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He held out the rabbit.

Wick stared at it. He raised his fiery eyes to Slate and gave him an incredulous look most others would get killed over.

“Thisis what you summoned me for?” Wick asked.

Slate snorted. He should have never bothered him. But Wick was his only brother who frequented the mortal realm. The only one he spoke to, anyway. Apparently, he had many siblings who roamed the mortal realms, but they were even younger than Wick and more beast than person. Absolutely useless to talk to unless you wanted something to kill.

“Apologies for thinking you would be useful,” Slate said.

Wick sighed, his tail drooping. He was easily susceptible to insults, which Slate appreciated about him. Even if it often led to Slate feeling guilty and soothing them before he left.

“I stay away from mortals,” Wick said quietly. “Remember?”

“Yes, yes. You and your bleeding heart. Now…” Slate raised the rabbit a second time. “She insisted mortals eat meat. Is this appropriate?”

Wick leaned in and sniffed it. A leaf drifted past his head, a shadow tendril wafting from it to graze his ear.

Wick batted it away distractedly and leaned back. “So, your mortal is still here?”

“You haven’t given me an answer,” Slate replied.

Wick scratched his horns. “Mortals eat all kinds of things, brother. Last time I was near a town?—”

The dog spirit barked merrily in the distance.

Wick’s tail twitched. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Slate said.

But Wick’s keen eyes were already tracking the dark forest, looking for the source of the noise. The flames inside them flared, and Slate stepped into the space Wick was staring at. He might get annoyed with that insufferable dog spirit, but it was still lost in Slate’s void. That meant it was under Slate’s protection. He would not allow the spirit to come to harm, especially not from Wick’s insatiable blood hunger.

The fire in Wick’s eyes spasmed and died.

“Sorry,” Wick said, blinking hard. “The last time… yes. The last time I was near mortals, I saw a small one eating dirt.”

“Dirt,” Slate repeated flatly.

Wick nodded. “Why not send her to the forest and feed her some dirt?”

“Shewasin the forest. She cooked herself eggs.”

“Maybe your void’s dirt tastes strange to her,” Wick suggested.

Slate’s tail flicked in irritation. He was starting to suspect that Wick’s knowledge of mortals was just as lacking as his own. “Are you honestly saying you don’t know any more about mortals than I do?”

“I know things,” Wick said defensively. “I just try to stay away, brother. You know why.”

Slate snorted dismissively. Wick’s blood frenzy had gone on long enough for him to stop feeling guilty over it.Slatenever felt bad about eating mortals. Why should Wick care if he did it more frequently than most?

Then again, Slate reminded himself that if Wick stopped caring, he would not be one of the only siblings Slate bothered talking to. Wick’s determination not to kill unless he had to was endearing, if not bewildering.

It is like you and your void,he told Slate once.How you don’t want to hurt anyone in it. Except the mortal realm is my void since I don’t have my own.

Slate supposed he had to find some way to rationalize it. Being stuck in the mortal realm sounded awful. At least Wick had never known anything different.

Wick sniffed the rabbit again. “So why is this mortal bound to you in the first place? Is this your doing or hers?”

“Hers,” Slate said. “Do you think I would allow her to stay in my void if I had a choice?”