It’s alive. It’s mine. It’s proof that I exist.
They came.
And Raphael will go this far—just to keep me.
And for one sick, jagged second, I savor it.
Because I’d rather bleed beneath his arrow than feel nothing at all.
Writhing in the mud, my weak fists pounding against the soaked earth, I crawl, crying through the pain, through the agony knifing through me. Whatever strength I have…is fading.
Then—I hear them.
Bootsteps. Slow. Measured. Crushing mud and stone beneath their weight.
I lift my head, hair drenching my face, clinging to my lashes, blurring my sight. But even through the smear of rain and mud, I see him.Raphael.His mask is still in place, but his hair’s been pulled back, exposing the brutal, beautiful edges of his face. And god help me—something about him strikes through me like a black blade. The mask isn’t a mask anymore. It’s fused with him. I swear I glimpse both the man and the monster in that same face.
I don’t look away. I should. But I don’t. “Why are you here?” I ask, sounding shredded and sharp.
His features beneath the mask are crooked and cruel. “I came for my hat.”
The words hit like a slap. Petty. Cruel. Sharp.
“Take it, you bastard in hell!” The snarl rips from my throat before I can stop it. I don’t rip it from my head. If I do, it will mean the end.
And Raphael…he doesn’t move for it.
He turns to the others. “Cut away everything else.”
Panic spikes adrenaline through me. I thrash, but my body’s nothing now. Their hands fall on me—not rough or cruel, but terrifyingly careful—stripping away what little I have left. Rory and Jude slice through the fabric, and Seth and Vincent remove every last scrap.
Their touch isn’t malicious or lust-filled. Though they’re taking everything, it feels like a claiming, a reclaiming.
The cold hits my skin in waves, crawling up my spine, leaving me raw and exposed. Everything but the hat. The damn hat.
Seth lowers his hand toward it. Before he touches it, Raphael’s there, seizing his wrist, shoving it away. A silent command.
He won’t let them take it.
Why? Why not take it back? Isn’t that what he wanted? Why is he leaving me with this last single thread between us? The questions spark something sharp inside my chest. Not warmth. Not hope.
Curiosity.
I choke down a sob, my body trembling. The pain still burns with fire and ice, but the adrenaline from them courses through my veins.
He watches me, steady and still. Without turning to the others, he directs, “Cover her with her names.”
Jude steps closer, staring me down, carving right through all the bullshit. “My Babydoll.”
Vincent, fists clenched at his sides, gazing inside me, not through me. “My Girly.”
Seth tilts his head with a welcoming smile. “My Briella Darling.”
And Rory? My lungs stall as he kneels close, leers at me, and trails a finger down my cheek, so I shiver. “My Firecracker Lass.Is on-linn maw ay on tuc-ris.” Oh, God, did he just speak…Gaelic?
“Cover her in her high name,” Raphael commands.
Rory rises. They all straighten and speak in sync like they’ve practiced it,“Our Queen.”
