And then somehow, he recovered, because he was no longer there, crouching over the ground, but touching my shoulder. I blindly swung toward it with a shout. A strong grip caught my arm.
Somehow, through his injuries, he was back on his feet and—
“Etarla.”
My arm still trapped, I kicked. Spun in. Jammed my elbow into a rock-hard torso. I heard a soft grunt above my head, and a muscled arm banded over my chest and free arm, sealing me to his front.
Caught.I was caught. Should have never spun and gotten so close—
“Etarla. It’s—for fuck’s—”
The words were lost to panicked chaos as I dropped my entire body weight. He held fast. I yanked on my knife hand, needing to use my weapon, but his grip was an iron manacle. Then my feet left the ground, and I was carried to the gray stone wall before me.
“Let me go!” I shouted, flailing my legs. My injured side and thigh screamed in protest. He was going to kill me.
Too quickly, I was pressed against cool stone, my chest and arms, my legs, my very face held immobile between a muscled body and the wall.
“Carella.”
The name, spoken low in my ear, cut through the chaos. Anyone could know my name, butthatname had only been said by—
“It’s over. He’s dead. They’re all dead. It’s alright.” Harthon added more words, more murmured reassurances in a quiet, deep timbre that soothed the jagged edges of my panic.
That body behind me was no longer a captor, but familiar safety. Warmth. Protection.
I sagged.
“That’s it,” he gently encouraged, lowering me to my feet. But he didn’t release his hold on my arms, keeping me cocooned in his heat. “Drop the dagger.”
But what if more men came? What if my attacker wasn’t actually dead, and he tried to kill me again?
“You’re safe now. It’s over. I need to help you, but first, you have to release this dagger so you don’t hurt yourself or me.”
“I’m not capable of hurting you,” I whispered.
“Yes, you are.”
Not with the blade, no.
His hand slid from my forearm to the hilt in my palm. My arm tugged, unwilling to surrender my only defense, but his grip was too firm.
“I’m here,carella.” Lips brushed my hair. “I’m your weapon and your shield. You don’t need this blade right now.” One long finger soothed over the top of my hand, gently coaxing.
With a shaky exhale, I peeled my fingers away, just as the stone wall swam. He quickly removed the weapon and tossed it away. Then he carefully rotated me until his leather armor, not the wall, was what blurred before my eyes, his arm around myback keeping me upright. My injuries burned, increasing in their intensity as my muscles liquified.
I was going to pass out.
But I couldn’t pass out, because I needed to see, needed to know—
I tipped to the side, looking for my attacker’s body. Harthon gently righted me, but not before I saw the man’s legs splayed out on the blood-stained ground.
More bodies to add to the count.
More bloodshed heaped upon the last few days.
Too much of both, following me. Would it ever end?
“Stefano? The boy?” I managed in a shaky voice.
