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“Kill, behind you!” Gareth yells in my ear.

I swing around and raise my hand just in time for a baseball bat to fall on my arm.

A crack sounds in the air, crashing pain blinds my vision, and my arm falls limp.

Definitely broken.

The one wearing a skull gas mask laughs with the edge of a lunatic. “Hi there, Killian. You thought I wouldn’t anticipate this?”

“Hi there, Devlin. Ready to meet your maker?” I kick him in the stomach, letting the useless arm swing at my side.

Heoomphs, but he regains his footing and aims for my broken arm again.

This time, I dodge, and he laughs. “Does this scene mean you got my gift? I used special care to wrap her up in beautiful bruises for you. She looked exquisite.”

This time, I’m the one who bursts out laughing so loudly and maniacally that he pauses. It goes on for so long that he gets angry and starts aiming at me without a strategy.

“Such a weak little boy.” I dodge. “Mommy didn’t love you, did she? Abandoned you while you were small and helpless, so now, you’ve turned into a man-child.”

“Shut the fuck up.” His anger rises and rises, and he falls straight into my lap.

“What a shame. She’d take a rope to her throat if she saw your current state. Oh, right. She already did.”

“I said to shut the fuck up!” He swings and I catch the bat with my good arm, wrench it from his hold, and swiftly hit him in the head.

He releases a haunted, pained sound as he drops to the ground. He crawls, then rises to his feet, but the moment he’s up, I slam the wood against his legs over and over until gurgles are the only sounds he can make.

I slowly remove his mask, making him cough and choke on the tear gas, then I peer down on him. “Don’t faint on me yet. We’re only just getting started. You’re going to bleed and scream and beg for every mark you left on her skin. You’ll be cut for every lie you told her and for having the audacity to use her good nature. You’ll pray to every deity on earth, but I’ll be your custom-made merciless god. I might not process emotions normally, but if you hurt what’s mine, I’ll be the one to spit on your fucking grave.”

I have not a shadow of a doubt that the little rabbit is flipping my world upside down.

And I’ll let her.

Because she’s mine.

And I’ll set the whole fucking world on fire to make sure she remains safe.

39

GLYNDON

It hurts.

That’s the first thought that comes to mind when I open my eyes—or more accurately, my eye.

The other one feels swollen and remains half-shut.

It isn’t only my flesh that aches. The pain has ripped through tendons and reached the marrow of my bones.

My tongue stays glued to the roof of my mouth, feeling big, heavy, and absolutely foreign.

I expect to find myself on the top of that cliff, but soft light greets me, followed by the very distinctive scent of amber wood. Sure enough, the impersonal wallpaper from Killian’s room slowly comes into focus.

“Glyn?” Bran’s concerned face comes into view. “How are you feeling?”

“In pain,” I groan.

“Here, have some painkillers.” He fetches a pill from the nightstand and helps me sit up to take it.

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