“Now it is you who must bestow that gift upon another to maintain your life. Mark them as I did you.”

Diosa’s words reverberated in Rogan’s skull—a sensual, mysterious lullaby that shed layers of meaning the more it echoed, the more those smoky syllables bounced against bone and slithered back into his brain. When the redhead had first marched to the border of Caidir Olc, he hadn’t a clue in his mind what to expect. His paws had carried him to that kingdom of swampy heat and jungle greenery, and his own incredible stubbornness had kept him there. It did not matter that Caidir was the first pack Rogan had ever encountered in this bizarre new world. Where others might have bided their time, researching which place would best fit their needs, which personalities would more readily accept their own, the young warrior had walked until he could go no farther. The unnatural glowing eyes of the Vampire Queen had fascinated him, yet the rusty soldier felt no fear. His upbringing had not included “vampire” in its dictionary—nor had Rogan ever heard of any other sort of supernatural nonsense. He’d mistaken the term “vampire” as another name for royalty. He’d immediately accepted those hellish, ruthless, scorching pits of fire as another character trait the varg in this land possessed. When Rogan accepted the Queen’s offer of power, of a place in her palace, the eager boy carried no sense of the danger he’d just thrown himself into. No concept of the misery he’d signed up for.

And to be honest? He still didn’t.

Since his transformation—in which his own eyes had bled from his skull, replaced by fiery pools identical to Diosa’s—Rogan realized he couldn’t stomach regular prey. Venison, rabbit, anything he tried to choke down inevitably gurgled back up. His strength started to wane . . . limbs trembling with the effort to stand . . . he found himself out of breath after only a moment’s exercise, though he knew he should be stronger. Asking Diosa hadn’t elucidated much for the maroon male; she wanted him to . . . seek out others? Other wolves? Gigantic paws pressed into the firm summer dirt, stumbling only a few times on stray roots. Rogan had to shake his head to erase the disgust clouding his focus. No . . . surely Diosa meant something else. If she wanted him to induct new members into Caidir Olc with the same poisonous kiss she’d given him, Rogan would need access to the plant she’d used. If she wanted him to . . . eat someone . . . was this part of his training? Did the Vampire Monarchy expect Rogan to hunt other putnar to prove himself? A disturbing notion—and still, Rogan might do it. Rising up the ranks meant everything to the lad. Perhaps he could find a willing “victim” to assist him on his wild quest . . .

The deeper the leech wandered into the woods, the more often he crossed paths with a recent scent-trail. One soon caught his attention: another young male, alone, who had just traveled down this way. Rogan immediately sped up—as much as his tired legs would allow—and zeroed in on the solitary boy. Ruby irises painted the trees and bushes with lurid crimson light. Rogan knew his face would shine like a beacon, and made no effort to hide himself as he charged toward the stranger’s tail. “In the name of Caidir Olc, halt!”