I’m shaking. Ready to lose it. Every muscle in my body wants todo something,toundosomething. I rise, the rage escaping through my clenched teeth?—
And Raphael’s hand clamps around my throat.
His grip is not violent. It’s firm, final.
His brows dive lower than ever, the shadows like writhing phantoms around his damn eyes.Don’t.
I freeze.
She sees it. Sees me. And smiles. Touches me again. Fecking wrecking me.
“I knew then. I was almost twenty. The Prophet was ready to reverse my ligation. Said I’d been “cleansed” long enough.”
Cleansed. I almost vomit.
“I was perfect,” she says, sounding like a blade on bone. “Perfect for breeding.”
She inhales, building her strength. “I faked being sick. Vomited all over my bed so I wouldn’t have to go to mass.”
Smart. Brave. She’s a fucking legend.
“They sent an orderly to bring me medicine. I stabbed him in the throat and took his mask, his coat. Used the code. Got into the Prophet’s office. Stole the gold bars.”
Holy shit.
“I snuck out the delivery entrance. No cameras. Just me.” And then she looks up. “I ran like hell.”
Her hand falls from my cheek. “I never stopped running.” And then her gaze sweeps across all of us. “Not until I foundyou.”
Raphael releases her. Lets her go.
Jude moves to heal her.
I charge first. I’mon herin a heartbeat. I don’t think. I just move.
My arms go around her in a honeymoon hold, lifting her like something as precious as that gold, and something so beautifully damned, only she could be our Queen. Jude barks something behind me, but I tighten my grip, muscles flexing.
I turn to him, staring my brother down, the fire roaring through my veins.
“Kinship Law.”
I don’t speak. Bad blood. Purge the bad blood.
And Briella—oh, bloody Christ, she clings to me.
Her head presses to my shoulder, lips brushing the ruined edge of my ear. And I’d live in that moment if she wanted. Let her teeth take every bite of flesh she wanted.
Raphael nods to me once.
Shoving past the Doc, I carry her out. I take her down the hall and to the shower where she once poisoned me, burned me for two weeks with all that fecking oil.
After removing the compression sleeve over the scar and the tiny bits of missing flesh, I get us under the water. Cold, then hot, then just warm enough not to burn. I lower us to the floor and hold her there. Let it wash us both.
We say nothing.
Then I touch her. Running my fingers down her cheeks, her throat, her chest. Palm over her beating heart.
Ah, fuck! She touches mine, too. Might as well be claws carving me open and ripping the organ from my chest.
