Immediately Freya left the room, Logan sank into his chair panting heavily. The heavy oak creaked beneath his weight, as though even the chair resented carrying the burden of a king whose heart was split in two. His hands trembled where they rested on the carved arms. He pressed his palms to his temples, trying to shut out the voices that still hissed at the edges of his mind.

They told him to hurt, to control, to bend everyone to his will. He hated it, hated the darkness that gripped him, ...