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And by the time I realized she truly was that sweet and pure, I had fallen for her.

I couldn’t stop myself from stroking her beautiful lock of hair.

“I meant to bring you back,” I pled. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Pain and anguish wracked my body. I should never have left Léonie alone after I’d learned they’d been shot at. I should never have assumed Hugo was the target.

I should never have taken her out of our home in the first place.

But all I’d been able to see was my revenge. The culmination of the grudge I had held tight against my heart for years.

And she’d be safer, I told myself. Much safer down in the valley.

Because of course I couldn’t have told her what was going on.

I knew my Léonie, she was as sheltered and innocent as could be, the truth would have been read all over her face.

And it had to look real.

In one fell swoop I could accomplish two things.

Eliminate the Pinoteaux threat and get revenge for my Papé death.

Léonie should have been safe. A few weeks away in the lodge. Just until my revenge was complete.

And now she had died thinking I scorned her. That I wanted another woman. That she was a whore.

My stomach heaved and I drove my head into the hard wood of the table. Over and over, until the room swam around me and blood ran into my eyes.

Then I opened my mouth and roared. Cursed, raged, begged the ancestors to bring my wife back to me.

“Do not take her! You can’t have her yet! I need her too badly!”

But there was no answer.

Desperately, I opened the wound on my arm, let it run over the table where she lay.

“Ancestors, hear my blood, bring her and our baby back. Take me instead."

I gripped the vial of Papé’s blood, but for once it did not sing to me, beg me for justice.

Had more bloodshed been what he wanted or was that my own desire for domination and arrogance?

How much of her pregnancy had I spent unseeing, unappreciative, waiting for my revenge to be complete?

With a ragged breath, I took her hand in mine, turning it over so we were palm to palm.

The last time I would ever hold her hand in mine.

Painful, bloody tears blurred my vision.

They felt strange coursing down my cheeks, carving bitter trails along my skin.

Fuck me for a fool.

Had she suffered for long? Did she call out for me? Was her last thought wondering where I was?

Did she despair as she died, that I who had promised to always protect her, had abandoned her?