“I will not—” he wielded each word like the cut of a surgical scalpel “—letanyonehurt you.” His head lowered to separate her light from the darkness coursing through him—the darkness he now craved—his eyes locked on her hurt face. His growl vibrated in his chest. “Especially not him.”
He ripped away from her, and she fell on her hands with a gasp.
“Zayne!” She yelled it at a door that was already slamming shut, cutting off whatever else she said.
The Phaedra promised her life to Zayne, and yet his brother hit her in the face hard enough to swell like that. Why did he do it? Luke had never raised a hand against a civilian in his life that Zayne recalled, and most definitely never a woman. Never someone in captivity and utterly defenseless. Never someone smaller than him.
He didn't want to imagine his brother hitting her in the face, but he kept seeing all the ways it might have happened. Kira collapsing, or hitting the wall, or her body bouncing off the floor. The violence he knew too well painted nightmarish portraits in his mind of how his brother might have hurt her, and it conjured images he'd evaded for years now.
Luke's hand smacking into Kira's face blurred into his palm cupping Nadia's bare skin.
If Luke wanted to fuck Nadia, he could do it all he wanted. She looked so incredibly willing. But his brother would never touch Kira again.
Never.
Or he was actually dead this time.
Those hands haunted Zayne's mind until he froze at the Rail station, realizing he had left Kira alone while injured. Struggling for breath, he looked back at the security entrance of the prison, eyes rising to the top of the building where that tiny square light offered her so little warmth.
Thepull demanding that he return to her warred with the primal need to rip his brother's face off. What protected her in the long run? Wasn't she right when she warned him about the danger?
Luke said he'd be watching. He promised that from the very beginning of this ordeal.
A scream—no, a roar—pounded against his chest and throat, hisses of it creeping out from his tight jaw. Breath coming fast and hard, he closed his eyes, grasping at the ripped seams of his mask. But that only unraveled it all more and more every second.
Control. Control. He needed—
Zayne jammed his fist against the tender wound where his brother unknowingly stabbed him. After the nightly doses of pure PXI, he healed so well that he trained without hindrance, but a direct impact hurt.
There wasn't a single step he took back to Kira that didn't feel like he needed to saw his legs off to keep going.
Everything inside of him drove him to find Luke and teach him what happened when he put his hands on her.
Kira begged him that awful night, though.
“No more blood.”
When he opened the door to her cell, he stared at the ground, because if he looked at her and saw her pain again, he'd lose his tenuous hold on this desperation.
“You're back,” Kira said. The words sounded so painful. What did the inside of her cheek look like?
“Can you open your jaw fully?” he asked. “Move it from side to side?”
“I can. I'm just sore.”
Just.
The fire climbed again, and he needed air before he exploded. “Outside.” He kept the gruff word quiet, not wanting to scare her. But Zayne lacked the ability to soften anything he said right now.
They walked in that tense silence and stepped out into the sun together. His head throbbed from the episode of rage. Walking to the fence, he stared out over the green field below, clasping the rungs so hard the metal groaned and cut into his palms. Gray prison walls with tall guard towers mocked him, reminding him that they were trapped in the Phaedra's prison.
“I really am okay,” Kira said, easing beside him.
“Don't take care of me.” His hold tightened even more. “You're hurt.”
“So are you.”
He unleashed a mix of sigh and groan that rattled from his chest. “Kira.”
