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Vero walked down the stairs, rolling his shoulders as a morning chill filled the lodge. The atmosphere thickened, proving the Convexus would take place the following night. For now, he’d left Lyrica sleeping peacefully in their room, her dark hair spilling across the pillow. The brand on his hand had calmed, the pulsing heat from the night before fading, leaving his mind clearer than it had been in weeks.

In the main lodge, Jonathan and Lukas had already set up a checkerboard near the fireplace, the faint sound of their banter carrying through the space. Silas leaned against the wall near the coffee station, drinking from a big cup.

Vero stopped, crossing his arms as his gaze pinned them. “She doesn’t leave without you on her six, and I want advance notice if she so much as steps outside. If anything happens to her,” he added, his voice low, “I’ll kill you both.”

Jonathan snorted while Lukas’s eyes widened.

“Got it,” Lukas coughed.

“Here. We found the belongings stashed by the idiots who attacked us the other night.” Jonathan nodded toward a couple of knapsacks at his feet. “From what I can tell, the cell with the stupid symbol had six members here in our territory. We killed three, leaving three still within our encampment. I can’t tell if there are more of their cell members in contact o n the outside.”

“Damn it,” Vero muttered. He should have pushed Geoff harder. “I killed hi m too quickly.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jonathan said, folding his arms behind his head. “Some people don’t break, and he knew you were going to ki ll him anyway.”

Vero didn’t reply. The truth was, his temper had gotten the better of him. The bastard had talked about Lyrica—about hurting her—and Vero hadn’t been able to think past his rage. “I’ll do bet ter next time.”

Jonathan shrugged. “We’ll get them. I analyzed their communications. There are definitely six participants, and they call themselves the Defenders. From what I can tell, there are many different cells and they don’t communicate much with each other. Seems smart. Nobody can betray the others.” He took a deep breath. “I consider you both my boss and my friend.”

Vero stilled. “Ditto.” He’d known Jonathan his entire life, and the soldier had always been kind, even when training Vero years ago. But friendship? This was new. “Why do you m ention it now?”

“I scent your mate on you. That puts her in danger, and I wanted to let you know.” Jonathan kept his gaze. “Without pi ssing you off.”

Something settled in Vero’s chest. Mated. He had a mate. “I appreciate it.” Nobody had picked up on his being part demon as of yet. That was good. The brand on Vero’s hand had lightened, but it was still there. “She’s still vulnerable even without this new danger.” Nobody really knew how long it took for a human to become immortal. It seemed to vary w ith each human.

Lukas glanced at him from beneath his brows. “Um, I’m dating a girl, you know. They like weddings. Just an FYI. Are you going to marry Lyrica?”

Vero hesitated. “Kurjans don’t marry much anymore. Centur ies ago, sure.”

“She’s human,” Lukas reminded him. “They like that kind of thing.”

Vero hadn’t considered that fact. “I’ll think about it.” He had also only mated her as a demon and not a Kurjan, not that it probably mattered biologically or genetically. He’d promised Lyrica time to adjust, but there was a part of him that wanted—needed—to finish the bond. He shoved the thought aside. “I want to see the doc, then I’ll interview anybody I can find who knew the attackers.” He’d bar ely known them.

“Nobody seemed to know them well,” Jonathan said. “From what I can tell, they joined that small band a while back.”

“They were from the Donbas region, right?” Vero asked, sifting thro ugh his memory.

“That’s what it looks like,” Jonathan agreed. “Either they met three more Defenders here, or they joined the movement once they were already in the nation.”

That possibility seemed the most logical.

“That’s my guess. Otherwise, what’s the point? It’s not like they knew that Paxton would become our king,” Silas said, finally taking his face out of his h uge coffee mug.

Lukas nodded. “That’s good news in a way. It means they haven’t had time to plan.”

“I’ll start asking arou nd,” Vero said.

Silas reached into his pocket to toss a cell phone at Vero. “We now have cell service and the internet. I had a teenager program all our numbers into each one.”

Vero snatched the phone out of the air. “Finally. Do you have one for—” He caught the next phone. These were way beyond what the humans currently used. “Thanks.” He pressed a couple of buttons to note that his number was the first one programmed into Lyrica’s, with Hope and Paxton next. Good. That’s what he would’ve done.

Vero tossed Lyrica’s phone at Lukas, impressed when the young soldier caught it easily. “Give that to Lyrica when she comes down. Do you tw o have phones?”

“Yep,” Lukas said, placing Lyrica’s phone on the table. “I put Genevieve as my number one.”

“Good thought.” Vero headed toward the door. “Text me if Lyrica wants to leave the lodge.” As he stepped into the frigid morning air, he noted the guards stationed at their posts and gave them a short nod. The crisp cold helped sharpen his focus as he walked toward the medical facility and opened the heavy door.

Inside, the oppressive heat hit him immediately. “What the hell, Fizzlewick?” he muttered. “It’s like a sauna in here.”

Dr. Fizzlewick looked up from his desk, his black hair wild with the red tips curling, his purple eyes bloodshot. “Sorry. I was up all night and the temp dropped precipitously.”

“Why have n’t you slept?”

Fizzlewick rubbed his temples. “I looked over the bodies of the two remaining human females again. Poor young victims. We had to put them in a snowbank until we figure out who they are. I also searched the internet for any missing person reports, but so far, nothing.”

Vero frowned. “Lyrica was looking into that yesterday. We may need to wid en the search.”

“I’m already running it through the new computers,” Fizzlewick said, nodding toward the new, recently set-up, glowing monitors. “The newest upgrades a re impressive.”

“Good,” Vero said. But his thoughts were already spinning ahead, back to Lyrica—and the dangers she didn’t yet understand. “Have you found anything else?” He leaned against the desk, his arms crossed as he studied the ancient doctor.

Dr. Fizzlewick rubbed his temples. “Yes. I found gasoline traces on the last victim, but that could’ve come from anything. Even just riding in a UTV. Also, the attacker had to have immense or immortal strength to carve those symbols into the victims’ flesh to that depth, but those females were just human—fragile, breakable, killable.” He sat back in his chair, looking every bit his three thousand–plus years. “I just don’t understand, Vero. None of this make s sense to me.”

“Me either,” Vero said, exhaling heavily. “We’ll give them a proper burial if necessary, but first, we’ll find out who they were. It’s the least we can do. They were killed in our territory on purpose, to make Paxton look weak—and because someone out there is a sick bastard.” His jaw tightened. “I can’t wait to get my hands on the killer.” The Convexus was the next night, and he wasn’t ready. Couldn’t even make sure the territory was safe enough for Pa xton to return.

Fizzlewick lifted his empty mug and scowled. “Out of coffee again.” He placed it down with a loud clink. “Any leads on who might ’ve done this?”

Vero shook his head. “Not yet. Jonathan found and went through the belongings of the three attackers we killed—those wearing the mark. He’s confirmed there are six of them in total here in our territory. That leaves three still here and who knows how many o n the outside.”

“Do you know anything about the dead three?” Fizzlewick asked, l eaning forward.

“Not yet, and there’s nobody to really ask.” Vero frowned.

Fizzlewick nodded, his expression grim. “I’ll ask around. Sometimes people will talk to a doctor when they won’t talk to anyone else. But it’s clear this group was secretive. Whoever the remaining three are, they’ve probably gon e underground.”

“Except they keep killing human females,” Vero said, frustration heating his throat. “We can’t even figure out where the fema les came from.”

Fizzlewick steepled his fingers. “That trace of gasoline on the last victim could be from riding a snowmobile for days, but nobody’s been absent that long from our ranks—not that we’ve found, anyway.”

“Unless,” Vero mused, “they have an accomplice bringing the females here.”

Fizzlewick removed his glasses to rub his eyes. “Which means the killer might not even be part of the Kurjan nation.”

“No. Strangers here? We’d sense them. Smell them. Patrols would see and sense signs of vehicles bringing them in, which means somebody on the inside is working with them to mask their arrival. How are we supposed to track someone like that?” Vero muttered, anger flaring hot inside him.

Fizzlewick raised a hand. “Take a breath, Vero. You’re one of the best hunters we have. I’ve heard of your successes and exploits. You’ll fin d these males.”

“Thanks,” Vero said tightly, though the weight on his chest didn’t lessen.

“Have you looked through the new medical records that arrived yesterday?” Fizzlewick asked, motioning to a pile of manila folders.

“Not yet,” Vero admitted.

Fizzlewick grabbed the top folder and flipped it open. “I was up all night going through the medical files. There’s nothing in here about impregnating demons with Kurjan DNA or anythin g close to it.”

Vero’s chin dipped as frustration bubbled beneath his calm exterior. “I wish that surprised me, but it doesn’t. If my uncles wanted to keep something secret, they’d have done it right. There’d be n o paper trail.”

The door to the medical facility swung open abruptly, and two soldiers stumbled inside. Romer and Dalax, both young and strong, looked as though they’d been through hell. Their faces were more pale than usual, bruises marring their skin, and they hunched over as if they’d taken bull ets to the gut.

“What is wrong with you two?” Vero stepp ed toward them.

Dalax, who was tall even by Kurjan standards, dropped to one knee before collapsing entirely. “Something’s wrong,” he slurred, his words thick . “I feel…off.”

“What do you mean?” Vero crouched beside him, gripping his shoulder. “ What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Dalax muttered, his head lolling to the side. “It hit me o ut of nowhere.”

Romer swayed before crumplin g to the floor.

Vero lunged, catching him before his face hit the concrete. “Fizzlewick, hel p me out here.”

Fizzlewick was already moving, his sharp gaze assessing the situation. “Lay him flat,” he ordered. “Dalax, have you ingested anything unusual? Anything new or rotten or that could’ve been drugged?”

“No…nothing…” Dalax mumbled, his head rolling again.

Before Fizzlewick could respond, another knock came at the door. Silas stumbled in, looking as pale and sickly as the other two. “Damn it, V ero. I’m sick.”

Vero grabbed Silas by the arm and helped him to a chair. “Wh at’s going on?”

Silas shook his head, sweat beading on his brow. “I feel dizzy. My head hurts. My stomach’s churning like crazy, and I think—hell, I think my bra in’s swelling.”

Fizzlewick threw up his hands. “I don’t know what’s causing this.”

“Figure it out,” Vero snapped. “Run tests. Ask questions. Do something. I need answers.”

As if on cue, Vero’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his irritation mounting when he saw a text from Lukas: LYRICA WANTS TO VISIT A FRIEND. MAEVE CALLED IN EARLIER SAYING THAT HER MATE HAS FALLEN ILL.

Vero’s jaw tightened as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. Was Lyrica feeling okay? Was there a new illness now threatening his fragile, still possibly human, sweet mate? He had to see for himself. “I have to go,” he told Fizzlewick, turning toward the door. “Figure out what’s going on. I’ll be back in t hirty minutes.”

Before Fizzlewick could respond, the door swung open again, and three more soldiers stumbled inside, their faces pale and their move ments sluggish.

Vero stopped, staring in disbelief. “Did you all eat the same thing? Have you been in the same area?”

One of the soldiers, Lance, turned to the side and vomited green bile into the snow just outsi de the doorway.

“Gross,” Buclaw muttered, stepping around him as he st aggered inside.

“We’ve got three more,” Vero called to Fizzlewick. “Find out what they ate, where they’ve been, and lock t his down. Now.”

Fizzlewick nodded, already moving to assist th e new arrivals.

Vero’s hands clenched into fists as he stepped back outside. The cold air hit his face, doing little to cool the fire raging within him. His thoughts turned immediately to Lyrica. What if she’d eaten whatever was rotten? Or even w orse, poisoned?

The fear that shot through him was unlike anything he’d felt before. For most of his life, he’d only been responsible for himself—or for Paxton, once Vero had made his choice about loyalty. But this was different. Thi s was absolute.

She was his mate, his everything, and he would burn the world down to keep her safe.