Katarina tuned out the woman’s sweet voice, the man’s reply, and the myriad of responses that followed. If the group decided to lock her in the dungeon...whatever. What did she care about another location change?

Grief enveloped her, choked her.

Someone picked her up and carried her to the bed. The covers were lightly tucked around her, and one of the women—a plump beauty with light brown hair and matching eyes—stayed when the others exited, sitting beside her and tracing soft fingertips over her brow.

“My name is Ashlyn. I’m not sure how much you know about the men who live here, but I’m married to one. I have a very special ability that allows me to hear every conversation that’s taken place in a room as long as my husband isn’t with me. As soon as he left us, I heard about your dogs. I’m so sorry for your loss, Katarina.”

Shut up, she wanted to shout. Maybe the girl had a special ability, like Baden, or maybe there were bugs in the room, and she’d eavesdropped. Either way, the dogs weren’t up for discussion.

“You’re safe here. You have my word.”

Katarina closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. Well, in and out of sleep, always fitful. She had no idea when Ashlyn took off. The other people visited throughout the day, checking on her, and someone even brought a tray of food. She had no desire to eat. The only thing she wanted to do was continue sleeping. And cry, the way she used to as a child. But as always, no tears were forthcoming, which meant she experienced no cathartic release.

Eventually the needs of her bladder plagued her. She rose to unsteady legs and shut herself in the spacious en suite. Mosaic tile decorated the floor, the pattern floral but dizzying. The walls were cream-colored stucco, the countertops gold-veined marble, and the shower encased by stone and glass. Behind two white columns was a sunken tub.

Overall, as luxurious as Alek’s. She laughed without humor. Monsters and their money.

When she exited, Baden was seated at the edge of the bed. He’d recently showered, his damp hair darker than usual. He stood when he spotted her and held out his hand. “Come. I’ll give you a tour of the fortress.”

She ignored him, crawled under the covers and fell back to sleep.

The next time she awoke, she was alone. Alone with her thoughts. Alone with her misery...her memories.

Faith, Hope and Love adored her. When they were excited, they had hopped around her feet like bunnies. They had panted and smiled every time she’d walked through the door. She remembered playing fetch and going on walks, and she began to shake. She remembered slobbery kisses and cuddles on the couch, and she dry heaved.

She needed a distraction. Like, now.

She stood, her legs even shakier, and pulled on the first oversize sweatshirt she found in the closet. I Would Die For Lucien was scripted over the center. Using a string she cut from a bow with a blade—there were weapons stored in an unlocked trunk at the foot of the bed—she anchored her hair in a ponytail.

Why hadn’t Baden hidden the trunk? Did he not fear her rage?

Whatever. She wandered through the massive home. No bedroom or sitting room was off-limits. There was an entertainment room fully stocked with all the latest technology. Antique furniture abounded. Portraits of muscled men wearing tiaras littered walls that were marred with cracks and fist-size holes.

At some point, she ran into Baden.

Keeping pace beside her, he said, “Aleksander is locked in the dungeon below. Pandora has done her best to steal him, but I’ve taken measures to stop her.” Satisfaction dripped from his voice. “Would you like to torture him?”

Yes, oh, yes. Would she actually do it? No. “Torturing another living being is something you and Alek enjoy. I have no desire to become a reflection of the men I despise.”

He flinched.

Different people stopped to speak with them and introductions were officially made, but she remained quiet, uncaring, and ultimately retreated to the solitude of the room.

Baden followed close at her heels. “Are you hungry? You need to eat. You’re—”

She climbed in bed and burrowed under the covers.

Over the next few days—weeks?—she developed a routine. She slept and, whenever her shattered heart pained her too greatly, roamed the fortress like a ghost. The residents soon became used to her presence and, for the most part, ignored her as thoroughly as she ignored them. If they even noticed her at all.

Once, she encountered a beautiful brunette with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen. The girl was young, perhaps even younger than Katarina. Some people called her Legion. Others called her Honey. Whatever her name, she kept her head bowed and her voice low, as if she feared being heard.