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Davina nodded, clutching that promise like a lifeline.

As Rosselyn stepped away to help Nicabar secure a bundle atop the caravan, Amice approached. The older woman’s face bore the weariness of deep sorrow, her usual lively spark dimmed, as though Veronique’s disappearance had drained her very spirit.

“Lady Davina,” Amice greeted, dipping her head with quiet respect.

“Amice,” Davina replied, her voice low and threaded with sympathy.

For a moment, they stood in heavy silence. The memory of Veronique lingered between them like a vengeful spirit.

Amice finally spoke, her voice rough with grief. “I… I wanted to say I am sorry. Sorry for the trouble Veronique brought to your home. I…” Her words faltered, and she shook her head, defeat bowing her shoulders.

Davina’s breath caught. What could she say to that? Veronique had brought trouble—more than trouble. She had tried to kill her. Yet, as Davina looked into Amice’s weathered, grief-worn face, her anger softened, giving way to a quiet, aching pity.

“I know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Davina said carefully, her voice soft yet steady. “It’s not your fault.”

Amice nodded slowly, though her expression remained heavy, her gaze distant as if she carried the weight of a hundred unspoken regrets. “Still, I am glad…glad that you and Broderick fo und each other.”

Davina faltered, unsure how to respond to that unexpected sentiment in the wake of uncertainty still between them. She forced a small, polite smile. “I wish you safe travels, Amice. And prosperity for your family.”

“And for yours. Au revoir, ma chère ,” Amice replied quietly, her voice hoarse.

With that, she turned toward her wagon, and Nicabar and Rosselyn helped her into the vardo with gentle hands.

Rosselyn climbed up beside her, casting a lingering glance back at Davina, while Nicabar swung himself up onto the seat of his wagon behind them.

The rest of the Romani climbed onto their wagons, murmuring soft farewells to Davina as they settled in for the long journey south. Rosselyn snapped the reins and raised her hand in a final wave from her seat beside Amice, her bittersweet smile a flicker of warmth in the emptiness of her heart.

The caravan moved slowly at first, the wheels grinding over the frost-hardened earth. One by one, the wagons rolled away, disappearing down the road, swallowed by the gray veil of early morning mist.

Davina wrapped her arms around herself, shivering against the cold, and turned back toward the castle.

As she passed through the gate, it clanged shut behind her, the sound stark in the stillness. The courtyard lay quiet, her footsteps echoing off the stone as she crossed to the front entrance. The weight of solitude followed her like a shadow.

Davina made her way to the study, intending to sit and gather her thoughts. But the study was still a disaster.

Ledgers lay strewn across the desk and shelves, some open to pages of scribbled calculations, others stacked haphazardly. Though she’d made some progress sorting through the chaos, the task remained unfinished—an unwelcome reminder of duties left undone.

Davina frowned, crossing the room and picking up one of the misplaced ledgers. “Men,” she muttered under her breath.

Sitting still and thinking about Broderick’s promised revelations would only drive her mad, she decided. She needed a distraction, and this seemed as good as any.

Rolling up her sleeves, she began pulling the out of order ledgers and books off the shelves, one by one. If she were going to make sense of this mess, she’d have to start from scratch.

What was he going to tell her tonight? What could he possibly say that would explain the silver glow in his eyes, his impossible speed, or his uncanny ability to vanish like a shadow in the dark?

Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Whatever secrets Broderick was hiding, she would face them tonight. For now, she had this distraction.

But the work throughout the day proved sporadic. Cailin needed nursing and tending to. Thank goodness Myrna was still around, her steady hands and calm presence a balm to Davina’s frayed nerves. Davina knew she would have to find another handmaid soon, but she would put that off for the time being.

Davina resumed her discussions with the shepherds about culling the herds and securing enough feed for the coming winter.

She reviewed plans for preserving the meat from the slaughtered animals, ensuring the wool and hides were processed for the estate and village needs before deciding what surplus could be sold at market.

Thankfully, the bustle of activity carried her through to the early afternoon, making the day slip by almost effortlessly.

But after returning to the castle and taking a hot bath to wash away the grime and chill clinging to her skin, Davina found herself once again ensnared by her own restless thoughts.

Until Broderick arrived, she would most likely continue wearing a path in her bedchamber floor.

∞∞∞

The man slumped against the wall of the alley, his head lolling to one side as Angus pierced his thumbpad and smeared his healing blood over the bite marks on his victim’s throat.

The wounds faded, leaving no trace of the feeding.

With a disgusted flick of his wrist, Angus wiped his thumb clean on the man’s collar, then pressed a palm to the villager’s forehead.

The man let out a soft sigh as Angus reached into his thoughts, erasing the memory of the encounter as easily as smudging ink on a page.

The man slumped further, unconscious, his body crumpling into the shadows of the alley.

Angus straightened, adjusting his coat as he stepped out into the narrow street.

The village of Stewart Glen lingered in quiet activity at this hour, its streets echoing with the occasional footsteps of a late straggler and the murmur of distant voices.

The air tingled with the promise of frost, nipping at exposed skin, but it carried no hint of what he sought—and neither had the last villager he’d drained.

Frustration coiled in Angus’s chest like a viper ready to strike. He had arrived shortly after sunset, feeding from the villagers one by one, sifting through their memories for any trace of Broderick or his band of Travellers. And yet, nothing. Not a single useful scrap of information.

The Gypsies were gone. That much was clear.

They had slipped away early, so early that the villagers hadn’t even seen them depart.

No one knew which road they’d taken or if Broderick had gone with them.

For all Angus knew, he could waste days chasing a caravan in one direction only to have to backtrack and try another, letting Broderick’s trail grow cold. And Angus had been so close.

He clenched his jaw, fangs pricking his lower lip. He hadn’t come all this way to be thwarted by a pack of mortals and their wagons. Somewhere out there, Broderick lurked, and Angus burned to maintain his advantage.

Leaving the village behind, he melted into the forest to weigh his next move.

The scent of smoke drifted on the breeze, faint but distinct.

Angus stilled, every muscle taut as a bowstring, his instincts coiling to strike.

No tingling presence of another Vamsyrian, just the crisp crackle of fire and the shuffle of mortal feet over dry leaves and earth. A campfire.

Curiosity pricked at his frustration, slicing through the haze of anger clouding his thoughts.

With a soft growl of anticipation, Angus moved through the trees, his boots whispering over the forest floor.

As he drew closer, the scent of smoke thickened, laced with the faint aroma of burning meat.

He slipped like shadow between the trees, keen eyes catching the flicker of firelight ahead.

The campsite was small and hastily made, a pitiful excuse for a shelter barely visible in the shadows. But it wasn’t the shelter that caught Angus’s attention—it was the woman sitting on a boulder by the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared into the flames.

Angus’s lips curled into a slow, predatory smile. He recognized her instantly from the fragments of memory he’d plucked from the villagers’ minds. Veronique. She had been with Broderick and the Gypsies. Her face was pale and taut with exhaustion, shadows bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes.

He stretched his senses outward again, tasting the night air for danger.

The forest was quiet—too quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant hoot of an owl.

No other Vamsyrian lingered nearby, though.

Satisfied, Angus stepped into the light of the fire, his smile widening as Veronique’s head snapped up.

She froze, her eyes wide with terror as she took in his towering figure. Reflexively, she reached behind her and produced a dagger from her belt, pointing the blade at him with a trembling hand.

Angus tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “What are ye doing out here…all alone? Veronique.”

Her breath hitched, and she scrambled to her feet, clutching at the edges of her cloak as if they might shield her from him. She narrowed her eyes and slowly retreated a step, though the firelight betrayed her fear.

Angus chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that threaded through the dark like a predator’s purr. “Ye dinnae talk much, do ye?” He prowled closer, savoring the way she flinched with every step. “Where’s Broderick?”

Her thoughts—in rapid, panicked French—were tangled and desperate, but one thought shone bright amidst the chaos “ Angus Campbell.” Recognition flared in her eyes, and fear rolled off her in palpable waves.

Before she could bolt, Angus moved. In the blink of an eye, he was before her, his hand clamping around her wrist like an iron shackle. “Ah, ah, ah, lass,” he cooed, pulling her closer. “Ye’re exactly the person I need.”

She struggled, breath panting with panic, but Angus’s grip was merciless. He drew her tight against him, her fists thudding uselessly against his chest. He leaned in, lips peeling back, revealing his gleaming fangs that caught the firelight, and pierced her throat.

Veronique let out a strangled cry, her body stiffening before slackening in his arms. Angus drank deeply, the hot rush of her blood flooding his senses.

Fear and despair seasoned it, the perfect vintage.

Beneath it all, her memories of her Romani life, traveling with Broderick.

She knew exactly what he was, but this pathetic mortal was in love with him.

Nay, obsessed. And that was something Angus could leverage.

With a satisfied sigh, Angus broke the crimson kiss, his head tipping back as he let loose a dark, triumphant laugh that echoed through the forest like a predator’s victory call.

He had Broderick now. Right where he wanted him.