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That laugh spilled from my lips, and I felt a darkness fill my eyes. That cold, white part of me where there was nothing but static and silence, the place where I killed, opened up inside my head, and Raina filled it. I remembered the feel of Nathaniel’s heart in my hands, the moment I’d realized I could kill him, that I wanted to kill him, more than I wanted to heal him. So much easier to kill.

I locked my arms around Padma’s neck and kissed his mouth. I shoved the power into him like a sword. His body stiffened, arms opening, but I was holding on now. His heart was slick and heavy. It beat against the power like a fish in a net. I crushed the power around it. He fell to his knees and screamed into my mouth. Blood flowed in a warm gush, filling my mouth with the warm salty rush of it.

Hands pulled at me, tried to tear me away from Padma. I clung to him, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. “Back off or I’ll shatter his heart. Back off now!”

Thomas fell to his knees beside us, blood trickling down his chin. “You’ll kill me and Gideon.”

I didn’t want to kill them. The power began to slide away, buried in regret. “No.” I said it out loud. I fed the power on my anger, my outrage. The munin swelled and filled me. I squeezed Padma’s heart—gently, slowly.

I laid my face against his cheek and whispered, “Why aren’t you fighting back, Master of Beasts? Where is that large, burning, power of yours?”

There was no answer but his labored breathing.

I squeezed a little tighter.

He gasped. “We could die together,” he said in a voice wet with his own blood.

I rubbed my cheek against his face. The blood from his lips smeared along our skin. I’d always known that blood was a turn-on for lycanthropes but I’d never fully appreciated the appeal. It wasn’t so much the feel of the blood as the smell of it. Hot, sweet, flatly metallic, and underneath, the scent of fear. He was so very afraid. I could smell it, feel it.

I raised back from him enough to see his face. It was a mask of blood. Part of me was horrified. Part of me wanted to lick him clean like a cat with a bowl of cream. Instead I gave his heart a little extra squeeze and watched the blood flow faster from his mouth.

His power built in a warm wash. “I will kill you before I die, lupa.”

I held him and felt his power begin to build, still weakened, but enough to do the job. “Are you still a good Hindu?” I asked.

His eyes showed confusion.

“How much bad karma have you accumulated this turn of the wheel?” I gave a quick lick over his mouth and had to put my forehead against his and close my eyes to keep from doing what the munin wanted. What Raina would have done if she’d been here. “What would be punishment enough for your evil deeds in the next reincarnation, Padma? How many lives would it take to balance this one turn?”

I drew back enough to see his face. I had enough control again not to clean his face with my tongue. Looking into his eyes, I knew I was right. He feared death and what would come after.

“What would you do to save yourself, Padma? What would you give? Who would you give?” I whispered that last.

He whispered back, “Anything.”

“Anyone?” I asked.

He just looked at me.

Jean-Claude was sitting up, cradled in Richard’s arms. “It is still a duel until one is dead. It is within our rights to insist on finishing this.”

“Are you so eager to die?” the Traveler said. “The death of one is the death of all.” He stood above us and a little back as if he didn’t want to be too closely associated with us. Too bloody, too primitive, too mortal.

“That is a question for Padma to answer, not me,” Jean-Claude said.

“What is your price?” Padma asked.

“No more punishment for Oliver’s death. He lost a duel, it is as simple as that.” Jean-Claude coughed, and more blood spattered from his lips.

“Agreed,” Padma said.

“Agreed,” the Traveler said.

“I never wanted them dead because of the Earthmover’s death,” Yvette said. “Agreed.”

Asher said, “The Earthmover earned his death. Agreed.”

Jean-Claude held his