There was no pain. There was never any pain. Not from the moment Duke Clyde Slate had driven a blade through Harrison’s chest, or from the moment he’d awoken hours later, cursed blade clutched in a blood wrapped hand, an unnatural energy running through his body.

  It had not taken him long to learn that he was dead, and the energy running through his soul like kindling to a flame was that of his daughter’s life.

  A flame he needed to feed.

  It itched at his soul, the blade a whisper in his mind begging for more. Since being nicked with the blade, the hunger had never gone away, the only true sensation he’d been able to feel since being stabbed through the chest.

  Only he couldn’t feed it.

  He stumbled into the tavern washroom, landing heavily against a metal basin, hands shaking. In the outer room, Rebekah was finding them rooms for the night, a stay Harrison didn’t want to take. He didn’t need to sleep. He needed to show up at the Duke’s house and pay him back for every pain. Feed the hunger.

  A fist pounded against the door, shaking the weak wooden latch on the inside. “Get out! I know you don’t need that much time in there.”

  Harrison growled, pushing off the basin and spinning toward the door.

  Rebekah shot a glare at him as the door opened, shoving their supplies into his arms and pushing past him into the washroom. “Room’s upstairs. I’m taking the bed.”

  She slammed the door behind herself.

  Harrison made his way upstairs, finding their room and laying down on the floor. With no need to sleep, all he could do was lie on his back and plan.

  When he could take the waiting no more, he sat up, grabbing his dagger and attaching it to his belt once more. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been laying down, only that Rebekah’s snores had accompanied him so long his ears had grown numb to the sound.

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  He kicked the foot of her bed, jostling her from sleep. “Up,” he growled, towering over the woman.

  She opened one eye, glaring at him from the cot. “It’s pitch black out.”

  “We need to scout the area,” Harrison said, pacing to the door. He couldn’t wait anymore. They were so close he could practically feel the man’s presence, calling to him. “I’m going.”

  He drew the dark cloak tight around his body, moving through the tavern like a whisper and stepping out into the dark before dawn. Before he made it ten paces down the street, the tavern door opened again.

  The woman had followed.

  A piece of him had hoped he’d be able to get away from her and finish the Duke off without any interference, but she seemed intent on following.

  He would have to kill her after the fact.

  The Duke’s mansion sat outside the city of Clefton, like a castle presiding over a city. Harrison walked around the length of the home, peering in curtained windows, peeking through cracks in the coverage to stare down empty hallways. Duke Clyde Slate was home, but not awake. Harrison needed for him to wake.

  Retreating, he found shelter beneath a large oak as the sun peeked over the horizon, crossing his legs and resting his dagger atop his knees. Rebekah sprinted across the lawn to him.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “For him to awake.”

  “Why not kill him now?”

  He lifted his head, meeting her gaze. “Do you want to kill a sleeping man?”

  “He killed my sleeping child.”

  Harrison shook his head. “I’d rather him know exactly why I’m killing him.”

  “Fine.”

  Rebekah stood beside him, carrying her crossbow in one hand, fingering the trigger anxiously. Harrison understood, his own hunger growled in his soul, fingers itching to attack. But he remained perfectly still, balancing the dagger on one finger, weighted perfectly from hilt to blade.

  A light flicked on inside the dark mansion, and Harrison rose to his feet, stalking toward the front door without a word.

  Reaching the door, he tipped back his hood, revealing his face to the rising sun, and hammered against his with his fist.

  He pounded on the door until it swung inward, fist stopping in the air as a man opened the door. Only it wasn’t the same man who’d killed his daughter. His skin was flushed and full of life, eyes alight and alert. No hunger, no sweat, just a simple smile on the aging man’s face, a child in his arms.

  How dare he?

  “Hello,” he said, flashing a smile of white, polished teeth. “What can I do for you?”

  The blade in Harrison’s hand flashed as it raised it to the hero’s neck. “Get inside.”