the bushes around them and bite back a curse: the way I need to go is just to their left. The woman lets out another breathy moan, and really, I hate to cut her off when she’s having such a good time, but I need to pass.

‍ ‍I reach into another pocket and retrieve my favorite throwing knives, grabbing one deftly between my fingertips. As I do, the man drops to his knees before the woman and, unfortunately, she opens her eyes to take in the sight of him before her.

‍ ‍She spies me instead, and her startled scream jolts the man to his feet. He spins, and at least chivalry isn’t dead, as he throws a hand back toward the woman to keep himself between us.

‍ ‍Seven hells.

‍ ‍He’s the prettiest man I’ve ever seen. His hair is such a rich blond, it’s better described as gold. It’s thick and paired with startlingly green eyes. I didn’t see the woman rip open his shirt, but it barely hangs from his wide, muscled shoulders and his damn torso looks like it’s chiseled from stone.

‍ ‍The walking sculpture has the gall to smile at me—a sparkling, perfect smile that, Divine damned, shows not one but two perfect dimples.

‍ ‍He keeps the smile in place as his gaze boldly traces my body.

‍ ‍“Hello there.”

‍ ‍Are you kidding me? His voice is rich and melodic. I think back to the fairytales I used to read to Gwen about a human girl being selected to live among immortal faeries and how they were built without flaw, and I consider checking this man’s ears for points after I finish gutting him.

‍ ‍His gaze flits to the small throwing knife in my hand, and one of those perfect eyebrows perks. “Careful, love. Might cut yourself with that thing.”

‍ ‍I swallow my irritation and itch to throw the knife, to lodge it in his perfect forehead and leave a perfectly jagged scar on his perfect face, but I know better. I know—even if I hate it—exactly which tool to use when a man’s eyes take on the shine this one has. When he lingers on my curves and then studies my face the way he is now.

‍ ‍The woman behind him is hurriedly tying up her blouse, fixing her hair. Then, with one last look at me, she bolts without a word to her lover. The man turns partway to watch her, but he doesn’t try to stop her, instead, he turns back to me.

‍ ‍“Well, now that we’re alone. Who are you? Do you work in the palace?” he asks. Again his gaze drops back to the knife in my hand, as if the curiosity of its presence is lost on him. And it probably is. Blood flow doesn’t tend to favor the brain for men after what he’d been preparing to do with that woman. I play up his daze.

‍ ‍“I’m new. The garden was so pretty, but then I got lost.” I make sure my voice is small, soft. I tip my chin down and look up at him through my lashes. “Can you help me back to the palace?”

‍ ‍“Sure, sweets. It would be an honor to escort someone so…” His deep, nearly hypnotic voice pauses, then his dazzling smile grows. “Alluring. Allow me.” He takes a couple of steps toward me and offers one of his well-muscled arms.

‍ ‍I supply my own small smile and dip into a shallow curtsey—despite the fact I’m wearing pants—taking the opportunity to quickly stow my knife.

‍ ‍“Thank you,” I murmur.

‍ ‍He leads me in the direction the woman ran. “What is it you do at the palace, miss… I’m sorry. I don’t know your na—” He cuts himself off mid-sentence and halts, tilting his head to the side. Then he laughs. What is wrong with him? I slip a hand back toward my dagger while I watch his face.

‍ ‍“We have a what?” he asks.

‍ ‍I try to keep my other hand natural on his arm. “Excuse me?”

‍ ‍But he isn’t talking to me. He pulls back, moves a step away. “Who’s hurt?” His attention cuts to me, scans my body with more speed and accuracy this time, seeming to notice the daggers at my thighs where my hands now hover. “Well, fuck, I didn’t know! I was about to have a little fun… well, shit… Yes… I have her… Are you sure? She’s just a pretty little thing…”

‍ ‍Now it’s my turn to scan him. I glance at his ears, which are definitely not pointed. Who in all seven hells is he talking to?

‍ ‍“No. I’ll do it. Tell Lux to cool his tits. I’ll have fun taking care of—” I don’t wait for him to finish his ludicrous one-way conversation. I retrieve a knife from another pocket—my smallest stiletto blade—and stab, burying it into the muscle of his shoulder. He lets out a yelp like he’s stubbed a toe.

‍ ‍I snort. “That’s embarrassing for you.” He doesn’t seem to hear me, instead, he grabs the hilt and yanks it out, staring at it and then me.

‍ ‍“You fucking stabbed me with a knitting needle?” He grits his teeth and throws the stiletto down. Blood slicks the blade, and my adrenaline sings in response, energy leaping, muscles coiling, preparing to fight.

‍ ‍“You’re a lot bigger than I am, I had to even the odds.” I grab more weapons, holding a large dagger in one hand and a throwing knife in the other.

‍ ‍He holds his empty hands out from his sides, palms out. “As you can see, sweets, I am unarmed. I don’t know that sucker stabbing me was really necessary.”

‍ ‍I purse my lips as we circle. Step for step, sizing each other up. He’s built of solid muscle, but does he know how to use it? Only one way to find out. “You yield then? No knife, no fight?” I pause my circling to fake pout. “And here I thought you were a man.”

‍ ‍He laughs, and Fates, of course it’s deep and rolling. Is he plucked straight from the pages of a storybook?

‍ ‍“No. You should yield. They found the injured sentry. I’m bringing you in for judgement. The easier you go, the—” I release the throwing knife and it knicks his cheek as it whizzes by.

‍ ‍“Less talk, more blood.”

‍ ‍“Aargos’s fucking throne! You’re a crazy—”

‍ ‍Another throwing knife flies, and he barely dodges in time. Done talking, he drops to the ground and grabs the stiletto, then charges me. I’ll admit, he’s a good fighter. He’s big, but I know my own strength—while he’s decently fast, I’m faster. I keep my feet moving. Dust plumes around our feet. I can’t let him land a hit. With the power he’s putting behind his offense, he very well might knock me out if he connects with one.

‍ ‍The adrenaline of the fight hums in my blood. My lips curve into a sharp smile as I parry one of his thrusts. Whirling, spinning, striking. His attack slows and his accuracy lags.

‍ ‍My smile turns to a smirk as I wipe away the sweat gathering on my brow. I didn’t know how long it would take for the sedative on the stiletto to kick in. Just another gift to thank Jem for.

‍ ‍My muscles burn, but I can’t let up. Not yet. He releases a frustrated yell, like he feels something is off, and suddenly an onslaught of blows rains on me. I narrowly block, the impact jarring my bones. I end his assault by dropping and attempting to sweep his legs, but he’s able to catch me with a left hook. It connects with my chin and sends me flying, airborne for a moment until I land in a pile on the dirt.

‍ ‍I stay down, pain radiating from my jaw. I shake my head to clear the stars. I’m far from beaten, but he doesn’t know that. He’s advancing on me. Then, he shakes his head once. Rubs his shoulder at the stab wound. Takes another step at me, then wobbles, another, but it’s to the side.

‍ ‍“What the fuck… did you stab me with?”

‍ ‍I smile without warmth. The taste of blood coats my tongue, and I spit a mouthful into the dirt, then find my way back to my feet.

‍ ‍“That’s a sedative.” I dust off my pants as the man falters, then falls to his knees several yards away. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took so long. Usually it knocks a man out—”

‍ ‍“I’m not a man!” he slurs. “I’m a fucking demi. Wait until… Lux? Aargos’s throne! This bitch—”

‍ ‍The man’s a demigod? I mean, it explains his looks, but what was a Lux?

‍ ‍Before I can comprehend, another voice cuts him off. “You had one task.”

‍ ‍My pulse leaps. This new voice is strong and even, almost bored—and right behind me. I try to spin, but an eruption of stars crosses my vision.

‍ ‍Then everything goes black.

‍ ‍