Page 20 of Knight’s Absolution

Gunner wasn’t following Chaos’s lead, he had no plan. He had a one-track mind. All he could do was fight—fight to get to her.

She wasn’t dead.

She wasn’t dead.

“I’ve got you, brother.” Rocco dragged his blade across another demon’s throat. “Follow it, let it lead you,” he growled.

Yeah, Rocco knew, he knew what had flipped him out.

A demon came at Gunner and sunk his razor-sharp teeth into his arm, right through the tough crimson skin of his Kishi demon form, and hung on like a rabid dog. Gunner punched it in the forehead twice, and when it still hung off him, he pulled his blade free and planted it in the top of its head.

Its mouth released and it fell back, twitching on the floor. Rocco moved in and hacked its head from its body.

Fuck. The screams, they were growing louder, echoing through Gunner’s skull. A wave of energy, of power, washed over him so hard and fast, his knees started to buckle from the sheer power of it. Rocco caught him around the chest before he face-planted the ground.

His brothers closed in, fighting back the demons as Gunner fought to stay upright.

“Fight it. She’s waiting for you,” Rocco growled against his ear.

His words caused another spike of adrenaline, strong enough to propel Gunner forward. He followed what his female was sending out, as it grew stronger.

Oh god.

Her screams, her pain…no, it was agony, and it filled him to overflowing. He roared and swung his sword, slicing, maiming any demon who tried to get in his way, who tried to stop him from getting to her.

His brothers were behind him, finishing them for him as he ran, colliding with fucking walls, like a drunk man, snarling and growling, roaring with fear and euphoria the closer he got to her.

He reached the bottom of a set of stairs that took him deep into the basement. A door stood in front of him, and he smashed through it.

An elderly male demi-demon stood in front of another door beyond that, a kitchen knife in front of him, shaking his head furiously.

“Get out of my way,” Gunner roared. “Or I go through you.”

“I won’t let you hurt her,” he said, throat working.

Gunner wasn’t capable of articulating what this was, who he was, not this close, not when he felt her agony and fear so strongly. Not when she was calling his name. Screaming it. Screaming for him.

“She’s his mate,” Rocco said from somewhere behind him.

Then his brother was there, prying the knife from the male’s hand, moving him out of the way.

Gunner went for the door, trying to yank it open. Locked. He stepped back and charged it, smashing his body into the reinforced steel, over and over. It dented, started folding in on itself. Gunner didn’t let up, roaring so loud his vision momentarily blanked out.

With a metallic screech and a groan, the door finally gave out, and he gripped the buckled edge and tore it off the hinges, throwing it aside with a concrete-shattering crash—

Gunner froze at the threshold.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Backed into the corner, naked and motionless, she was nothing but skin and bones. One of her legs was bent at an odd angle, and her long black hair was matted around her drawn, skeletal face, but those violet eyes, so pale now they were almost white, were unmistakable. It was her.

All this time, she’d been right here. She’d been with a monster. She’d been suffering.

He’d wrapped his hand around her throat after she helped Grace escape. He’d touched her, and he’d had no idea who she was.