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“No way. I’d rather fight you again than let you drug me.”
    â€œI hurt you; I’ll make it better.”
    â€œAnd your liquor can heal me?” she asked dryly. “Rather than make me pass out?”
    â€œYes.” Perfectly serious.
    Was that why he’d been drinking it earlier? Had someone hurt him? That blood on his pants . . . Her stomach clenched. In fear? At the thought of this man injured? What was wrong with her?
    Angry—with him, with herself—she claimed the glass and drank. Unlike the red wine/blood of last time, this went down smooth and warm, little butterflies taking flight inside her and spreading fairy dust. “If you poisoned me, I’ll . . .” Within seconds, cuts wove back together, bones realigned, and the threat died on her lips.
    â€œThere’s my pretty girl,” he said, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was affection in his tone.
    Affection? No way. Her imagination, surely. Not once had he copped a feel or tried to kiss her.
The bastard.
    Yes, something was definitely wrong with her.
    â€œRose, darling. You should know that next time, if you don’t have the answers I want, I’m going to push you harder than you’ve ever been pushed. I’m going to make you bleed and beg for mercy I don’t have. So I’d be careful about visiting unannounced, if I were you.”

Chapter Three
    Vasili remained in his war tent a long while after Rose disappeared. Twelve hours. That was as long as a resisting Walker remained before their world sucked them back—unless they were bonded to someone here and returned on their own. Then
they
could decide how long to stay. Would Rose dare?
    He breathed deeply. The scent of her lingered. Roses, like her name. Dewy, uncut. Unexpected.
    Beautiful female.
Foolish
female. She had no idea of the danger she was in.
    She should have died a spy’s death that first night here, for that was what his army had assumed she was. A spy from one of the three kingdoms surrounding his. And as protective as they were of him, spies
suffered.
But Vasili had been in camp and they’d given the honor of killing her to him. One look, though, and he’d known. Not a spy. A Dimension Walker.
    Had his men realized the truth, a spy’s death would have felt like foreplay to her. But unlike Vasili, they hadn’t spent most of their life hunting Walkers. Slaughtering them. Most Walkers were male, and that was what his people expected, but every so often, a female came. Rose had been far too timid to be a spy, and he’d recognized that wild, confused look in her eyes. Many a Walker had died by his sword wearing that same expression.
    Foolish
man.
He should have killed Rose himself. Anyone else would have.
    Walkers were born in her world, but bonded at least one day a year to this one, just as he’d told her. Why, he didn’t know. What he did know: Walkers were the only ones capable of moving between the light—her world—and the dark—his.
    Decades ago, his people had welcomed them. Given them food and shelter, protection. They had been taken to the royal palace, questioned by the king himself, for the king had hoped to find a way for his people to travel into the light. But though many Walkers had mated and decided to stay here, they’d never gotten over their fear of the Monstrea, the “monsters,” and decided to destroy them.
    Thus began the process of the Walkers finding one another, building their army, planning the perfect way to strike and cut down the royal family.
Vasili’s
family. As a boy, he’d watched his father, mother, all three of his sisters, and one of his brothers fall to guns and grenades. He and Jasha, his youngest brother, had barely escaped alive.
    The Walkers would have gotten away with their crimes, never to be punished, but like Rose, they had to return at least once a year. Though Vasili had been crowned king of the