Page 73 of The Silversmith

Mouth agape, I froze at the sight of my protector standing over us, the image of terror. Wild and fuming, like I’d never seen him before. That look in his eyes—ice cold, all-encompassing, and lethal—was a step beyond fury.

I scurried out of the way, half naked, into the opposite corner of the kitchen. I watched as Gavin grasped the man on both sides of his head, like he’d done with me during so many gentle moments. But now he tightened his fingers around the man’s skull with punishing force—withdrawing a petrified whimper from the lips of his victim.

He leaned down and stared directly into wide, pleading eyes. “What did I tell you,” he hissed, low and lethal, “about touching my girl?”

And in a single movement, quick and effortless, Gavin snapped the man’s neck.

I gasped a choked-out rasp. The air escaped my lungs in reluctant empathy as life drained from my attacker.

Gavin let the man’s body crumple to the ground. And then he sighed, merely annoyed.

He turned toward me.

Panicked, I crawled backwards until my back hit the cabinet beneath the sink.

“Twice in one day, Ella, you manage to scare the ever-living shit out of me.” He squatted before me and reached for my arm, but I dodged him. He frowned. “Are you hurt?”

“I—I was getting some water,” I panicked. “I was thirsty.”

Again, he reached for my hand, but—

“No, no, no!” My voice broke, making way for the flood of tears. With my left hand, I pulled my nightgown over my knees and my knees into my chest. “I don’t—I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Or perhaps… I didn’t want to see him like this. What I just witnessed…

“It makes no difference how I see you.” He outstretched his hand. “He’s gone. You’re safe.”

“He’s not gone, he’s dead.”

“Aryella.” He shifted to block the lifeless body with an unnaturally twisted neck. His voice was too calm after breaking a man’s neck with his bare hands. “Come here. Please.”

“Get away!” I wept, but I didn’t try to retreat any farther. Part of me wished to, but the warmth of his body drew me closer and reminded me of safety, which I desperately craved. “You killed him and now you’re angry with me.”

Sadness passed through him. “Ella, why the hell would I be angry with you?”

“Because you told me to stay in my room, and I didn’t listen.” My breaths grew faster, panicked. “And now you killed him, and it’s my fault!”

“I’m not angry with you,” he replied calmly. “It is not your fault. And I can’t… when someone wants to hurt you, I can’t not— Ella, sweetheart, take a breath.”

When I heard his command, I realized I was hardly breathing. I gasped for air. I closed my eyes and reached for his shoulder to steady me. He shifted forward, stroking my cheek as if to give my breathing a rhythm to follow.

It was impossible not to focus on the places I had been gripped, handled, thrown. I could not force the bruises to form, but if I could, I hoped they would heal faster. My focus remained on healing rather than the horror of what happened.

Minutes passed before I opened my eyes and saw straight again.

“You killed him,” I exhaled shakily.

“He was hurting you.” His finger gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “He was about to rape you.”

“But you killed him. And you killed them today in the temple.”

“Without hesitation.” He carefully held my chin between his fingers and surveyed my head, face, and neck for injuries. “And I will do it again.”

I shook my head. He’d told me he would kill for me. That he already had. It shouldn’t have shocked me. But it was the ease with which he’d done it, the calm, unflappable tone in his voice mere minutes after taking another life, that frightened me.

“You act like it was easy, killing them.”

His dark eyebrows rose as he nodded. “It was.”