Followed by physical pain. Jolts of anguish interspersed with short bursts of relief.
And I realize what she’s doing.
Not on my fucking watch.
“Go,” I command. Cratos doesn’t need to be told twice; he sprints out of the arena with little concern for the people still milling about, nearly trampling several Bonded.
Within moments, I’m at my office, and in the blink of an eye, I slide off Cratos’s wide back and slam the door open. The crack of the wood against the wall doesn’t mask the sound of Meryn crashing her fist onto the stone floor.
Her golden crown—the crown we fought so hard to find again—is discarded on the floor, forgotten. Meryn’s a puddle of fabric from that stupid gown she’s still wearing.
Her knuckles are split, and blood drips down her wrist as she raises her hand once again.
Frustrated helplessness bursts forth from my chest, just like at that inn back in Linsfall when I saw the crisscrossing silver scars on her thighs.
The scars she had given herself.
“Stop that.Now,” I snap. The compulsion to protect her is so ingrained—either from years of training to do it or from that fucking mate bond.
She glares up at me from the floor through tear-filled eyes and snarls, “Or what? You’re going to make me?”
It takes all of me not to snarl right back at her. She’s infuriating.
I’m used to being in command. I tell someone what to do, and they listen to me. And this headstrong, vicious woman might outrank me, but I’ve never let rank get in the way of doing what’s right.
“Yes,” I say, moving into the room.
As I near Meryn, the sweet scent of her washes over me so strongly that I almost stumble. My head spins, and I realize the walls between us are still down.
It takes every ounce of my control not to throw myself down next to her, pin her underneath me, and lick the blood from her wounds.
“Cratos,” I hiss, closing my eyes at another hot rush of desire and protectiveness.“You are killing me here.”
“Sorry, sorry.”There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, and I wonder how sorry he really is. But the wall goes back up, and I can breathe again.
Opening my eyes, I level Meryn with another glare. “It is my responsibility to protect you from harm, even ifyouare its cause.”
“Fuck off!” she screams at me, punching her fist down onto the stone floor again. Something in her hand cracks loudly.
For fuck’s sake.
Two steps forward and I’ve reached her. She dares to raise her hand again, but I catch her wrist. It’s so small in my grip, but there’s strength behind it as she tries to pull herself away.
“Stop!” I order again, jerking her to her feet. She fights back against me, her mouth set into a focused, petulant line. Meryn’s so fixated on causing herself pain that I don’t think I’m even getting through to her.
My grip only tightens further. If she’s so determined to hurt something, thenfine.
“You want to hit something? Hurt someone?” I seethe. I yank her closer, and she stumbles into me. Then I take her hand—the one that’s not bloodied—and slap it onto my chest. “Hitme. Hurtme. I can take it.”
Her mouth falls open, and the fight goes out of her muscles. It’s like she’s finally been knocked right out of her own brain and back into her body. She relaxes against me, her surprisingly soft hand still trapped underneath my much larger one.
Heat burns right over my heart. Can she feel how hard it’s pounding?
My grip loosens, but I don’t let her go, concerned she’s going to collapse again. Meryn breathes shakily, the storm of emotion in her gradually subsiding.
I glance down to her bloodied, raw hand and watch as it heals. Anassa has used her magic on Meryn.
My eyes snap toward the direwolf’s knowing yellow-golden ones.
