Birthright

Rhiannon shook her head. “They’d be hypocrites. You had the means to do what other people who’ve lost someone can only dream about,” she said. “If cancer was a physical entity I could kill, I would’ve done it a dozen times for my mother.” Cancer, another lawless thing that took lives indiscriminately, but there had been no one to blame, no justice to exact, and she had been a helpless girl of twelve. Not yet a slayer.

It should bother her, she thought. Cian had murdered men. It should at least send a buzz of warning down her spine, but it didn't. He wasn't some sociopath. What she sensed from him was tightly reined sadness.