He felt her shake her head and she rubbed in the polish, buffing his horns to a shine. “Not as much. I can feel him, but it’s quieter, like he’s far away. He’s distracted, I think.”
“I’m glad. I want you to feel safe here.”
“I do.” She finished polishing his horns and stroked his ears to the points to remove the excess from her hands. Purr unfurling,he leaned his head back against her, pillowed on her breasts. “I worry—” She paused, and he was instantly on guard.
“What? Tell me,” he demanded, purr cutting off. He sat up and turned so he could see her face.
Hanna looked miserable. “I worry that if he returns after the birth, he will seek the child out. Aalis says that gargoyles have a blood-bond with their hatchlings just as they do with their mates.”
Rikard’s heart thudded. She was not alone in that concern. “Only for the first few years. I will keep the child safe until it fades, I swear it. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She bit her lip, eyes lowered, and he could tell she was unconvinced. “You don’t know him like I do. When he’s angry, it feels like my head is on fire. When he realizes we have a child, I fear what he’ll do. I don’t think he’ll stop until he’s satisfied that one or both of us are dead.”
“Then we must stop him.” His hand found hers and kissed her tender, pin-pricked fingertips, studded with her sacrifice. “I know it’s painful to recall, but if you can think back to his attacks…anything he said or did that might identify him. Any words he spoke to you. How he looked or smelled. Anything.”
Tears instantly filmed her eyes, and he pulled her into his chest. She curled her feet into his lap and wrapped her arms around him. Voice muffled against him, she said, “I have tried so hard not to remember. It hurts.”
“I know. I know.” He rocked her back and forth. He knew better than anyone the pain of memory. It’s why most of his were still trapped behind mind walls. “I am too cowardly to face my past, but you are much braver than I am, Hanna. You only need to do this once, and then I will take care of the rest. I will find him and make sure he never hurts you or anyone else ever again.” It was a rash promise, but one he would keep, no matter the cost or the time it took.
Her panicked breathing slowed and steadied as he held her. Finally, she said, “He smelled like…mead, I guess. Something sweet and fermented.”
“That’s good,” he said encouragingly. It could describe half the gargoyles in Solvantis on any given night, but that cut his suspects by half.
“I never saw much of him. He would push my face into a corner or wall at first. And eventually, I would close my eyes when he came, so I could pretend it wasn’t happening.” Poor Hanna sounded exhausted.
Of course she was. It took effort to dredge up the past, and more than that, she hadn’t been getting enough sleep due to his demands. The discomforts of pregnancy were interfering in the hours he wasn’t. She needed to rest.
But she went on, even though her whole body was quaking. “He didn’t say much except insults. He called me filthy, a dirtcrawler. He said gargoyles had bled and died for me, had their lives stolen. He said I wasn’t worthy of life, that I should have died instead of…someone. A name I can’t remember.”
Rikard’s chest grew tight, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. Those insults… they rang familiar. So fucking familiar. But it couldn’t be, could it? He had to ask. “Was the name Valric?”
She blew out a short breath. “Maybe. That sounds right. I’m not sure, I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine. You’ve done so well. You’ve given me so much.” He tried to keep his voice calm even though his insides were roiling.
She lifted a tearstained face to his. “I’m afraid it won’t be enough to catch him before he—before he—” She broke off with a hitch, unable to finish the thought.
“He won’t find you.” He cupped her face in his hand, claws retracted. “I’m going to find him first.”
She searched his face, looking for something. Truth? Hope? “You don’t know who he is or where he is.”
“Trust me. Go to sleep now. It’s almost dawn and you’ve been up all night.”
She let him carry her to her to bed, and he stroked her hair until she slept and dawn broke.
Frozen all day on his roost with nothing else to distract him, he turned the pieces she’d given him over in his mind, building a picture.
A gargoyle who hated humans and blamed them for a loved one’s death. An expert hunter who’d been quiet and distant for the past few weeks. One whose anger burned hotter than fire.
It had to be Drogan.
Drogan, whose brother had died because of Lord Lamont’s treachery. Drogan, whose resentment toward humans had festered into hatred. Who had refused to attend Rikard’s wedding, refused to meet the bride, refused to enter any room where she was present.
It wasn’t because he couldn’t stomach a human living in the Tower. It was because he couldn’t stomach seeing the woman he’d been punishing in secret seated at his friend’s side.
Drogan was the one who had hunted her. Who had driven a bite into Hanna’s shoulder over and over, who twisted the mate bond into something terrible. Who had fathered the child in her belly by force.
Drogan, his friend.
