It shifted, weaving between minds, keenly observing, biding time until it found a suitable host and imposed its desires upon her unwilling, helpless mind.
‘Cry for him, draw him forth. Bring him to me.’
* * *
The Duke’s jaw clenched, his slate-grey eyes flashed thunderously as a shaft of alarm sliced through his thoughts. “Annalise calls to me. The rebels have breached the Keep. They shall die for their treason!”
Snatching up his sword, Tarlington stalked from the castle, abandoning the protections of his ancestors.
* * *
'Like a sheep to slaughter, he walks to his doom.'
And her heart bled for her Duke.