Elias glanced at Cason, a subtle tilt of his head to get him closer before he stepped over Ivan’s body and knelt in front of her. “Look at me.” He rested his sword on the ground and gripped her cheeks. “Look at me.”
Brela blinked and focused on Elias. “My name… name is Bre… my name is Brela and I…” A broken sob. “I…” Her face crumpled, tears falling. “I don’t want to be here, El. I don’t want to be here.”
Elias pulled her into his arms, crushing her into his chest. “I know, Bre.”
Her body shook, convulsing between each pained cry as Elias twined his fingers through her hair. She dug her face into his shoulder, hands desperately clutching at his shirt to hold him closer.
Silently, Cason collected her throwing knives and Night Carver. As he cleaned them, he surveyed the mess and ran a hand through his hair. Thank the gods it didn’t sound like anyone was running this direction to check on the noise, but the blood and bodies… The patrols would find them in the morning if they weren’t careful.
Four hells, she had done this. She’d been close to ripping these men limb from limb. She’d dragged out their deaths and didn’t care about their suffering. She’d been fighting for revenge.
Cason had forgotten what she was.
He looked up and flinched as Brela’s pale blue eyes met his over Elias’s shoulder. She blinked once, and the fog cleared.
“I want to go home.”
Elias sat back and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “We will. Soon, I promise, but we can’t go back to Averlyn until—“
“Not that home,” Cason whispered.
She nodded, and Elias realized it a second later. “Of course,” he replied.
Brela’s gaze drifted from Cason’s as Elias untangled her from his arms and helped her stand. Cason didn’t need to turn to know where she was looking. In a daze, she stepped forward, tugging Elias with her.
Elias looked at Cason, pain in his eyes as Brela continued walking with him in tow. “Farr should—“
“I’ll take care of it,” Cason said with a nod.
As Elias and Brela walked toward the house, Cason hurried up the hill and tried to figure out how he’d explain to Farrah what happened.
* * *
The house was…well, it was standing, at least. Elias studied the blood-stained exterior, broken door and windows, and smashed left and front walls. Stone and purple glass littered what looked like the kitchen, a phantom wind rustling tattered curtains in what remained of the back windows. Furniture was in splinters and upturned, scattered across the floor.
Picked clean. Her… her home.
Brela trembled in his grip as she stepped over the debris. Not just a subtle shaking, but tremors that rattled her teeth and bones and shook him too. Elias hated the noise. Hated the pain that he’d seen crack her so completely.
Hated how quickly she’d snapped.
He’d already cursed himself for letting Cason go to get her. It was the right move initially. Cason was more skilled with a sword, as he’d learned when Cason had disarmed him so quickly during their shit rescue before the Wraturo.
But Elias should have known his friend would be triggered by being here. It was stupid to let those two go in alone. Even if Elias had seen their dynamic—seen how Brela’s eyes cleared whenever she looked at the fire wielder—it was foolish to think Cason would be prepared to fight alongside her under the circumstances. To distract her in the right moments and keep her in her own head.
He thanked every god except Ryia that Farrah had shoved him out of the stables to help after he’d delivered the horses. Thanked them again when he made it in time to stop Brela from shredding that stupid man to within an inch of his life.
Because Brela’s eyes had flickered, not just with anger, but with color. The man she’d been prepared to torture had seen it. Cason, miraculously, hadn’t, and Brela had silenced her target seconds before he’d revealed it.
She’d slipped into that cold, murderous rage. She’d been prepared to send that idiotic looter to the afterlife seeing purple, and Elias had been prepared to shove his blade through her shoulder to keep her from tumbling further into her power.
Perhaps what surprised him the most, besides now standing in the home that Brela had grown up in, was that the color had faded so quickly from her eyes. It might have been easier for her to fall into that power, but this wasn’t the first time it hadn’t taken over completely.
Gerrart’s home. At the inn. With the Wraturo. She was getting stronger.
He stared at the woman still shaking in his grip.
The Night Terror. The Veil Scholar. The Shadow Speaker.
