“Pyrok, escort your brother up the stairs.” Slowly, I reach into the pocket of my cloak and pull out the bloody key I sliced off somebody’s hand for, holding Raeve’s stare as I pass it over with Roan’s damaged spectacles I collected from the trial. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate a rundown while you release him from his shackles.”
“Indeed,” Roan drudges past a wince, then tenderly pushes to his feet and begins hobbling up the stairs.
Pyrok offers a steadying hand but doesn’t move from the step he’s on.
“Now. And keep an eye out for more guards. If we’re to make it out of the Citadel without further implications, our presence must remain a secret.”
“Not sure you’re aware, but it appears as though you’re about to have your throat sli—”
“She’s not going to hurt me,” I murmur. Softer than Raeve’s snarls sawing against my skin.
Aside from the slightest twitch of her lips, she maintains her stance as Pyrok clicks his tongue, passes me another worried glance, then helps his brother up the twisting stairway—their footsteps echoing off the tunnel’s smooth walls.
All the while, I study her. The arched slope of her brows, eyes like fossilized Moonplume flame. Her lips … plump and red as the blood weeping down her cheeks.
Her skin is so pale in the dull light, hair piled high, wet bits hanging about her face, making my fingers itch to brush away the strands. To touch her.
It’s a slow, gentle perusal. Each sweep of my gaze a quiet reminder that she survived.
“You could blind me right now and I’d die happy …”
I barely realize I’ve spoken until she swallows. Something that makes my hand twitch with the urge to reach up and brush the column of her throat. Her jaw. To trace around the nape of her neck and thread my fingers through her hair—
“You asked me to come back to you,” she bites back, like a toss of icy water—reminding me of the anger sizzling through myownveins. So easy to forget when I’m looking at her.
Standing so close to her.
Pulling her butterberry scent into my lungs.
“Ever hopeful. Until my final breath.”
“The statement insinuated there would be ayouto come back to.”
I tilt my head, trusting her to shift the blade lest she cut my throat clean open. “Decided to care, Moonbeam?”
Another snarl as she shoves back, clefting too much space between us. I glimpse something silver tangled around her hand and wrist …sort of. Barely visible, but there.
Parting her cloak, she kicks her leg forward. Stuffs the blade back in her sheath packed full of many more dragonscale blades. All fashioned from Rygun’s scales.
All mine.
I lift a brow, leaning into the punch of pride that strikes my chest. “Nice armory.”
She dashes the cloak back over her leg, swipes the blood and tears off her cheeks, then crosses her arms.
“Take it they came in handy?”
“Rekk’s dead, if that’s what you’re asking. His remains are somewhere at the bottom of that Creators-cursed lake.”
I catch her hand movements despite them being tucked away.
Still itching. Stillbloodlusting.
Which means killing Rekk didn’t shake it from her system. It’s tethered tosomebody else.
My heart sinks so fast my knees almost give way.
“Good,” I rasp, then clear my throat.
