Ulrica was about to smear the excess of blood on her hands over her arms when Aurelius caught her wrist. A downhill boy. A dockside commoner. A lowly merchant. Her indignation should have blazed, yet she restrained the instinct to turn her claws on him. It would be a waste to gouge out such beautiful eyes. And to leave scars on such fine features. Curling her fingers as if to sheathe her claws, Ulrica took a reasonable tone. “I’ll bludgeon you with this haunch if you don’t le...