Page 106 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

Kitty breaks the silence again.

“Working for Rainer is all right?” she presses.

“He’s acceptable,” Shade says.

“But he’s a Wiolant,” she adds carefully.

A small shrug. “I like working for the guy. He treats me like a person rather than a tool.”

He likes working for the family that destroyed his?

That should’ve been the end of it. It isn’t, because my instincts don’t settle.

“Shade.” I lift my head from my arms. “You need to tell us if you’re planning to kill him. Or the queen.”

The room feels smaller suddenly.

“Why would I kill them?” Real puzzlement crosses his face.

“The Wiolants are the reason your mother is rotting in the crypts—”

“Not him. His brother.” He speaks over me, which he never does.

The air between us changes.

Shade’s entire body goes rigid. Something shifts in his expression. “Rainer was not involved in what happened fifty years ago.”

I should leave it there and recognize the warning in his tone. But the wine and the strange comfort of being with them makes me stupid.

“But Reinhart Wiolant is—”

The change is instant and terrifying.

Shade moves faster than I can track. His hand is around my throat, lifting me from my chair and slamming me against the wall hard enough to crack the wood.

“Don’t say that name,” he says very quietly. His face is inches from mine, and those pale eyes are completely empty. They’re not angry… just a void.

My feet dangle above the floor. I can’t breathe.

“Never say that name in front of me.” Each word is precise and controlled.

His grip tightens. Black spots dance in my vision. I claw at his wrist but it’s like trying to move stone. My lungs are screaming. The world is starting to gray at the edges.

“Shade!” Kitty’s voice cuts through sharply. “Let him go. He didn’t mean—Shade, you’re killing him!”

Something flickers in those empty eyes. Confusion as if he’s waking up from somewhere very far away. His hand releases and I drop, gasping and choking.

Shade steps back, looking at his hand like it belongs to someone else.

“Fuck I’m sorry, Wolf,” he says remorsefully “I hurt you.”

“You think?” I wheeze, massaging my throat. It’s going to bruise. Badly.

Kitty crouches beside me, hands hovering like she wants to help but doesn’t know how. “Wolf, fuck, are you okay?”

Shade kneels too, that empty look replaced by something almost like panic. “I’m sorry. Wolf, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” I rasp, though my throat feels as dry as sandpaper.