Page 260 of Blade of the Nightking

"He forced himself on you." Every word was bitten off through clenched teeth. "His magic touched yours. And you would call that nothing?"

"Let me go." I tried to keep the tremor from my voice and failed.

"It's vile." He said, thick with fury. "It's unforgivable."

"I said let me go!" My own temper flared. The bone knife flashed between us, its point rising to the soft place beneath his jaw.

His pulse thundered beneath the blade.

"Why?" he demanded, the cords standing out in his neck. "Why would you think what he did to you was nothing?"

“It…” I fumbled for the words. “Aedric, he… he…”

I couldn't finish the sentence. Shock flashed across Rìan's features before they hardened with a fresh wave of rage. Heat flooded my face, so fierce it felt as though my skin might split beneath it, tears stinging suddenly behind my eyes.

It had felt wrong when Thalassis had done it. But it had felt wrong when Aedric had done it, too.

Because it had been wrong.

He’d violated me.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to smother the sob rising in my throat. My hand shook so violently that the point of the bone knife wavered uselessly between us.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I braced for his temper—for the violence that lived beneath his control, for the eruption I was certain would come now that he knew.

Instead…

Warm fingers closed around mine.

His hand was startlingly gentle, impossibly steady against the wild tremor of my own. Slowly—carefully—he coaxed my fingers from the hilt until the knife slipped free.

I opened my eyes.

The storm was still there, burning behind the silver of his gaze, but I watched him force it down, inch by agonizing inch.

He stepped closer, knife in hand. Instinct made me flinch, pressing my back harder against the wall. Every muscle in my body tensed.

Without breaking eye contact, he turned the blade toward the floor. Slowly, he began to lower it. Every nerve beneath my skin flared to life.

The cold edge never touched me, yet I felt it all the same as he guided it down the length of my body. My breath stuttered when it reached my hip.

His wrist slipped beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the fabric riding up to expose another inch of skin. His eyes remained locked on mine as the knife descended slowly along the outside of my leg. His knuckles grazed my thigh, so lightly the touch might have been accidental. It drew a helpless whimper from my lips.

Shhk.

The bone knife slid smoothly into its sheath.

Then, with the same exact care, he withdrew his hand. The fabric settled softly back against my thigh.

My heart pounded so violently I was certain he could hear it.

His palm returned to the wall beside my head. He searched my face with relentless intensity, his brows drawn tightly together. He was unbearably close. Close enough to count the dark lashes framing those impossible silver-flecked eyes.

“Eidra,” he murmured at last. “No one is allowed to touch you like that.” His voice was gentle but firm, each word deliberate. “No one. Not unless you want them to.”

My vision blurred.

"Not even him."