Hours had passed by the time Dez and the rest of the clan returned, and even though my legs, my entire body felt numb, I was there when Abbot was lifted up the hastily made pyre and I was there when Zayne carefully placed a lit torch at the feet of his fallen father. I was there to see Nicolai place his arm around Danika’s shoulders.

I was there when nothing but ash remained.

When it was all over, Roth carefully placed his arm around my waist, startling me. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten that he was there, but I was... I was simply out of it. Looking back, I’d probably be fascinated by the fact that the Crown Prince of Hell had borne witness to the ritualistic funeral of a Warden.

Roth guided me back into the house, but we didn’t make it very far before Jasmine appeared in front of us. Sadness radiated from her every pore, but a look of steely determination had settled on her beautiful face.

“Come with me,” she ordered, turning toward the stairs.

When I didn’t move, Roth took matters into his own hands. Or arms. Turning to me, he thrust one arm under my knees and in the next breath, I was up off my feet and cradled against his chest.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“You’ve been on your feet this whole time and you were injured.” He started for the stairwell, behind Jasmine. “Don’t tell me that you’re fine. Let Jasmine look you over.”

I started to protest, but he was already halfway up the stairs, and it hit me right then—everything that had happened in the last couple of days. Exhaustion grabbed hold of me and didn’t let go. It dug in deep and I was weary to my very bones.

Jasmine stopped in front of what used to be my bedroom, and when the door opened, a wave of nostalgia smacked into me. I looked around as Roth walked me to the perfectly made bed and set me down. He lingered close, sitting on the other side.

Nothing had really been touched with the exception of the bed being made, because that seriously hadn’t been me. My desk was still cluttered with notebooks, loose papers and books. The closet door was ajar, revealing the mess of clothing half dangling off its hangers and strewn about the floor, mixed among college applications.

It was too weird being back here.

I looked over at the window Abbot had once bolted shut and saw the dollhouse. My chest contracted, because I couldn’t help but think of the past—of Zayne. In a fit of rage, I had destroyed the dollhouse, and he had rebuilt it back to its former glory. The dollhouse also reminded me of how Bambi had made it her home.

Tears clogged the back of my throat, but I didn’t let them fall. Instead, I focused on Jasmine, who’d put various herbs and her bag of torture devices, otherwise known as a sewing kit, on the bed.

“Can we get the sweater off?” she asked, twisting her long dark hair back and securing it with a hair tie.

Reaching down, I tugged the ruined sweater over my head. I had a tank top under it, but even if I hadn’t, I would’ve been too tired to care if I was showing off my goodies.

Roth took the sweater from me, tossing it to the floor, and then placing his hand on my shoulder. His eyes were fastened to my face.

Jasmine made a soft, clucking sound as she eyed the wound. “What happened?”

“I really don’t know.” I cleared my throat. “Zayne stabbed the Lilin and this is what happened to me.”

“The Lilin was stabbed with an iron dagger,” Roth added. “But it doesn’t look like she has the symptoms of being stabbed with one.”

Jasmine shook her head as she poured antiseptic on a cloth. “No. She would be very ill if that was the case. I’m sorry if this hurts.” She placed the cloth against the wound, and yeah, it did sting, but I’d felt worse. “How have you been?”

“Okay.” I didn’t want to talk about myself. I glanced at the door and then at Roth. “Zayne...he’ll be okay, won’t he?”

Roth was slow to nod. “He has to be.”

“He’s right.” Jasmine mopped up the blood on my shoulder and arm. “With his father gone, Zayne is in line to be the head of this clan.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t even thought of that.

“He’s too young to completely take over,” she continued. “And it will probably fall to Nicolai to step in until Zayne is ready.”

It was the end of an era and would be the beginning of another.

My body was present while Jasmine talked as she cleaned my wound, and yet, my mind was a thousand miles away it seemed. I couldn’t believe what had happened. This outcome had never crossed my mind. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared for any of this.

“Good news,” Jasmine said, drawing my attention. “The wound is already starting to heal. I don’t need to stitch it closed.”

Thank God, because the last time I had that happen, I had to be held down. Jasmine smoothed some kind of cooling, minty-smelling salve on my arm, and then rose. “You should get some rest,” she said. “It’s late. I’m sure the clan will have no problem with you both staying here.”

Roth raised both brows at that. “You sure?”

She smiled tiredly. “If I’m wrong, then someone will be up here to tell you to leave. Meanwhile, are either of you hungry? I can have food sent up.”

“I’m fine.” Roth looked at me. “You?”

“I’m good.” I reached out, grabbing Jasmine’s hand as she turned to leave. “Thank you.”

“No thanks are ever needed.” With that, she left the room.

Glancing down at my shoulder, I saw the glistening puckered skin. The wound was nowhere near as bad as it had originally felt.

“Want me to grab you a new sweater?” Roth asked, and when I nodded, he headed to my closet, returning with a thick chunky one that buttoned up the front. He was quiet as he took care of the buttons and then knelt, pulling off my boots.

As he kicked his own off, Morris appeared in the door, carrying two glasses. Both had orange juice in them, and that brought a watery smile to my face. He walked them over to the nightstand, and as always, he didn’t say a word. When he turned, he reached out, cupping my cheek with a cool hand. The smile was back on his face and this time it reached his eyes. Then he patted my cheek and left the room, leaving the door half-open.

“That man...he is strange,” commented Roth.

“He’s wonderful,” I immediately defended Morris.

Roth shook his head slowly. “I’m not disputing that, but...”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. He just...gives me the creeps.” Roth frowned. “And nothing gives me the creeps.”

I made a face. “There’s nothing creepy about him. Morris is the best and he’s an old man—not exactly a threat to you.”

“Like I said, I don’t know how to explain it.” Turning to me, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Tonight has been...”

“A complete mess?” I scooted over, resting against the back of the headboard as I picked up the cup of OJ.

Roth sat beside me so we were shoulder to shoulder. He stretched his legs out. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

I took a sip and then another before setting it aside. When I looked at him, I saw that the bruise along his jaw was already fading, but I brushed my fingers around it. “Are you okay?”