Byrn bowed, ready to take his leave, when one of the back doors opened. A young woman stepped out of it, wrapped in a blanket, eyes wide with confusion. Honey-kissed brown hair fell around her shoulders, and an angry scratch marred an otherwise perfect cheek. Byrn could smell her mortality, the blood pulsing through her veins. A snack for his master, perhaps.

"I beg pardon, wherewhere am I?"

Malick swept from his chair, a wide smile on his face. "So the child wakes. ...