We reach the truck quicker than I expected. Too focused on the woman I’m trying to save, my hands are clenched into fists, my knuckles white, but there’s nothing I can do to change the past few hours.
Raphael speaks, cool and detached as always, barking orders at Vincent to get Briella into the truck. I insist on riding up front with her in my arms. Need to be with her, to monitor her.
I’m cataloging every symptom, every detail, because it keeps me from focusing on her too long. Because if I do, I’ll start to feel, and I can’t afford that right now. Not when I’m watching the girl I swore to protect like a pale doll someone forgot on the roadside.
She’s mine to care for now until she’s healed. I’ll make damn sure of it.
On the way back, I watch her every movement, memorizing what’s happening, how her body reacts to my touch. I have to. Because I can’t even look at the man driving next to me without wanting to rip him apart. But I can’t let myself get lost in that right now—not when Briella’s suffering.
She can’t overheat anymore, especially with that arrow wound. The bandage on her calf has to stay dry. Once she’s clean, we’ll work on getting fluids into her, get her temperature down. Cold shower and a cool compress. That’s the plan. Stay rational.
“Get her in the shower,” I tell Vincent after we’ve arrived, voice tight as I hand her to him. It’s been an hour since she passed out. “Use cool water, I instruct him. Keep her calf out of the water—don’t let the bandage get wet. Elevate it, just like I showed you.”
Vincent doesn’t argue. He just nods, and I watch as he gently moves Briella, cradling her like she’s fragile, which she is right now. I want to stay and help, but something else needs to happen first.
The others follow Vincent inside, Rory muttering something unintelligible. Raphael waits by the truck. He knows. He knows the storm going down inside me.
We’re not safe with each other. Most of the time, I am merely his second in command, the healer he depends on to keep everyone stitched together. Tonight, I need to face him down like his equal if I don’t want to unravel.
When I turn, he’s leaning against the truck, his arms crossed, watching me approach with those predatory eyes. It’s like he can see right through me, like he’s always known what I’m thinking. But I’m not backing down this time.
“She’s mine,” I draw the line first and foremost. “To care for now. And I mean that in every fucking sense. You don’t get to touch her. You don’t get to speak to her. Not without my permission. Not until she’s healed. Understood?”
“Watch your tone, Jude,” he warns with something behind his eyes. Not rage. Not defensiveness. Something…darker. Deeper. “Know your place.”
“I know my damn place,” I snap. “I’ve known it since that fucked-up foster home where we learned how to survive. And I know your place is above me, Raphael. But that doesn’t mean I won’t call you out when you go too far. She could die. You could’ve?—”
“Done what, Jude?Savedher?” His gravelly words slice through me. “I did save her. By letting her save herself. You think I don’t know what she needs? Whatweall need?” He steps forward, closing the distance between us, and I’m pissed at how easy it is for him to dominate this space, even without trying. “There is no law and order here but mine. She will feel it in her bone marrow from now on.”
The tension grows in my chest.
Raphael’s expression shifts. “She gave me her scars. Her weakness. I showed her who she was beneath it. She needed to feel every ounce of pain. Needed to claim it. She is no longer afraid of the monster. She looked it in the eye. And kept it.”
“I’m not like you,” I growl, more to myself than to him. My tone rises despite me. “You think pain and trauma are some kind of twisted therapy? She needs support, not whatever ritualistic hellscape you want to put her through.”
“She walked through hell tonight, Jude. It’s done.Myhell. I burned every last shred of the girl she was before. Whatever remained of her identity following the Initiation turned to ash. Tonight? She fucking rose. Our Queen of the Damned forever.”
I raise my fist. The motion feels like I’ve been holding it back for a lifetime, but I don’t strike him. Because he might be a psychotic son of a bitch, but he’s nothing like the assholes of my past, the ones who betrayed me. No, Raphael was there when they tried to put me in a damn cage. He brought hell, shattered the bars, and set me free—only to imprison me to him forever.
The traitors won the battle. Raphael brought the war.
He hunted every last one down—and brought me their broken, bleeding bodies. Together? We silenced their lying tongues…forever.
I lower my fist. Because I could never hurt him. Not the one who saved my life. Saved all of us. More than once. And helped us build a life here.
I hate this feeling, this helplessness that keeps swirling around in my gut.
His voice drops again. “I didn’t give her my power. I made her take it.”
I swallow hard.
“Yes, she screamed,” he adds. “She broke. Over and over. And through the blood, the scars, and her tears…she shook her soul loose. I hold it now.” He stares me dead in the eyes, stepping closer. “What I feel for her…it’s the closest I’ll ever come to love. She…took my monster. She didn’t flinch. That means something.”
I nod, understanding as best I can.
And still. Still…
“Her care is mine now,” I grit my teeth, reiterating. “All of it. You step aside. Or I swear to every god in or above this fucked-up world—I’ll tear this place down with my bare hands to keep her safe from you.”
