Ewing’s upper lip curled in a dismissive sneer. “You call this 'playing'? I am the heir of the Nixon line, not a blind pup. I know the scent of a hunt when I see one.”

Avery, desperate to fade into the stone walls and avoid further agony, scrambled to her feet. She tucked her chin and moved to the edge of the corridor, making herself as small and inconspicuous as an Omen could be. She recognized Ewing from the Healers' Hall; he was Bria’s cousin, and their blood-bond was known to be tight.

Fear coiled in Avery’s gut. If Ewing shared Bria’s sadistic streaks, she was truly doomed. Ewing’s gaze...