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He pulled out into the street, and Roman focused on steadying his breathing as they approached the house he’d once seen as a sanctuary—a home. Now, it simply scared the hell out of him.

He wasn’t scared for himself—no. Very little of his fear was wasted on his own safety. He was scared for Paxton.

And scared of what sort ofgiftsDonovan might’ve left for them during his visit. The kind of horrific gifts that involved body parts and blood.

The front doorcreaked as Darien pushed it open.

Roman followed on his cousin’s heels, the others coming in behind him, his heart beating so fast his head was practically floating.

The feeling grew when he saw the shards of glass glittering on the floor in the lamplit foyer.

And blood. There wasbloodall over the floor. Human and hellseher?—

Pax. Oh gods, he could smellPax’s blood?—

He staggered across the room with tunnel vision, every breath a hollow rasp, and braced a shaking hand against the wall.

Darien said something. Reached for him, as if to catch him if he fell, his left hand clasping Loren’s right.

“Roman.” Darien spoke quietly—muffling his voice with spells, Roman knew, in case any threats were hiding in the house. Roman could barely understand him over his panting breaths, his roaring blood. The shimmering room was going in and out of focus.

“I can’t breathe,” he choked out. Neither could Sayagul, the dragon panicking in his shadow?—

‘Paxton,’she cried.‘Roman, no—please! Not our Paxton, I can’t?—’

“In here,” called a calm male voice. Who it belonged to filled Roman’s heart with hope.

Arthur. It was Arthur?—

“Roman,” Darien said again, as the others stepped around them, heading down the hallway with raised weapons. “Paxton needs?—”

“That’s his blood.” The statement was a hoarse whisper. In his shadow, Sayagul wept harder, calling out Paxton’s name in a small, petrified voice.

“Let’s speak with Arthur before we make assumptions,” Darien said.

Arthur called from the living room, “Paxton is alive, Roman.”

And just like that, the weight lifted off Roman’s lungs. “Oh, thank gods,” he breathed, his legs threatening to fold.

‘Oh, Paxton!’Sayagul cried, her voice tinged with hope.‘Oh, Pax, my sweet boy, you’re all right.’

“Do you need to sit down?” Darien asked him. Loren watched Roman with concern. Empathy.

He shook his head. “No. No—I’m good. I’m fine.” He pulled himself together and walked with them down the hall, occasionally bracing a hand against the walls and furniture for balance.

Just ahead, the others were waiting for them. Together, they walked the last of the distance to the living room, glass tinkling and crunching under their boots. There were so many bloody footprints on the floor—big among the small.

Had Pax cut himself on all this glass? Or had someone hurt him?

Arthur was sitting in an armchair, pressing ice wrapped in a blood-stained rag against his eye.

“Arthur,” Lace said on a choked whisper.

Ivy came up to her left, her face leaching of color. “Gods above, Arthur. What did they do to you?”

Darien slowed the moment he saw Arthur’s battered face. “What the hell happened?” His question clapped through the room. The power suddenly rolling off him… It was lethal. Thekind of earth-shattering strength they would have so desperately needed if Don were here.

Arthur kept his answer simple: “Donovan.”