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Saint blinked, and the woman stopped screaming. His hand flew out, catching her head before it could fall back against the wall as she stared up at him, a slight smile tilting her lips.
“I am not him,” he said so softly that I barely heard it.
“Not him,” she repeated.
“What…” Cassandra stood and backed away. “What just happened?”
“He’s using his abilities,” Zachariah explained quietly. “He’s altering her mental reality.”
“What did he do to you?” Saint asked, his hand still cradling the female’s head.
“He…he…” Her eyes flared.
“You’re safe,” Saint whispered, and the woman relaxed. I’d never seen him so…gentle. Not in all our years together. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Rory,” she said, her voice raspy and broken from what I could only guess was screaming.
“He bit me. He forced me to drink…” She fought Saint’s compulsion. “To drink. Oh, God. I didn’t want to! And then the pain! I’m on fire and the burning won’t stop. Make it stop.”
“I’ve got you,” Saint promised, and the woman’s eyes fluttered shut.
My stomach plummeted. “The fucker turned her against her will.”
Dagon swore.
“We have to get her back to Gabriel if she’s going to have any shot at surviving,” Zachariah said. “Samuel won’t come back. Not with all our scents in this place.”
A mutter of ascent echoed in the empty chamber.
“I’ll carry her,” I offered, bending down.
“I’ll carry her,” Saint countered, slipping out of his jacket. He wrapped it around her shoulders before sliding his arms under the female and lifting her frail frame against his chest. “Samuel did this. I should have killed him centuries ago when I realized he was turning. What’s happened to her is a direct consequence of my inaction. She’s my responsibility.”
He didn’t look at any of us before wending out, leaving us all staring at blood-soaked floor where the woman had been blatantly tortured.
“She’s on the list,” Cassandra said, pulling a folded paper from her pocket. “She was a half-blood.”
“You’re sure?” Talon asked, looking over her shoulder at the paper. “There’s more than one Aurora in the world.”
“Yes. But I doubt any of them have eyes that color.” She glared at Talon and shoved the paper back into her slacks. “She’s Duke Somerhaul’s daughter.”
* * *
I wascareful to keep my mental shields in place as I stood in the doorway of our archives and watched Grace take a book from the stack that sat on the table between her and Lyric.
Her smile was wide as she laughed at something the queen said.
Mine. She wasmine.
My chest hummed and threatened to crack wide open with an emotion I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t just adoration or lust, though there was plenty of both. It was so much more.
Damn, was my mate beautiful. Happiness lit up her astonishing eyes and her hands flew as talked excitedly before thumbing through the text. Even now, with weeks to live, she found joy, found things to be passionate about.
How could someone so in love with life be so short on it?
Grace lifted her head and spotted me, and her already bright smile grew to radiant. She said something to Lyric, then pushed away from the table and came my way.
Her curves were slighter—the cancer was clearly wearing on her—but she was no less gorgeous to me. Her body, as delectable as it was, was only a vessel for the incredible woman within. I just wished it would give her the time we both needed.
