Without strength, we have nothing.

She’d had something to give.

“I’m going to take care of you,” she whispered. “And I’m going to give you the life you deserve.”

They stopped wrestling and peered at her with adoration, as if they’d understood her words. She thought they might be trying to tell her We’re going to take care of you, too.

They shared a look of...anticipation? Gravy’s head tilted to the side. Biscuit nodded. In unison, they closed in on her. Each nuzzled one of her wrists, and when she tried to turn her hand to pet them, each flashed a pair of fangs—fangs?!—and chomped deep into her vein.

A torrent of pain! Yelping, she tried to yank free, but the two only clamped on harder. At least the pain faded, replaced by a warm rush of—

Tristo hrmenych! Was she high? She’d always eschewed drugs, but this fit her brother’s description perfectly—vertigo, a feeling of lightness, as if she could float away like a balloon, a sense of ecstasy, all right in her world. Shit! What was happening to her?

The dogs released her at last, and she toppled over. Her limbs shook, her bones vibrating. Each of her organs caught fire; the blaze consumed her, sweat soon drenching her. She was dying. She had to be dying. She—

Fingers snapped in front of her face. She blinked open her eyes to find out she was seated rather than prone. Even more confusing, the pain had left her completely, her skin and clothing dry with no hint of perspiration. The only sign something had happened was the metallic taste in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue? No, there were no sores on it.

Galen crouched in front of her, his expression concerned. “Want to tell me what’s wrong with you? You’ve been sitting here for at least five minutes, grunting and groaning zombie-style.”

But...but...only a few seconds had passed. Right? “I’m fine.” Her throat burned, as if she hadn’t used it for days, maybe weeks. She shook her head to scatter any lingering hints of lightness.

Biscuit and Gravy were seated at her side, calmly watching the warrior. For one crazy moment, Katarina imagined she felt their dislike for the man—stranger!—and their unbending determination to protect their silly human.

Frowning, Katarina held up her arms, turning her hands in the light. Her wrists were normal. There was no evidence of a wound, not even a bruise. She’d imagined the bite?

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “Really.” Maybe she’d fallen asleep and dreamed the bite. Or hallucinated? Totally possible. She was semi-dating an immortal warrior. Weirder stuff happened every day. “What are you doing here?”

“I fixed lunch. My specialty. Ham sandwiches.”

Lunch? She hadn’t missed minutes, but hours. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Her stomach was too busy twisting into thousands of little knots.

“All right.” Galen stood with fluid grace. “I’ll put one in the fridge in case you change your mind. If I get hungry later, well, every man for himself. You had your chance.”

“You are too kind.”

“I know. And now that I’ve buttered you up...”

The meaning of the phrase eluded her. Buttered up? “Are you hitting on me?”

Galen wiggled his brows at her. “You wish. I’m hoping to convince you to talk to Baden about helping Fox deal with Distrust.”

“She’s having problems?”

“Only every day.”

Compassion stirred, but so did the memory of Katarina’s introduction to Galen. He’d threatened her. She said, “If you call me your sweet doodlepop from now on, I will consider thinking about maybe mentioning the woman to Baden.”

He grinned at her. “I hope you’re this way with the redhead...doodlepop.” He saluted her before exiting the room, sealing her inside with the dogs.

For the next several hours, she busied herself with the rest of the day’s training, determined not to think about what happened. Or what hadn’t happened. Whatever! When one of the boys began to pee or poop, she barked out a firm command to stop and escorted the two outside, offering a reward whenever they finished their business in the grass.

The house—palace—had a million rooms, every corner offering a new hallway to lose yourself, so she always stuck to the same path. A straight shot downstairs, through the kitchen, the laundry room and finally a sunroom. The backyard was fenced by a tall wall made of gold, steel and iron. The grass, bushes and array of flowers were perfectly manicured, and a myriad of trees provided shade from a glaring sun.

When training ended, she stayed outside, letting the boys run wild as she created a mental shopping list. Doggy door, organic food, tags for the collars, stronger leashes, urine neutralizer spray and toys.