Roman took stock of Violet’s injuries. “I don’t know.” Every emotion clawed at his insides as he prayed to the very gods he hated.
“I’ll send for a healer.”
Roman hurried through the man’s front door, and a young woman on the couch jumped with a squeak. The knitting supplies in her lap scattered on the ground with a loud clank.
The man motioned to Violet. “Fayline, get something to clean her up, please.”
“Yes, Papa.” She hurried into the kitchen while the man led Roman into a bedroom and motioned to a small bed barely big enough for two people. The modest room had wooden floors with no rugs, two side tables, and a small fireplace opposite the bed.
Violet shook uncontrollably in Roman’s arms, and he knew if he didn’t calm her down, she’d go into shock. “Is there anything under the bed?”
The man hesitated and bent down to look under the wooden frame. “There are a few boxes, Your Grace. Old clothes, mostly.”
“Pull them out.”
Roman kissed the top of Violet’s head. “You’re safe, princess. I’ve got you.” Her soft cries gutted him. He’d never felt more helpless than he had watching her from the other side of the barrier. Especially when Vivian had appeared. Had she hurt Violet, there wasn’t a place in Eden she could hide from him.
Roman thanked the gods for Griff, who’d instructed his team to surround War. The guards couldn’t see Violet through Roman’s glamour, and when they’d started toward Vivian, Roman saw Violet’s devastation, thinking he’d called her vile sister his queen. The image would haunt him forever.
Once the man had pulled everything out from under the bed, Roman kneeled on the floor and gently laid Violet down. “Can you crawl under on your own?”
She looked from him to the bed, nodded, and tucked her body underneath.
“Here, Your Grace,” Fayline said, handing him a wet cloth.
He murmured his thanks and tried to crawl under the bed, but the frame was too low for his broad chest. “Fuck.” Stretching out his arm, he covered Violet’s hand with his. Her cries stopped, replaced by sniffles and quiet whimpers. “Can you come closer so I can clean your face?” Dirt and gravel clung to the blood and scrapes marring her skin.
She scooted closer, and he tried to release her, but she shook her head and squeezed his hand tighter. “Please, don’t leave me.”
Every piece of him broke. He’d done this to her. He’d made her think he would leave her like this. “I’m not leaving. I need to clean your face.”
Her eyes bounced between his and she released him. Roman gingerly wiped away the few pieces of gravel still clinging to her face, flinching with every wince and hiss she made. Once he’d cleaned the cuts to the best of his abilities, he dropped the towel behind him and reached for her hand again.
“Go bring more towels,” the old man instructed his daughter. Roman startled, having forgotten they were there.
Violet’s shaking hand held his like a lifeline. “They shot War,” she said on a broken whisper.
Roman wedged his head under the bed, his large body sticking out at an awkward angle, and brought her hand to his lips. “War is fine. He’s on his way.”
Violet’s teary voice broke his heart. “How?”
Roman smiled tenderly. “Familiarshave fast healing to prevent them from dying before their bonded. Decapitating them or cutting out their vital organs is the only way to kill them.”
She graced him with a feeble smile, and Roman sensed her overwhelming relief.
No, hefeltit.
His breath stalled, and he concentrated on the emotions coursing through him. The relief evaporated like a lingering dream, and disappointment hit him hard when he only sensed his own.
He didn’t know how long they laid there, nor did he care. He only cared about her safety, both mind and body. Everything else could wait.
Roman pulled his head out from under the bed and looked at the man and his daughter. “My tigon will be here any moment. Please open the front door or he’ll break it down.”
The man left quickly, but Fayline stayed rooted to the spot. Her cool, medium brown cheeks paled, and her brown eyes almost popped out of her head.
“He’s friendly,” Roman assured her, but when War prowled through the bedroom door, she yelped and backed into the wall. War ignored her, rounded the bed, and laid on the other side, sticking his paw underneath the frame.
More footsteps entered the room, and Roman glanced over his shoulder at Ares. “Is she alright?” his friend asked.
