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His agonized shriek emerges in perfect accordance with the depth of my blade, sinking into his side like butter. “If that whole stunt was an act of loyalty, then wow,” I say, voice flat, “you really suck at killing.”

He gasps as I twist the knife. “It wasn’t time! It wouldn’t have been an earned death! I needed her to fight back so I could show him.” I can see in his eyes when he understands that’s what he is to me. An earned death. “I needed to prove I could be his kin.”

There are two types of acceptance when a man is looking down the barrel of his death. The type that clams up, ready to go down carrying his secrets. Then there’s the other kind, the type that wants to get it all off his chest. Willie is a talker. All he needs is a nudge.

“Then why not go after me?” I spread my arms at the black tomb. “I’m the real blood kin.”

“You’re more Ashby than Kayes. Everyone knows it.” He shudders, blood burbling from his mouth, but when he meets my gaze, there’s the oddest thread of grief in it. “Don’t you see? The Baron King is lost. His son abandoned his legacy to become a leader in a rival house. His wife is locked away. The men he came to power with—the old Kings—they’re dying or wounded. There’s no place for him here anymore. He won’t accept it, but my King needs a death to keep his throne.” William’s eyes turn hard, flicking toward Verity. “Anearneddeath.”

I drop the blade and both hands snatch out to circle around his throat. His skin is slippery with blood, but I clench tight. “You’re about to see how a death is earned.” He gasps, his air cutting off, eyes bulging, lips turning blue. So close. So fucking close.

A small, cool hand wraps around my blood-soaked wrist. “Wick.”

Glancing over, she gives me a stern look. She wants to know more. Fuck. With another squeeze, I release him, watching him gasp for air. Verity wastes no time. “Did you hurt anyone else? Have you been kidnapping and hurting other girls in Forsyth?”

Struggling to breathe, he shakes his head. “No one—” He swallows and I know it’s as much blood as air. “No one else matters enough to bother.” He makes eye contact with Verity and I pick up the blade with a serrated edge, deciding that I’m going to cut his eyes out next. “Until Ashby approached me, I only had fantasies. He gave me the opportunity I’d been looking for.”

I twirl the jade handle in my hand, warming the stone with my fingers, and walk around the tomb. “Your King left you here for us. You would call it an opportunity. I call it a gift.” I purse my lips. “Maybe even a peace offering. But, unlike you, I won’t be squandering it.” The rage simmering under my skin bubbles to the surface. I stop at the head of the tomb, and grab Williamfrom behind. “This is for hurting my Princess.” He grunts, but the following cry is lost when I slash the jagged blade from one side to the other. Blood sprays, but the action feels better than any fucking release in my life. “This is for my son, thetrueBaron heir.” I plunge the blade straight into his heart. I yank it out and immediately thrust the blade in and out of his lifeless body. “For violating the sanctity of my home and for being a fucking betrayer of yours.”

Something inside unleashes. Something feral and pure. This rage that I have for everything that’s been building up. Father. Mayfield. The obligation of being a Prince. Verity. The baby.My baby. Everything that is out of my control is channeled into every sharp tooth in that blade, jagged and raw, tearing into flesh. My hands are slick, coated in blood, and my shirt drenched. Never again will this man be a risk to my family.

“Wick!” Verity’s voice is distant, somewhere past the hum of violence. I raise the blade over my head. “Whitaker!”

I snap my head in her direction.

Splatters of blood are sprayed across her face and body. My eyes go instantly to her belly, assessing, making sure.

“He’s dead,” she says, taking a tentative step toward me. “He can’t hurt us anymore.”

My breath comes out in ragged bursts. “Are you…” I point to her stomach with the blood-stained blade and then realize what I’m doing, dropping it to the ground. The metal and jade clatter against the marble floor. “Is it—” I swallow, tasting blood. “Is it okay?”

“He’s fine,” she promises, taking another step to me. “Want to see?”

I eye her belly, round with life. I’ve avoided it. Ignored it. Thrown countless tantrums about how that ‘thing’ has ruined my life. But just now, I killed for it.Him.

For us.

She takes my hand, the one I’d just used to brutally slaughter a man, and presses it, bloody and bruised, against the hard surface. The tiniest movement flutters underneath, and I exhale.

Creation.

Her eyes are wide, watchful. “What about you? You okay?”

A trail of blood drips down her neck, traveling between her breasts. Swiping my thumb over the blood, I smear it across the expanse of her chest. Her nipples tighten and peak in response. I tug at the neck of her dress, revealing the swell of her full breast. For the first time I see them for what they are—proof her body is preparing itself for my son.

“I want you,” I tell her, realizing the truth of it as I say the words. “I want to taste you. Fuck you. Feel your body wrapped around mine.”

I don’t wait for a response, taking what I need by grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her mouth to mine. Fingers digging into her hip, I kiss her hard, desperate, the urge to consume her overwhelming. Verity reacts by sinking into me, her hips rocking forward. My cock thickens, perverse, and aroused in this death chamber. Maybe I truly am a Kayes, getting off on the brutality of death. But in this instant, it’s not death I want, I crave warmth. Life.

“Wicker,” she pushes up on her toes, licking a hot path under my chin, “please.”

Dragging her away from the tomb, I push to the altar, and with one hard yank on the tie at her side, the dress falls, revealing her body to me. She’s round everywhere. Her tits. Her hips. Her belly. I touch them all, my blood-stained hands marking every inch of her body. Her panties are thin and soft, but I push my fingers into the warm, drenched heat. “Jesus, Red,” I groan, not knowing what made her so wet, the fact we’ve been apart for so long, or the bloody scene in the middle of the room. “Death gets you off, eh?”

She tugs at my shirt, pulling at the placket of buttons. Her mouth presses hot kisses against my chest. All I want is to be inside of her, so I lift her up, setting her on the edge of the altar, and spread those legs wide. The moonlight shines through the stained glass, casting her hair in a fiery halo. I barely get my cock out of my pants without coming. There’s no preamble, no fucking foreplay. I ease between her thighs, press my cock against her entrance, and punch inside, burying myself in the heat of my woman.

“God, Wick.Deeper.”

I don’t feel like a God. I feel like a man—skin and bones, flesh and blood, capable of defending what belongs to me. I take Verity, take what’smine, slamming my hips into her ruthlessly, getting harder with her every breathless cry. She holds onto me, clenching with every thrust.