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It wouldn’t take long to chain it again, but when the cat’s instincts bristled with warning, Jade listened. She froze as Kinnick stepped into view from the open door of the infirmary, darkness surrounding him. He unleashed an unnerving smile as his eyes roamed over Jade’s form appreciatively.

Kinnick appeared to have regained his limb—most likely at Quinn’s expense.

There was no reattaching a severed Sagani limb.

Fortunately, immortals had the ability to regrow them.

The length of their recovery, however, varied greatly.

Left on their own, limbs of a young immortal would come back over the course of a month.

With the help of a skilled mender, they could be regrown in hours.

It was not without its consequences. Quinn would certainly be drained by the excess.

“You’re back,” came Kinnick’s attempt at a civilized greeting. He could almost pull it off, but the manic intensity behind his eyes never ceased to make her uncomfortable.

“No, I’m just leaving, actually.”

Ignoring him, she tried to step past him, but he stepped into her path. A snarl twisted his features before he gripped her upper arm hard enough to leave bruises.

“I didn’t give you permission to leave, dearest one.”

Jade was frozen where she stood. She avoided eye contact as his sour breath washed over her face.

When he moved closer, maintaining his hold, she moved as far away as she could.

The fingertips of his other hand moved over the sensitive skin of her neck in what would be a caress if anyone else did it. With Kinnick, it felt like a violation.

“I could do it, you know.” A whisper, nothing more. “I could bite you and Julian wouldn’t even punish me.”

Fury and fear mixed toxically in her gut, thrumming through her body. While a bite couldn’t introduce a bond, it would allow their psychic presence to temporarily shift together in the labyrinth.

Done without permission, it was one of the most deplorable acts their kind could commit against one another. Only the worst of their society—and those close to going rogue—would ever commit such sacrilege.

The thought of Kinnick’s intention of a claim started an enraged tremor in her muscles. He delighted in it, a satisfied sound purring in his throat. When his lips pressed into the area above her collarbone, her leopard’s tail tucked defensively.

She would not cower beneath his terrors.

“Touch me with your teeth and you’ll be eating them for breakfast.”

Jade’s eyes turned the vibrant grey of her leopard. If the situation called for it, she’d be ready to defend herself. Palming a dagger she’d phased in, she touched the blade to the inside of his thigh, a clear message of what was on the line.

“Leave her be, Kinnick.”

The sound of her friend gave her the upper hand.

Twisting gracefully out of Kinnick’s clutches, Jade fled to Quinn’s side, dagger at the ready.

Well over six and a half feet tall, Quinn was built like a tank and projected the innate wildness of his bear.

Standing beside the massive Sagani male, Jade let his reassuring presence wash over the terror of the recent moments.

Kinnick was less than amused. “This doesn’t concern you, mender.”

“You’re about to start a quarrel that’ll end up with you in my infirmary again.” Quinn gave him a chastising shake of his head. “And if she cuts off any other part of you—no matter how important—I’m not growing it back. Stop while you’re ahead.”

Kinnick didn’t take his advice. Lunging forward, he made a grab for Jade with an uncivilized growl. Jade’s dagger, held at the ready, was about to taste blood.

Quinn was faster. Intercepting the attack before Kinnick could touch her, Quinn grabbed hold of the aggressor’s neck. Within moments, her friend drained the lieutenant to the point of unconsciousness.

The bear was a mender first and foremost, unfailingly loyal and detesting any form of violence.

Draining was the inverse of mending, a separate aspect of their powers.

Stealing Kinnick’s energy before matters escalated was the easiest and least painful way of preventing an attack.

This wasn’t the first time it’d happened, and it wouldn’t be the last. Quinn had only ever used this ability to protect people from Kinnick—no one else.

Quinn turned to regard her as he gently lowered Julian’s second to the floor. Hazel eyes studied her outstretched dagger with something close to amusement.

“Knowing Kinnick, he’d enjoy the dagger. I’d go for bigger guns next time.”

“What, you want me to grab my bazooka and warn him of flying body parts?” Jade made a face as she fisted her hands on her hips. “I’m not volunteering for clean up.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through hair the same color as his grizzly’s coat. “I still have his other arm. If you’d like to slap him with it, it’s all yours.”

“What a gift it’d be.” The impossible humor served to lighten Jade’s spirits. “He didn’t want his leftovers?”

Quinn feigned a shiver. “I wouldn’t give it to him. He’d probably eat it or do something equally disturbing.”

Disgust swallowed up burgeoning humor. When Quinn rose and moved to embrace her, she cherished the warmth he offered and melted into his chest.

“He’ll come after you, you know.”

Quinn was already shaking his head. “Kinnick doesn’t attack me. Julian has forbidden it, for one reason or another. Either way, I’m not a target.” A pointed look. “You, however, seem determined to set him off wherever you go.”

Jade playfully shoved him away. “Just take care of Lark.”

“It seems Az is doing that job for me.”

“He always has.” Nostalgia tinged Jade’s voice. “Take care of yourself, Quinn. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Offering him a friendly wave goodbye, she exited the mansion and stepped into the sunshine. She’d once had a home here in the legion’s capital, but it’d since been given to another member of her kin. Her only home now was the apartment in Chicago.

She didn’t like the idea of packing up her belongings like a college student and living with Quinn or Julian until another home could be built.

An eerie feeling floated over her as she glanced back to the home where Lark and Julian made their residence.

Its imposing structure was both massive and daunting, and more than a little impersonal.

It was the largest home here in the capital, not because Julian was prideful—though he was—but because he often had company.

She didn’t blame Lark one bit for leaving. If Jade had been constrained to live there for any amount of time, she’d probably go wild, too.

She rolled her shoulders to ward off the uneasy feeling, then began to plod silently over the cobblestones toward the center of the city.

Her leopard prowled inside her, irate and disquieted. Something didn’t sit right with her—or the cat—about the conversation with Julian, nor what the vision from the white marble sphere had shown her. He’d confronted any concern she’d had, but she had never blindly taken anyone’s word.

It was one of the many reasons Julian appreciated her.

Unsettled by it all, she did what she always relied on when faced with an insurmountable problem: conduct more research.

Phasing to the Palace, Jade didn’t pause to appreciate the opulence, the awe-inspiring, massive stone facade or the beautiful architecture.

After their princess had vanished, it’d sat empty and unused for a century before anyone could stand to walk its halls. The once-shining example of artistry and culture had been tarnished by the murder of their monarchs.

The walls had deteriorated during that time, and Julian had taken up massive renovations to restore it to its former grandeur. He’d had it modernized for the most part but tried to keep true to the original design.

These days, Julian usually held Council meetings in the throne room, a tribute to where they’d originally been. The six primes of the Council met in the shadow of the empty royal pedestals: a reminder of what they’d lost.

The palace’s private bedrooms also housed many of the Anchoria , but they were far removed from the use Julian typically gave to the palace: his lavish parties.

A politician at heart, he used balls and festivities to sway citizens of their great nation to his cause, and to entertain and woo anyone particularly against him. Jade rarely had occasion to go, but she knew that Sabin, Julian’s second, and Kinnick would always attend.

That was precisely why she always made herself scarce.

Sabin, though outwardly quiet and unassuming, was vicious.

Fortunately, the second most authority in the First Legion was rarely at home.

Julian usually had him chasing after the people who’d broken laws.

The brutish Sagani made quick work of snatching them back to be questioned.

Making an enemy of him wasn’t a good idea.

As one of Julian’s kinsmen, she wasn’t questioned by the Palace guards when she entered the premises.

She also wasn’t stopped when she strolled through the halls in search of the Royal Archives.

It’d been years since she had visited them, and the Palace had never ceased to be a maze of hallways and rooms.

Though it’d been cleaned and updated with modern amenities and furniture, the general layout had remained the same. It took her twenty minutes before she found her destination. The Royal Archives were kept updated by a team of secluded individuals, but to her relief, none of them were present.

Dusty tomes and old parchment had long been retired in favor of modern materials. The smell of binding glue and paper still clung to the interior walls, sweet and oddly vanilla-tinged. It made her smile, and it was more than a little nostalgic.

History was documented with fervency among the Sagani, but she had some trouble finding the dozens of books dedicated to the events of that night.

Dusk was already darkening the sky by the time she’d stumbled upon what she was looking for: the account of what had happened to the Second Legion. Her finger skimmed along beneath the detailed information.

Roman’s firsthand account was meticulously detailed.

The historians had also recorded statements from members of the legion who experienced Ivan’s death and the subsequent shifting of the legion’s labyrinth from Ivan to Yelena and then to Roman.

Historians had noted what the boy had said before he passed away from the psychic trauma.

Jade was shocked at what she found.

Netarios’ ability to form a barrier around himself had manifested early, protecting him from his mother’s attempts to locate him while he hid in a cabinet.

For such a young child, the development of a gift would’ve been difficult to manage and control.

If he’d survived, he would have to undergo extensive training—immediately—to manage his abilities.

Jade’s heart welled for him as she read, noting every detail and nuance. Amid the notes, catalogs and statements, one small, unimportant detail caught her attention more than any other.

Yelena and Ivan’s son—the boy who’d reportedly passed away—had had eyes of a unique color, seldom seen even among Sagani.

Eyes of metallic gold.