“You’re the one protecting her,” he says.
The corner of my mouth lifts faintly, happy he figured it out.
“Protecting her is a polite way to phrase it,” I reply. “Personally I prefer the termensuring the continued survival of anyone who does not threaten my mate.”
That earns the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes.
“Mate,” he repeats.
“Yes.”
He exhales slowly.
“Well,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “that explains a lot.”
“And yet,” I say, tilting my head slightly, “you came to speak with me anyway.”
Corvin shrugs.
“I figured someone probably should.”
“That someone being you.”
“Unfortunately.”
The faint humor in his tone earns a quiet huff of amusement from me.
“Bold choice for a man standing alone in an alley with a demon.”
“Trust me,” he replies dryly, “this wasn’t my first plan for the morning.”
My attention sharpens slightly.
“You mentioned a warning.”
Corvin glances toward the square where the council members are beginning to gather near the chapel steps.
“They’re planning to confine her.”
The words land like a blade sliding between ribs. For a moment the alley grows warmer.
“Explain,” I say, my voice losing its earlier humor.
“They’re calling it protective custody,” he continues quietly. “Matron Yselle claims it’s the only way to prevent further fires until the council finishes investigating.”
My jaw tightens.
“And where do they intend to keep her?”
“The old grain store near the chapel.”
A cage. The realization spreads through my mind with cold clarity. Elowen trapped in a confined space surrounded by hostile villagers. Fear rising. Terror answering before control can intervene. Infernal fire. Not a shed. Not a barn. The entire square.
Corvin watches my expression carefully.
“You see the problem.”
“Oh, I see it very clearly,” I reply.
