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Loren straightened her spine. “Get out.”

A frown etched itself deep into the Warg’s pretty face. “Is that any way to treat your guest?”

“Get out,” Loren said again, the words lashing out like the crack of a whip. “You don’t have any right to be in here.”

How had she even got in? Her eyes darted to the fridge, but Mortifer was nowhere to be seen. Though Loren swore she saw a wisp of shadow behind the cereal boxes, as if the Hob had been there a moment ago but had vanished, melting into the walls or cupboards like he so often did.

Valary followed her stare and tsked. “I guess no one bothered to tell the Hob that Darien has moved onto a different piece of ass.”

Loren’s blood heated in her veins. “Go to hell.”

“‘Get out,’” Valary squawked. “‘Go to hell.’ You have a very limited vocabulary, Loren.”

“I don’t need to waste my words on you. You’re trespassing, and if you don’t get the hell out—”

Valary uncrossed her legs and rose to her feet. “Oh, do tell me what will happen if I don’t get out,” she interrupted, her voice as fluid as her movements. “Darien will get mad at me, right? Pretty pathetic that you need to rely on a man to fight your battles for you.” She crossed the room, high heels clicking on the floor.

Loren backed into the entrance hall. She hated herself for retreating; she thought she’d moved on from this sort of behavior, but the look on Valary’s face…

There was nothing kind in it. Her smile was filled with venom, and there was a spark in her eyes that made her look deranged, like a shark scenting blood in the water. There was true danger to be felt here, and Loren would be a fool to ignore it.

Valary stopped walking.

Loren stopped, too. They were in the center of the entrance hall now, mere feet from the front doors—mere feet from each other.

The Warg’s smile grew. “I want to show you something.” Her voice was oddly quiet and gentle, as if she were consoling a crying child. Her eyes closed with one heavy blink, and when she reopened them, they were solid black.

That was when she attacked. Not physically, but it was an attack all the same.

It was an assault on her mind, the same kind of power Loren had seen Darien use on Dennis Boyd at his dive bar. Valary had entered her mind—an invasion of the worst kind—and was forcing her to see things as if she’d lived them herself. Horrible things.

The feeling was like a maggot worming into her skull, an unwelcome presence squishing into her mind and grabbing hold of the reins, forcing her to witness things she couldn’t look away from—couldn’t even close her eyes to escape.

The images Valary shoved into her mind cut like bullets ripping through her soul. Each one left behind a gaping wound she feared might never heal. The images were vivid, as if she were watching a movie—a film she hated with every fibre of her being. She saw each image through Valary’s eyes, as if she had lived every memory the Warg was needling into her brain.

And she wished she had. She wished she had lived these memories instead of Valary.

Because what she was seeing had only recently become her reality.

She saw the dark look of ecstasy on Darien’s face as Valary knelt before him in the graffitied bathroom of a nightclub, her mouth and hand wrapped around his cock. Saw her looking at herself in the floor—to—ceiling gilt mirror beside Darien’s bed—their bed, the sheets Loren tangled herself up in every night—as she got fucked from behind. Saw him on top of her in the back seat of his car, her heels on his shoulders—

A piercing scream ripped out of Loren’s lungs, the crystals on the chandelier echoing it as she freed herself of Valary’s grip. The influence of the Warg’s magic snapped back against its bearer like a rubber band, making her stumble.

Loren took advantage of her surprise. Lightning—fast, she reached out and pushed Valary with both hands.

The Warg rolled her ankle in her heels, nearly falling to the polished floor, black fading out of her eyes.

But she recovered quickly, and soon she was lunging for Loren, an animalistic growl ripping through her bared teeth.

Loren stumbled back a step, but Valary’s sharp nails caught her by the throat and pinned her in place.

She tried to draw a breath, tried to break away, but Valary’s hold on her wouldn’t budge. And the Warg’s face was mere inches away, a look of maniacal delight in her eyes.

“You see it now, don’t you?” Valary’s cold laugh was more like a cackle. “Don’t you?” Sharp nails cut into her skin. “Little bitch.”

The Warg’s incisors began to elongate, the ice—blue of her irises shifting to wolf—gold. Those sharp nails on her throat squeezed harder, pinching off her last wisp of air. Loren clawed at the backs of Valary’s hands, but the Warg didn’t flinch, not even when she drew blood.

“You’re nothing new to him,” Valary said, teeth still bared. “Nothing special. Bet you haven’t even been fucked like that before.”