Kendrick
The scent of blood still lingered in the hall.
Not fresh, not dripping—but a bitter trace of something old, rotting, and cruel. It soaked into the stones of the holding chamber below the palace. Fitting, I thought, for the kind of filth we kept down here.
I stood at the threshold of the cell, arms crossed over my chest, eyes fixed on the woman shackled in silver restraints. She sat slumped against the wall, her once-smooth hair tangled, her skin pale and hollowed.
Cindy.
The very sight of her ignited a fury in me I didn’t know I was capable of. My hands flexed at my sides, aching to wrap around her throat—not in lust, not in passion, but in the cold, unforgiving wrath of a Blood Lord betrayed.
She had touched Kimberly.
She had starved her. Chained her. Tortured her.
My ma
