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Not offering a second warning, I swivel my hips to the side and swing my arm down, blindly aiming for Haut’s groin.
With a startled yelp, his arms loosen, and I wiggle free of his grasp.
Sunlight blinds me, and I freeze as I wait for the world to come back into focus. Tears sting my eyes, but I squint through wet lashes at the railing in front of me and the driveway beyond.
Aspen stands where I last saw him, his back to the house and his gaze fixed on a large, dark patch in the gravel that glistens in the sunlight. It’s the only sign that anything happened here. Everyone else has vanished as if they had never intruded on our peace and threatened our home.
Haut tries to reach for me again, but I swat him away, unwilling to be protected from this side of our lives.
Heart pounding, I turn toward the stairs, and my chest tightens at the sight of Owen, naked and covered in blood. Black smoke still writhes over his arms, and the shadows of claws extend from his bloody fingers. Dirt sticks to his body, too, cuts and claw marks painting the harsh story of his fight across his torso and legs.
The tightness inside me grows, and my body trembles, my hands curling into fists.
Burning-coal red eyes flick to me, then away, and his shoulders sag. “Please, don’t look at me right now, Rowe.”
The trembling worsens. “Did you kill him? Bruce?”
Owen’s fingers flex, the shadow claws solidifying for a heartbeat before he forces his hands to relax.
On shaky legs, I step closer. “Owen, did you kill him?”
He flinches back from me. “Please, Rowe, just…”
I stop in front of Owen, the stair below that he stands on making us the same height for once in our lives.
Hand trembling, I reach out to grip his sticky black hair, pulling his head up so his glowing eyes meet mine. “Did you kill him?”
Resignation fills Owen’s expression, and he fixes his gaze on my shoulder. “Yes.”
“Good.” When his shocked eyes lift to meet mine, I release his hair to cup his bloody cheek, his skin fever-hot against mine. “Did you think I would hate you for killing him?”
A low whine rises from his throat, and his rough cheek presses against my palm.
“I hate that they forced you into this situation.” With my other hand, I wipe away the blood that came from his scalp wound. “I hate that you didn’t let Haut just kill every single one of them so that you would be spared from taking a life. But never think that I will hate you for protecting what’s yours.”
He reaches up to press his hand over mine, his lips hot against my palm. “I could have spared his life. I could have shown mercy.”
“He wouldn’t have shown you mercy.” The trembling in my body returns, rage at what my gentle Owen had been forced to do sweeping through me once more. “If you’d let him live, I would have killed him myself.”
An approving growl comes from Haut, and Aspen’s startled gaze turns to me.
I ignore both men, my gaze locked with Owen’s. His eyes may burn like the coals that belong to the nightmare of my youth, but despite so much blood covering the rest of his body, none touches his mouth. Even when fighting for his life, even when killing, Owen had not bitten the man who came here to hurt him.
Owen had shown restraint even when fighting for his life, refusing to pass his curse on to another, even if only for the brief few minutes the man continued to breathe. How can anyone suspect him of these murders when he keeps such a tight hold over his curse?
“I sensed through our bond that you wanted to kill him for coming after me.” Owen steps up onto the porch, the heat radiating from his body sinking into mine at the nearness. “I couldn’t let you stain yourself like that.”
That kind of stain would have easily washed off.
“Horace will keep causing problems.” I glare toward the beach. “We should dig holes for everyone who came here today.”
Owen closes the final inches between us, a fierce expression hardening his features. “I’ll deal with Horace and the others. There’s no need to bloody your hands.”
I hold up my red streaked palm. “Too late.”
With a growl, Owen catches my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth, and his tongue drags across my palm, cleaning the blood away. His tongue sweeps between my fingers before he sucks them into his mouth, making sure that no hint of red remains.
Pulse racing, I take a step backward and raise my other bloody hand.
