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One eye had the telltale purple mottle of a blooming bruise and her lips were swollen. Blood trickled from her mouth and nose, and another blotch of mottled bruising marred her cheek.
“Who did this to you?” I said, my words tight and low—and laced with rage.
Her face crumpled as she struggled to sit up and crawl into my arms. “He didn’t want to be saved, Vinny,” she said, her crying getting louder now that she was in my arms.
I tensed as the scent of her blood became overwhelming, fighting against the thirst as I tucked her close to my chest—
She cried out, wincing in pain.
“Fuck,” I growled. “I’m hurting you.”
“It’s okay,” she lied, “take me home.”
“Who did this to you?” I asked again.
Jacqueline just shook her head and tucked it against my chest, muttering words I couldn’t understand through her tears and I shook my head. Anger, frustration, and hunger warred within me.
Whoever dared lay a fucking hand on her would pay with their life.
If it was that kid Gannon, her useless excuse of an ex-boyfriend, I’d make it extra painful for the little fuck before I ripped his head from his body and pissed down his throat.
But first, I had to tend to my girl. She was bloody and beaten, and the blood on her face wasn’t even the worst of it, judging by the way she cried out when I tried to pick her up. She’d been through the ringer tonight and all I could say about her attacker was that they were lucky she was still alive, because had she died…
No. I couldn’t fucking fathom it.
I tightened my grip on her and left the shop, then marched up to her apartment with revenge and thirst at war with my desire to care for this woman in my arms.
As soon as I entered the apartment, I realized what I should have known all along.
Had I not been so stunned by discovering her on the floor of the butcher shop, I might have noticed the scent of him in the air, on her skin.
The one who harmed her was in her apartment.
On high alert now and ready for anything, I set her on the couch and brought my finger to my lips to silence her. Then I turned around, fangs bared, and crouched—
When the man stepped casually out of the kitchen, a glass of wine in his hand and an old blood stain drying on his shirt, I quickly retracted my fangs.
“Shit,” I whispered, eyes wide.
Elias Bristol had returned.
I didn’t know what this meant, or why he’d left Jacqueline in such a state, but I did know my place.
So I dropped to one knee and bowed my head to the king.
