Chapter SEVENTY-THREE

Dane It was my fault. I was late. I had been held up. That was why I couldn't be there in time. I would have stopped that fool from touching her. I would have made him pay for laying his hand on her skin. He still would. They were all locked up. Lusia was barely breathing. Her body was a ruin of blood and torn flesh, her skin marred with fresh welts and deep bruises that made my vision blur with rage. She was too light in my arms, too still. Every shallow breath she took felt like a battle she was losing, and I refused—refused—to let her lose it. Her blood still coated my hands. I could see it every time I flexed my fingers, feeling the warmth of it seared into my skin like a brand. No matter how much I wanted to stay by her side, to watch over her as she fought to recover, I had unfinished business. I stormed through the hallways of the castle, my grip firm but careful, her head cradled against my chest. My coat swallowed her fragile frame, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Th