Then, like a switch flipped, the red light in Thorne’s eyes went out, and she collapsed. Ricky dove forward just in time to catch her before she hit the ground, cradling her limp body.
Felix moved to their sides, horror etched in every line of his face. Cassian immediately shifted back into human form, visibly shaken as he knelt—thankfully in tattered shorts—next to his sister.
I stood frozen, barely breathing.
Lucien wrapped a protective arm around my waist. “Izzy…”
I slowly stepped out of his reach and moved forward, approaching Thorne. With a deep breath, I knelt beside her and brushed her blood-matted hair from her face. She was unconscious, thankfully. But her skin burned with a fever and her breathing was shallow.
I pulled the remnants of her jacket off so we could see her wounds and choked on a breath the second I saw it.
Carved along the curve of her ribs, just above the blood and bruising, were the words: YOU’RE STILL MINE.
Pain tore through me so fast, it rendered me breathless.
I simply sat there and stared at the message etched into my friend’s flesh.
And I made myself a promise. I wouldn’t give Trystan the opportunity to strike again. He wanted me? He’d get me. Every inch of me. But he wouldn’t live to enjoy a second of it.
Because for this, I would kill him.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
LUCIEN
I wanted to kill the bastard. Rip out his fucking spine and spit on his corpse.
That was the only clear thought in my head as I paced the hallway outside Thorne’s bedroom. Anger simmered deep in my stomach and my fists ached from how tightly I clenched them. I wanted to track Trystan down and slaughter him before he ever laid a finger on Isadora.
But I couldn’t leave her right now.
And not because she needed comfort or was emotionally fragile, but because if I left her alone right now, she’d go after him herself. And I refused to let that happen.
I’d seen her expression the moment Thorne went down. She hadn’t been sad or frightened, like a normal person would be. She’d been pissed. The scent of rage had surrounded her until my nostrils had burned from it.
And while I didn’t mind the end result—Trystan dead—I didn’t want her anywhere near the asshole. Not after what he’d done to Thorne. Werewolves weren’t easy prey. The Wolfes even less so. Violence burned in their blood—especially her brothers. Thorne was more subtle. She schemed and plotted and outmaneuvered.
But still, Trystan had broken her.
Because you couldn’t outthink—predict—a lunatic.
And that made him exceptionally dangerous.
My mind shifted into execution mode. First, get Isadora out of here. Back to my place where Rue and a contingent of guards awaited. Isadora wouldn’t like it. She’d fight me. But I didn’t care. I would not lose her to some deranged bastard with a superiority complex.
Isadora was mine now. Trystan had had his shot. And he’d failed. Spectacularly. He didn’t get to hurt the people she loved because he’d fucked up.
Next, I needed the Ravenspells.
Trystan had used magic to hijack Thorne’s body. Possession like that wasn’t cheap—and it left a magical trail. The Ravenspells were like bloodhounds when it came to magic. Hopefully, they’d be able to sniff him out and give me a location.
And then? I’d gut him. As simple as that.
The door creaked open, and I pivoted on my heel just as Isadora stepped out of the room.
She walked toward me, quiet and composed, but deep down I sensed her distress and saw the weight she carried on her shoulders. I could only imagine the thoughts running through her head—blaming herself for everything that’d happened.
