Even Rory is keen on the whole shit show going down, his damn shaft hung as usual, but he’s not getting a rise out of this. We’re all fucking scared shitless at the idea of her dying. I burn my eyes against Raphael’s. He still doesn’t blink. Almost consider using the one card I have over him. Almost.
I kneel beside Jude, wrapping my hoodie around her like a makeshift blanket. “I’ll carry her.”
“I should—” Jude starts.
“No. You need your hands in case anything happens on the way to the truck.” I jerk my chin to Seth. “Help me. Keep the bag steady.” I’m already lifting her gently into my arms. I’ve also got the most body heat. Seth is at my side in seconds. Her skin is scalding, sweat slicking her brow. But she breathes. Shallow. Steady. “We’ve gotta move.”
“Back to the cabin,” Jude agrees grimly. “We’ve got less than an hour before things could turn really bad.”
He stands and turns to Raphael, his tone dropping into something colder than I’ve ever heard from him. “You went too far this time.”
Raphael doesn’t flinch. He just tilts his head, wet black hair plastered to the sides of his face, thickening the shadows. “She needed it.”
“She has a goddamn fever,” Jude growls. “That arrow wound? The hours of exposure before we caught her? You think this is a fucking game?”
Jude’s the tallest of us, and the way he moves now—towering, thunder behind his eyes—nearly stops my blood. His shadowcuts across Raphael like a blade, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll actually do it. If he’ll strike him.
But Raphael doesn’t move. Doesn’t yield. He’s above all that. Above all of us. His mouth curves into something darker than a smile.
“She needed to know,” Raphael says, tone sinister. “How far we’d go. There’s no running from us. Not anymore. She knows who she is now. And you, Jude Malachai Voss, willnotallow her to die.”
There’s a pause thick enough to choke on. Rain streaks down Jude’s face, but his expression doesn’t shift. I see it—he wants to hit him. But Raphael? He’s already claimed something bigger than life or death. And he knows it.
Raphael doesn’t have a heart. He doesn’tneeda heart.
Not when he’s already got hers. Because he took more than just her soul tonight.
“Let’s move.” Jude steps toward the forest. “Now.”
48
Jude
I NEED TO FACE HIM DOWN LIKE HIS EQUAL IF I DON’T WANT TO UNRAVEL.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Too Loud”
“Unbreakable”
“It’s Okay Not to be Okay”
My brain won’t shut up.
Temp: 101.2. Hypertensive over 140/90. Pulse: thready. Pupils: reactive but sluggish. No obvious signs of internal hemorrhage, but the arrow graze could’ve nicked a vein.
Needs antibiotics. Fluids. Rest.
We’re heading back through the woods, dressed in our wet clothes. The urgency’s sharp in the air. I can feel the tension building in my chest, the weight of what just happened dragging at me. Briella’s fever is eating her alive, and I have to get her back to the truck, get her to safety, where I can take care of her.
Raphael’s strides are confident ahead of us, like he’s in control of everything—and that fucking pisses me off. Because he always is. But tonight is the first time I’ve ever cared enough to question that control.
She’s burning up, and I know she’ll be worse before she gets better. Raphael’s already moving ahead, stone-cold, no words—not caring about the shit I’m feeling. Hell if I know whatI’m feeling. His presence looms, like an unshakable goddamn weight, like I’m beneath him.
We’re all beneath him.
But when I watched him fuck her against that tree, when I watched how they stared at each other, it was like they were standing off on some invisible battlefield. I’m well-versed in the art of battle. I’ve seen every wound and scar known to man. He mastered her in those moments. She met his gaze, and she didn’t flinch. Even when she cried out from the pain, she didn’t let go.
