"You know all you need to do is give the word," Lyrit purred, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "and your little problem will disappear."

Lyrit was nothing if not devoted, after all. Once someone had his loyalty—and this master of this tiny rural guild most certainly had earned it, after taking him in—they would be his to serve until his dying breath. He'd do anything, kill anyone, without hesitation. That was how he'd ended up in this situation in the first place.

A former member of the Order of Shadows, a secret organization within the Kingdom of Fairhart that did the "virtuous" royal family's dirty deeds, Lyrit had always known that defection meant being hunted for the rest of his life. Loyal as he was to the exiled knight Adalbert, however, he hadn't even thought twice about leaving. Lyrit had been one of the Order's best agents, and confident in his ability to fend off pursuers.

That belief had been a mistake. For once, his confidence had been misplaced. The Order had targeted his weakness—Adalbert—to hurt him. Lyrit had fought tooth and nail to defend the exile, which had put him on the brink of death. It had been the guildmaster's strange, miraculous power that had saved him. Not only that, it had been the first time in his life that anyone had done something for him without expecting anything in return.

He was smitten.

It was a matter of time before the Order came for him and those he held dear again, but Lyrit's death had awakened something in him. Something dark, and primal, and powerful. He would be ready for them. He would be ready for anyone who dared to touch those under his protection. He would sink his claws into their flesh and show them what it meant to go after what was his.

"Just say the word," he repeated. A rival guildmaster had been causing trouble ever since their little guild had begun to gain traction. The man was insufferable; Lyrit couldn't stand him. "I'll tear the skin from his bones. Make him sing your name as he begs for mercy." Lyrit licked his lips. "You'll let me, won't you?"