“Kaelren!” I stumbled forward, but he was already moving.
He had Fenric pinned with one hand around his throat, the other—oh gods, the other held a knife. Not one of his throwing blades, but something crueler. A Root-touched dagger that made the air around it taste like rot.
“Touch her again,” Kaelren snarled, and his voice was barely recognizable, “and I’ll feed you to the Root piece by piece. Starting with the parts that touched her.”
“Kaelren, stop!” I tried to grab his arm, but he shook me off without looking away from Fenric.
“He had his hands on you.” Each word came out like broken glass. “His filthy fucking hands on what’s—”
“Dancing! We were just dancing!”
“That wasn’t dancing.” Kaelren pressed the blade against Fenric’s palm—the hand that had been on my hip, on my back, touching me. “That was claiming. Marking. Hunting what isn’t his to take.”
Fenric made a choked sound, eyes wide with genuine fear now. “I didn’t—I didn’t know—”
“You knew.” The blade pressed harder, drawing a bead of blood. “You saw her sitting with me. Saw her marks responding to mine. And you thought you could just take her anyway.”
“Kaelren, please—” I tried again.
“Did he touch you here?” The knife traced up Fenric’s arm, leaving a thin red line. “Here?” Another line across his chest. “Where else? Tell me where else his hands went, Elle, and I’ll carve those parts off him.”
The entire tavern had gone silent, everyone watching. Even the music had stopped.
“Let him go,” I said, and this time I put command in my voice. The kind I’d been learning to use with the marks, with the power growing inside me.
Kaelren’s eyes finally found mine, and what I saw there made my breath catch. Rage, yes, violence barely contained. But underneath it—possessive hunger that matched what I’d felt in the dream. Raw need that bordered on feral. His marks were spreading up his neck, black veins pulsing with corruption that made the air shimmer.
“Please,” I said more softly. “Not like this.”
Something in my voice cut through his fury. The knife trembled in his hand.
“He touched you,” Kaelren said, and his voice cracked. “He put his hands on you like he had the right. Like you were his to take.”
“But I’m not his,” I said quietly. “And he didn’t take anything I didn’t allow.”
That was the wrong thing to say. Kaelren’s expression shuttered into something cold and terrible. The knife moved with brutal precision, slamming through Fenric’s hand and into the wall behind him, pinning him there like an insect in a collection.
Fenric screamed.
“Kaelren!” I lunged forward, but Vashael caught me, holding me back.
“Let him finish,” she murmured in my ear. “This has been building since the glade. Better he takes it out on someone who deserves it.”
“Next time,” Kaelren said, his voice deadly calm now, “when you see a woman whose marks are responding to someone else’s, when you see power calling to power, you walk away. You don’t touch. You don’t pursue. You don’t presume. Understand?”
Fenric nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face.
Kaelren yanked the knife free with a wet sound that made several patrons flinch. Fenric collapsed, clutching his bleeding hand.
Then Kaelren turned to me, and the look in his eyes was pure possession. “We’re leaving.”
“We’re not—”
In one fluid motion, he bent and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.
“Kaelren!” I beat at his back, but he was already moving, carrying me through the stunned crowd toward the door.
The crew watched with expressions ranging from shock to entertainment. Bryx whooped. Vashael looked deeply satisfied. Even Sarnyx cracked a rare smile.
