“Stop,” he said, voice gruff.
I didn’t.
“Wait—”
I spun and tried to run, before his arm barred me in, a terrified noise coming out of my throat, lips opening to sing, before his other hand slapped over my mouth.
My eyes grew wide and panicked as I struggled against his grasp, weak but determined.
“Rubi,” he snapped, and I froze.
What?
“Calm down.”
Letting go of my mouth, which was now just as frozen as the rest of me, the Ravager reached up and pulled off his mask.
28
Blake.
Blake, with bronze hair wild, his face resigned. His chest was rising and falling, his shoulders tense.
“Let me go,” I cried out, shoving at him.
He released me immediately, backing off with his hands raised, glancing around as though to ascertain we were truly alone. It looked like a mirage—none of it real or believable.
Yvonne and Poppy rushed into his arms with a cry.
Blake bent down and caught them both, his massive frame folding around them. Poppy buried her face against his chest, tiny fingers clinging to his shirt, while Yvonne’s breath shuddered against his shoulder.
For a moment, he just held them. But over their shoulders, he kept his eyes on me, expression intense.
Then his eyes closed, relief sagging his shoulders, his hand cradling the back of Poppy’s head. His body was still coiled for battle, but for now, they were safe.
After a long moment, he released them. His icy gaze lifted back to me. He took a step forward, jaw tight, his eyes sweeping over me.
I could still hear my own heartbeat, still feel the raw ache in my throat from whatever that song had been. I stepped backward instinctually until my shoulders hit the wall.
Blake stopped and exhaled, his voice barely under control. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head as I swallowed, my whole body shaking, my breath coming fast.
Blake’s gaze sharpened, his eyes dragging over me with the kind of scrutiny that made my pulse stutter. “You are bleeding.”
“She hit her head, Blake,” Yvonne called. “Hard.”
I barely had time to blink before he was there, crossing the space between us in a few long strides.
His hands, calloused from battle and honed for war, cradled my head with an unbearable gentleness. A thumb brushed against my pulse, a fleeting touch. His jaw was tight, focus absolute. He was bleeding from half a dozen wounds but didn’t seem to notice.
I gripped his wrist in my hand. “Flame,” I begged, nearly delirious. “The tygers—they—”
“I know,” he cooed, eyes softening for a moment.
Flame rumbled in my mind,I am all right, dear one. I can rest now that you are safe.
“Kingsolver was able to contact me.” A quick half smile pulled his mouth. “Smart, Rubi.”
