Текст книги "The wolf and the crown of blood"

Автор книги: Elizabeth May

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

“So this is what’s going to happen,” she continues. “You’ll let me leave here because that’s the bargain we struck. And then you’ll hunt me in Vartena, and when you catch me… it’ll be my death that settles the score. One insignificant mortal to balance the scales. It’s only fair, isn’t it? A tithe long overdue. So, kill me however you want. Do whatever makes the pain less for you.”

There’s a word for what I’m feeling. This gnawing ache burrowing into all my soft places. A word I can’t tell her, or I’ll never let her go.

I can only watch as she leans up to brush her lips over mine. The contact is feather-light and devastating, a goodbye and an apology. A feedback loop of hunger ricocheting between us.

I taste salt. Smoke. Sorrow. The drum of a shared heartbeat, frantic and stuttering. It feels like flying and plummeting. Like losing solid ground. She presses her forehead to mine, our noses brushing—fighting for air, for equilibrium.

“You told me once that you would crave me in any lifetime, across every eternity. And I wanted to tell you… I’d find you in all of them. At the end of everything, when the stars winked out one by one. In the dark and the cold and the nothing. So I’ll wait for you, in some other forever. Where there’s no blade between us. When we can mean more than nothing.”

Then she turns away, and every instinct howls at me to lunge and pin her down. But I don’t. I lock my muscles and clench my jaw until my teeth ache.

“Three days,” I tell her, and there’s no gentleness left. No softness or sweetness. “I’ll give you three days to settle your debts. And then I’m coming for you.”

Bryony pauses at the threshold. “I’ll be waiting.”

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40

BRYONY

AMARA LANDS US in the woods outside of Hellevig. The familiar spires and red roofs of the palace pierce the sky in the distance, and the walled forest where I first met Evander is visible even from here.

The memory of his touch lingers on my skin—the press of his mouth, the honey-rough rasp of his voice. Everything I can’t have. Everything I don’t get to keep.

All this exquisite skin I love marking up? It’s born from atrocity.

When he kissed me under the griefwood, I felt the echoes of wounds that will never heal, losses that fester and rot. All the dark places inside him my family helped create.

Can you even imagine the violence it took to make me this monstrous?

My chest clenches around the memory of his words. He’s spent centuries with that loss lodged behind his ribs like a blade. Centuries with nothing to bleed out the poison.

“You good?” Amara asks, tucking her wings close.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes,” I say. “Tunnels are this way.” I jerk my chin toward a crumbling stone archway nearly swallowed by vines. “Help me with the door?”

The rusted grate shrieks as we heave it open. Amara conjures a wisp of light, its blue glow casting shadows on the decrepit entrance.

She arches a brow at me. “Charming. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

“Would you prefer I waltz up to the palace gates and announce myself?”

“Point taken.”

We descend into the tunnels, each step kicking up decades of dust and debris. These passages haven’t been used since the god-human war, when my ancestors needed escape routes in case the gods breached palace defenses. The decay is clear in the scent of mold, the drip of water in the distance, the cracks along the walls.

After a while, we reach the hatch that will spit us out in the palace kitchens.

“Wait here,” Amara murmurs. “I’ll scout the patrol patterns.”

She scales the ladder and disappears up into the kitchens.

Hurry, I urge her in my head. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

After a few minutes, a soft scuff signals her return. “East wing guards just cycled through,” she whispers as she descends the ladder. “Servants have been asleep for an hour at least. We’ve got maybe ten minutes before the next patrol.”

I set down my pack, already mapping the route in my head. “I’ll get Theo myself. If any guards need dealing with, better not risk Alexios sensing your involvement.”

Her mouth thins, but she doesn’t argue. “Watch yourself, then. There’s a guard posted at her door you’ll need to handle quietly.”

“Got it.” I check my daggers in their sheaths, their weight already warm and familiar. “Be ready to fly her to safety once we clear the tunnels.”

“And you?”

“I’ll deal with my uncle and hide out until you circle back.” I swallow hard. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Thank me by not getting caught. Now get up there.”

I haul myself up. The kitchen is eerily silent at this hour, massive brick ovens cold and dark. I stick to the walls, muscle memory making my footsteps soundless as I move past shelves laden with preserved goods.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I take off down the corridor, skirting pools of shadow, keeping low. The thick runner muffles my steps as I head for the antechamber and up the stairs to the family wing of the palace.

Hurry, hurry. Get Theodora and get out.

I’m passing the second-floor landing when a jaunty whistle splinters the hush. Heavy footsteps echo up the stairwell, growing louder.

Guard on patrol.

I press myself into the deepest shadows, lungs burning as I hold my breath and track the guard’s progress—the steady tromp of boots drawing closer, then beginning to fade as he continues his rounds.

My heart thunders. I count my breaths. In for seven. Hold. Out for eleven. Repeat. Just like Amara taught me.

When I ease out of hiding, the final stretch of the corridor unfolds before me. At the far end, a guard slouches against my sister’s door, his head nodding toward his chest.

I creep forward on silent feet. Closer. Closer. Just a few more steps separate me from my target. The guard’s breathing remains deep and even.

Until suddenly, it isn’t.

He jerks awake. His brow creases in confusion when he sees me—recognizes me—and he opens his mouth to speak. But I’m already moving. My palm clamps over his lips, and I slide my knife free, driving the blade deep into his throat. Hot blood wets my fingers as I twist the weapon loose.

He collapses to the carpet. Crimson spreads around his body, pooling beneath my boots. I stare at him for a long moment, something cold and ugly twisting behind my ribs—a snarled knot of feeling too tangled to parse.

Focus. No time for guilt.

I slip into Theodora’s chambers. Moonlight spills across the floor, painting everything in shades of silver. And there, sprawled in the center of the bed, is my sister.

“Theo, wake up.”

“Bry?” Her voice is thick with sleep as she stirs and sits up. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, obviously.”

She gapes at me for a heartbeat, chest heaving, and then she launches herself at me in a fierce embrace. “Gods, I’ve missed you, you reckless idiot.”

“You didn’t tell me anything in your letters.” I hug her back just as hard. “Overthrowing Uncle? I had to find out through demi gossip.”

Releasing me, she fumbles for the bedside lamp. “I hadn’t played my hand yet. The bastard struck preemptively and moved to corral my supporters. I’m almost impressed, truthfully. It’s the most initiative he’s shown in ages.”

The light flares, throwing her face into sudden, horrifying relief. Bile claws up my throat. One eye is blackened and swollen shut, and her lip is split down the center. Bruises bloom across her delicate features.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” I breathe.

“And I’ll gladly help you hide what’s left of the corpse. But later.”

Theo begins pulling clothes from her armoire. She strips out of her nightgown, donning plain trousers and a shirt.

“What about your loyalists?” I ask, helping her lace up a pair of boots. “The ones who tried to help you?”

“Dungeons, most likely. Along with anyone else who didn’t fall over themselves to bend the knee when Idris started cracking skulls.”

“We’ll figure out how to free them once you’re safe. How many?”

“A few dozen guards. Some staff. Idris’ men killed Kas.” The last words are quiet. Theodora was fond of her guard, not just as a lover. She clears her throat and composes herself. “What’s the escape route?”

“The old war tunnels,” I say. “I have a friend waiting to fly you somewhere safe.”

Her head snaps up. “And where will you be during all this?”

“Staying behind to deal with Idris.”

“Absolutely not.” She grabs a coat, yanking it on with agitated movements. “Either we leave together, or not at all.”

“Amara can only fly one of us, and someone has to keep Uncle occupied. He and I have unfinished business. Now stop arguing. Let’s go.”

I crack the door and peek out into the hall, listening hard. The guard’s body lies where I left it, his blood a sticky dark pool soaking into the carpet. I edge into the corridor with Theodora silent at my back.

She glances at the corpse but says nothing. Always practical, my sister.

I lead the way, sticking to the shadows. Two guards round the corner, deep in conversation. Their laughter rings out. I dart a frantic glance over my shoulder, but it’s too late to backtrack, and the only cover is—

There.

I seize Theodora by the arm and haul her into a cramped alcove. Her panicked breaths match mine.

Please walk by. For once in your miserable lives, just keep walking. Please.

But of course, they don’t.

One of them spots the body sprawled in front of my sister’s door and swears, drawing his sword. The other follows suit, shifting into a defensive position as they advance down the corridor.

“When I say run, you run,” I whisper to Theodora. “Understand?”

She nods.

I explode from the alcove. My first strike slices through the nearest guard’s extended sword arm. He shrieks and staggers back, his weapon clattering to the floor. I strike again, getting him right in the throat.

The second guard’s sword strikes in a dark blur. I duck under the swing, coming up inside his guard to bury my dagger in his armpit. Blood gushes over my knuckles as I wrench the knife free. He crumples to the floor.

I motion for Theo to run.

She flies past me toward the stairs. We’re halfway down when I hear shouts from above, the pounding of booted feet, and then the clanging peal of a bell.

The alarm.

Fear detonates in my chest. I seize Theodora’s elbow and haul her onward, but we’re not fast enough. A trio of guards spills around the corner ahead.

I shove my sister behind me. “Don’t wait for me. Get to the tunnels now.”

Then I launch myself at the guards.

Amara’s lessons take over, guiding my steps. My movements are economical and precise. Every strike aims to kill. I duck and spin, my knives flashing, darting to open throats and sever arteries. What I lack in raw strength, I make up for in speed and viciousness. Nothing exists outside the hammer of my pulse and the burn of my muscles. There is only the dance, the deadly poetry of motion.

One guard goes down. A second staggers back, hand clamped to the wound in his side. The third manages to backpedal out of range.

Behind me, Theodora cries out. I whirl to see Idris with a knife at her throat.

His eyes flicker over me. “Well,” he says. “If it isn’t my niece, back from the dead.” He jerks his head at me. “Drop the knife or I’ll bleed her.”

I clench my jaw and study the hold he has on the weapon. If I’m fast—

Idris digs the blade in harder, opening a shallow cut. Theodora goes rigid.

“Drop it, Bryony.”

My weapon clatters to the ground.

“Good. The ones up your sleeves, too.”

Teeth gritted, I shed blade after blade. All the daggers I earned from Evander during our game. The remaining guard surges forward to wrench my arms behind my back, and reinforcements flood the corridor. More swords than I can count are leveled my way.

“Orders, Your Majesty?” the guard at my back asks.

“Take them back to Theodora’s chambers. I want every man on the doors until I give the word. And ready the funeral wood,” Idris says. His gaze flickers to my sister. “You should be glad, Theo. We’ve finally got a body to put on the pyre.”

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41

EVANDER

THE ROSES ARE DEAD.

Not in the process of dying. Not wilting.

Dead.

Every last one of them withered in less than a day, their once vibrant petals now brittle and black.

It’s almost poetic. Bryony breathed life into these blooms, nurtured them when I couldn’t be bothered. Showed them more tenderness in a handful of days than I’ve managed in centuries.

And now they’re gone, just like her.

“Fuck!” I whirl, slamming my fist into the nearest wall.

Stone crumbles. Flames erupt across my wings as I turn and pace the garden.

Scillari’s always been a bitch with its messages, but it used to be more subtle. For hundreds of years, it let me wallow in my own shit, let me hide away in this tower. The roses that grew wild and untamed were just little reminders. Hey, asshole, remember you have power you’re wasting. I could ignore those.

But this? This is deliberate.

The garden didn’t just die. It was executed. The realm’s own personal “fuck you” for making Bryony walk away and letting the only person who made me feel something real in three centuries slip through my fingers.

I fucked her like I could purge her from my system. Like I could steal enough of her to fill the void in my chest that grief left behind. I want her etched into my bones, tattooed beneath my skin. I want to paint her throat purple with the press of my teeth and leave a map of fingerprint-shaped guides to all her weak spots.

Here is where she shivers. Here is where she sings. Press here to make her curse. Bite here to hear her beg.

Claim her. Keep her. Ruin her for any other touch but yours.

But if I did that, I’d be an even more selfish piece of shit than I already am. What I did to her can’t be described as anything but a defilement. Demanding pieces of her—all of her—until she’s carved down to nothing but the shape of my wanting wasn’t a kindness. It was a theft.

Those stories never mention how much you get off on mindfucking the women you screw.

Yeah, she took one look at the jagged, ugly sprawl of my obsession and recognized it for the monstrosity that it is.

Well done, Devaliant. Full marks for perception there, sweetheart.

That’s the way of gods and monsters, isn’t it? We don’t love—we devour. We conquer and hoard until there’s nothing left. We can’t gentle our teeth or blunt our claws.

Give me your devotion. Your submission. Every breath and broken scream. Give me give me give me…

I am a creature of infinite need, bent and breaking on the altar of one mortal woman. And that’s the cosmic joke, isn’t it? That when a thing hungers the way I hunger, it has precious little to offer in return. Just takes and takes and takes until it splits you open and leaves you gutted. I want to die with my teeth in her throat and her claws in my chest, ripping me open until she looks at me and sees someone worth keeping instead of putting down.

Here are all the wretched caverns, Devaliant. Here are all the screaming hollow places that no amount of touching, tasting, taking, fucking, will ever fill.

Do you still want your Wolf?

Alexios once told me that desire is the most selfish of all impulses. That it drives the infected to incinerate worlds. I’d laughed it off, too young and stupid to heed the warning. Monsters like me don’t want. But now that she’s gone, all my ugly wanting is pouring out, and I finally understand.

I could lose myself in it, I think. In the contemplation of ruin… of the mess she’s made of me. And maybe some part of me is grateful she left before I could infect her with this crude emptiness that gnaws and gnaws and—

A sudden burst of power tears me from my thoughts.

Amara hits the garden square in an explosion of leaves, gasping for breath. Sparks of power flare and gutter around her. She’s on the verge of a magical flameout, and her weaker wing must be in a lot of pain.

I’m at her side in an instant, grasping her arm. “Breathe, damn you.”

I help her onto the garden bench. Amara’s eyes slip shut as she drags in a lungful of air.

“What happened?”

“Flew through the Shroud as fast as I could. I tried… Idris, he…” She coughs. “Bryony’s sister was in trouble, so she went to help, and he… he has her. They’re readying wood for the pyre.”

I go still. Cold purpose settles in my bones.

I knew Bryony planned to settle things with Idris. I should trust that she’ll solve her own problems, mete out her retribution. But the feral thing wearing my skin doesn’t give a shit about shoulds. It wants to raze Hellevig to the ground and paint the whole damn realm red to keep her safe.

Idris Devaliant has debts to pay, and I intend to be his most devoted collector.

“Give your wing some rest and then make yourself scarce,” I tell Amara. “I have an overdue reminder to deliver to Hellevig about its place, and Alexios will feel it. Stay out of the blast radius until the dust settles.”

Amara studies me. “Can you… do anything to the Claimed with Alexios’ leash on?”

I grin slowly. “I’m nearly as strong as Alexios, and I’ve had a long, long time to learn how to slip my collar. He can’t keep his grip on the Shroud and me at the same time.” My power flares again, and I let it fill my veins until I’m blazing with it. “And Bryony Devaliant is mine.”

Because here’s the truth—the secret I’ve been trying to outrun. It’s pointless and trite and hopelessly mortal.

I love her. I love her, and it’s the most idiotic, suicidal thing I’ve ever done in the entire thousand years of my existence.

And I would rather let the world burn than lose her.

*   *   *

I slice through the night sky toward Hellevig Palace. The speed, the chill, the burning strain in my shoulders—it all fades beneath the relentless drumbeat of a single imperative.

Find her and destroy anyone who touched her.

I reach for the tether that shackles me to Alexios, that suffocating collar cinched tight around my power—and I pull. The response is an instantaneous cold so searing it scorches my skin.

What the fuck do you think you’re doing? His voice slams through my head.

Disobeying.

Another lance of agony. My wings falter, nearly dumping me out of the sky. I wrench myself upright with a curse.

I’m not in the mood for your shit, Wolf.

I grin. One day, if the realm blesses you with someone who owns your heart the way she owns mine, you’ll get it. You’ll understand what it feels like to raze worlds for her.

Then I sever the connection and brace for the backlash.

It’s like swallowing an exploding star—like Alexios carved a path into my ribcage and cracked my bones open one by one. But I’d cut out my heart and eat it raw if it meant getting to Bryony. I’d let the god-king tear the wings from my back if those were the terms.

Because monsters like me—we don’t just love. We obsess. We fixate. We annihilate anything that threatens what’s ours.

Hellevig sprawls beneath me, the red spires jutting up across the landscape. The palace emerges into view. The sun is just rising over the compound, casting long shadows across the ground. It looks almost peaceful.

Shame I have to kill everyone.

I angle my wings and dive, the wind screaming past my ears. My boots hit the courtyard with a crack that splits the stone. Guards stumble back when I straighten to my full height.

“Alarm!” someone shouts. “Sound the fucking alarm!”

The idiots fumble for their swords, and I let out a chuckle. “Really?” I ask them, tilting my head.

One’s eyes go wide. More guards swarm in, weapons raised—twenty, maybe thirty of them, circling like they think numbers will save them.

I smile. “All right, then. Go ahead, everyone.”

They strike all at once, and I let loose the beast inside my skin. Let it shake off the rust and stretch its claws.

And I let it sing.

Bones crunch and splinter in wet, tearing sounds muffled by the roaring in my skull. Someone’s screaming. Might be me. Might be the hysterical din of the palace sentries pissing themselves.

I don’t know. I don’t care.

I’ll reduce this palace to rubble and leave it a monument to my wrath so they understand the shape retribution takes when someone puts their hands on what’s mine.

Through the frenzy, Alexios rakes my mind. Talons sink into my brain as he tries to yank me back under his control. I stagger under the onslaught. He’s beneath my skin, a thousand hooks ripping me open.

Obey, he snarls, or bleed.

In answer, I send him a mental image of myself creating a spear of light and punching it through a guard’s chest. It burst out the other side in a spray of gore.

Option three, I say. Immolation.

Fire magic surges in my veins and builds in a wave of rippling heat. Guards scream as armor melts, sloughing from their bodies along with charred skin and muscle. The stench saturates the air.

I could compose arias to the dulcet tones of men boiling alive in their own skin. It never gets old. It’s the simple things, you know?

Alexios slams into the barricades of my mind. Listen to me very carefully. If any more of my Claimed die, if you so much as look at either of my remaining Anchors wrong, I’ll melt the gray matter in your skull and make you lick it off the floor.

The world flickers at the edges, and blood trickles over my lip. Instinct shrieks at me to submit, to fall to my knees, but no force in this realm can bring me to heel except for her.

I seize the nearest soldier. “Where. Is. She.”

A garbled keen is his only response.

Wrong answer, you trembling little cunt.

I snap his neck and drop the corpse, stepping over a dozen bodies as I stalk toward the palace stairs. A beautiful massacre, just for her.

My Devaliant has always deserved nice things.

“Enough.”

My head snaps up. Idris Devaliant stands at the top of the steps wearing his imperial red robes, lip curled as he takes me in—the disdain of a ruler looking down on an insect. But it’s the figure on her knees before him that stops the breath in my lungs.

Bryony.

Her hands are tied behind her back, and Idris’ knife is at her throat. There’s blood on her face, in her hair, saturating the tattered fabric of her shirt. She must have put up a damn good fight.

That’s my girl.

There is no pain I would not endure for her. No horror I would not rain down on her enemies until the bards sing of the Wolf and his Chosen for a thousand years.

Idris drags my Devaliant close as he descends. “I should have known she’d slither from the grave and get one of the god-king’s dogs to join her cause.”

I grin. “What can I say? Your niece has excellent taste in monsters. Give her to me.”

His grip tightens, and the blade makes a shallow cut along her throat. He’ll be paying for that. I’m the only one who gets to make her bleed.

“The Eternal wants her for the pyre,” he says. “When Alexios rescinded his Claim, she became nothing. Worthless.”

“Is that what you think?”

Movement snags my periphery—one of the few remaining guards, too stupid to play dead and taking advantage of my distraction to slip in close. I flick my wrist, halting him mid-step with an invisible tether.

“She’s not worthless to me,” I say softly. “And now you’ve gone and cut her. That’s my privilege.”

I close my fist.

The guard’s scream fills the courtyard, rising into something almost musical before it cuts off. In seconds, there’s nothing left of him but ash spiraling in the air.

Another guard turns to run, but I extend my power and squeeze. The sound of his ribs splintering is like kindling being snapped in half. His body crumples to the ground.

“Interesting thing about anatomy,” I say, returning my attention to Idris. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a god or a human, if you squeeze at a thirty-five-degree angle, you can pulp the lungs inside the chest cavity. Learned that one from the last asshole stupid enough to put hands on my woman like she was nothing. And you know, there was this great moment right at the end—a singular squeal. He actually tried to suck his own liquefied organs back down his windpipe when I tore out his heart.” I step over the body. “It was almost disappointing how quickly he died. But when it comes to my woman, I don’t have my usual restraint.”

Idris blanches. “Fuck, you actually want her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I want her.” I flick a glance at where he’s holding her. “And I’ll slaughter every bastard who’s ever put hands on her.”

His face has gone ashen and slick with a sheen of sweat. Good. Let him feel the gravity of his mistake, the weight of my undivided focus—a thousand years of ruthless violence and unholy appetites sharpened to a ferocious point.

“You can’t hurt me.” He swallows hard. “I’m an Anchor.”

I shake my head, clicking my tongue. “You’ve still got your hands on what’s mine.”

The emperor makes a panicked noise and immediately releases her. “Take her, then. Claim her. I don’t care.”

“I care,” I say, still grinning. “And my claim isn’t the one that matters here. Hers is.”

My power lashes out, yanking the blade from Idris’ grasp and wrapping around his throat. The weapon clatters to the ground. He gags, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the phantom noose cinched tight around him.

I look at Bryony, and I hope she sees everything I feel for her—love and the kind of devotion that would annihilate realms.

Another tendril of my power snaps the cuffs binding her wrists. “Have at him, vicious girl. Let’s find out how prettily you can make him scream for us.”

The smile she gives me nearly brings me to my knees.

Then Bryony slams an elbow into Idris’ stomach. She snatches up the blade, drives it to the hilt in her uncle’s thigh, and rips it free.

Idris screams. It’s high and keening—the scream of a coward. A nice, beautiful aria just for her. I settle in to watch her destroy him.

“That,” Bryony says, “is for the Duehavn.” She plunges the knife into his stomach. “That’s for making my death last as long as possible.”

She yanks the blade out and stabs it into Idris’ chest next, falling on the ground with him. His whimper is almost precious. Damn me, I could watch her do this all day.

“This?” Another brutal stab. “This is for leaving me there to die alone like I was nothing.”

I’d always known that if I ever took a Chosen, she’d have to be someone savage. My mother used to tell me no one else would match me. This woman? This fierce, glorious creature splattered in blood and taking her vengeance? She’s it for me. If she were a religion, I’d pray to her.

Bryony wrenches Idris’ head back. I want to compose music to the sound of his airless keening.

“Look at me.” Her voice is a dark rasp as she notches the dagger beneath his chin. “I want my face to be the last thing you see before the Void takes you. And I want you to remember that this is a better death than the one you gave me.”

Then she shoves the blade into his jugular.

Idris’ hands scrabble weakly at his throat. The sound of him choking on the blade fills the courtyard. Bryony keeps her eyes on him, never looking away, just watching as he gives a last rattling exhale.

Then she gets to her feet, head thrown back, her chest heaving. She’s a portrait of vengeance—of survival. And in the entire span of my existence, I’ve never seen anything so heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

I hold out a hand, power still crackling over my skin. “Hey, nemesis.”

Her grip tightens on the dagger’s hilt, and fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to lay myself at her feet and beg her to cut me to pieces. Feed me my own heart, Devaliant. Why not? She already owns it.

“You’re early,” she says lowly.

“Amara came to me.”

Her eyes snap to mine, and for a devastating moment, I drown in the accusation, the raw betrayal there. “I would’ve been fine. We agreed on three days—”

“I know. I know, just…” I swallow. “Let me hold you. Be mine right now.”

Something in her uncoils at that, a subtle release of tension in her shoulders. She drops the knife and lets me pull her close.

“Evander,” she says, so soft it’s barely more than an exhale against my chest.

I love the way my name sounds in her mouth. She shapes it like a prayer. I want to hear her say it every way there is—gasped into my skin, when the sun rises in the morning, moaned in climax. I want to hear her say it every damn day of my eternity, if she’s willing to take my battered and broken soul and let me tie it to hers.

I want to keep her.

We stay like that for a moment, just breathing. Existing. My fingers clench in her hair as I drag the scent of her deep into my lungs. I’d hold her forever if I could.

“Bry?”

Bryony yanks away from me. I turn to see Theodora Devaliant staggering down the palace steps and through the slaughter. She’s battered, her face covered in bruises, and one eye is swollen shut. To her credit, her expression remains neutral even surrounded by carnage. Seems the elder Devaliant sister has seen plenty of death before.

“Theo,” Bryony says. “The guards?”

“The ones on me either fled or died.” She glances at me with a stern expression. “Wolf. I’ll credit you with impeccable timing.”

And absolutely nothing else, asshole, that look says.

I don’t usually stick around after delivering Bryony’s letters to her sister, but over the last five weeks, I’ve come to appreciate Theodora Devaliant’s unwavering ability to stare at me like she’s about to give me a prize for mediocrity.

Bryony smacks me lightly on the arm. “Go heal my sister.”

“I’d tell you to ask nicely, but I see you’re in a commanding mood.” I approach Theodora and lift my hand. “May I?”

She nods curtly.

Settling my hand on her cheek, I extend my power to mend all her cuts and scratches. The bruising on her ribs, the scrapes on her knuckles, the swollen eye.

“I see you haven’t lost your flair for dramatic entrances,” she tells me.

“Apologies for the mess, but your uncle had an unfortunate accident. Fell on a blade. Repeatedly. After threatening what’s mine.”

Theodora cuts a glance over the courtyard. “An improvement to the masonry, I’m sure.”

I keep my power as brusque as a healer, with none of the lingering tendrils of heat I use to tease Byrony and make her chase my touch.

When Theodora is all healed up, I return to my Devaliant’s side and pull her into me.

“Thank you,” Theodora says. I notice the considering tilt to her head as she takes in my possessive grip on her sister. Her attention returns to Bryony. “Well?”