Page 17 of Blade of the Nightking

“Aedric,” she breathed. But he did not stir. “Where did you find him?” Her gaze flicked up to Malec—and that was when she noticed me.

I swallowed as her eye swept over me, narrowing when she registered the healed skin along my left side. Her brow furrowed as she slowly rose, and despite the lens shielding her magical eye, I could almost feel the ravenous heat simmering behind it, pressing outward like a caged inferno. It took everything I had not to step back as she advanced, towering over me.

“Why aren’t you dead?”

No hatred in her voice. No concern, either. Just cool, surgical interest, as though she were studying a strange specimen beneath glass.

Sharp pain speared through me. We’d shared wine. We’d teased and gossiped and dressed for Kyndralis together. She’d braided my hair with her own hands.

And yet now, she looked right through me, hollow and detached. The absence of anything resembling feeling was more frightening than any threat she might have spoken aloud. My mouth dried. A tremor ran through me, impossible to stop.

She’d been my friend once. Before she tortured me.

Hamish’s big hand settled on my shoulder, steadying me. If he hadn’t, instinct would have sent me running.

Her father’s head snapped toward me, two sharp lines cutting between his brows. “Dead?”

Calantha nodded. “I told you when we first arrived—the Eidra was on the cusp of death, burned beyond repair.”

His eyes widened, then cut thin with fury.

“You brought the Eidra to Dheren?” he hissed, taking a menacing step toward Hamish.

“Warden,” Hamish replied evenly, eyes fixed straight ahead like the soldier he was, “Aedric gave me direct orders to protect his mate at all costs. Leaving her behind would have defied them.”

“I should skin you alive where you stand.” He snarled, stabbing a finger into his son’s chest. Sparks bit from his fingertips, but Hamish’s leathers smothered them to nothing.

“He is my High Lord.” Hamish said tightly, eyes flashing. Not you. The words rang between them as loudly as if he’d spoken them.

For a heartbeat, the male’s face twisted into something so ferocious I almost flinched—pure hatred, sharp-edged and raw. Then it vanished, shuttered behind controlled authority.

“Calantha,” he beckoned her forward with a lifted hand.

She stepped to him at once, fingers laced obediently behind her back.

“Bind her in iron. Throw her in a warded cell.”

No. My heart plunged. Icy panic speared through me so suddenly I could hardly breathe. Not again.

Calantha didn’t smile or react, but when she turned to me, I caught the dash of twisted pleasure in her one good eye.

“Come on, El,” she said sweetly. Almost like we were still friends. “Let’s go, hmm?”

My throat closed as she reached toward me almost gently.

Hamish set his hand on her arm, lowering it with quiet force. She blinked up at him, surprise breaking her mask.

“No,” he said, steady as stone. “She is no threat.”

“She’s an Eidra,” his father growled. “As Warden here, you will do as I command. Dheren is my city.”

“No.”

The word lit every nerve in my body, warmth flooding through the frozen fear at the sound of his voice.

Aedric pushed himself upright, meeting the male’s glare beneath his tousled hair.

“Dheren is my city.”