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“Save your prayers. Your gods are not listening.” The cold cruelty of Lachlan’s laugh made my heart stutter. “That you touched her would be enough reason, but you made her bleed. There will be no mercy.”
Roark helped me sit up, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, but I still couldn’t tear my eyes away from Lachlan as he shattered more bones. The creature sagged, his knees buckling, and Lachlan dropped him in a heap on the street. “Stay put.”
Neither of the fae tried to escape as Lachlan strode forward, likely held in place as much by his fury as whatever dark magic he’d called upon. Wrath radiated from him as he cut through the night with swift, purposeful steps before lowering to one knee before me. He shot a look at Roark, and the arm around my shoulder dropped.
Muscles tensed in his jaw as Lachlan performed a rapid assessment, his gaze lingering on my neck so intensely that my fingers reached to shield the wound before he detonated.
“What are they?” I whispered.
“Redcaps,” he said through gritted teeth. “Murderous fae pricks who are not allowed in my city.” Reason enough for him to punish them, but I knew that wouldn’t satisfy him. “They will not hurt anyone else.”
He paused as if waiting for me to object to what he was saying.
I didn’t.
His eyes narrowed, and he pushed the necklace to the side. The cold night air hit the raw cut, and I winced. He sucked in a reedy breath, his eyes flashing to Roark. “Take her to my quarters. Now.”
I didn’t fight it as Roark grabbed hold of me and nipped us back to the Avalon, directly inside Lachlan’s private wing. I didn’t want to see what was about to happen in that alley, even if the redcaps deserved it.
“You want a drink?” Roark asked me, hovering nearby but not touching me. “Or do you want me to get someone? Ciara?”
I shook my head quickly. I didn’t want anyone else to see me like this. Not when I might break at any moment, shattered from within by dredged-up memories. “I’m fine.” My lips wobbled, and I forced them to arch. “Would you believe me if I told you I’d been through worse?”
Roark tensed.
“I grew up in foster care,” I said softly. “Not all monsters lurk in back alleys.”
He softened a little, and I hated the pity that clouded his eyes. “Lach knows…”
Not quite a question, but I nodded. Maybe not the details, but I had no doubt he knew. I didn’t have a clue if he’d guessed or if he saw the scars I tried to hide. I suspected the redcaps would pay extra because of that knowledge.
Roark strode to the bar cart and poured me a drink.
I took it with trembling fingers. “Is he going to kill them?”
He hesitated. “Do you really want to know?”
No. I took a drink, swishing it slightly in my mouth like I could rinse away the memory. I’d seen the murder in Lachlan’s eyes, glimpsed the feral rage that he was likely unleashing. He could handle himself, but if the wrong person got in the way, if the punishment spilled onto the streets of the French Quarter… He had already drawn attention to himself tonight, and with that attention, innocent people were more likely to find out what the fae were—something that might get them killed. “Go, before he loses control.”
I half expected him to argue with me, but Roark’s eyes pinched closed before he nodded once and vanished, telling me that I was right to be concerned.
Telling me that I’d only barely glimpsed Lachlan’s power on the street. Telling me that he was in danger of losing control, of letting the darkness that had saved me consume him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I waited for the guilt to come, waited to feel some pity or remorse for the redcaps who had attacked me. It didn’t. Even though I had glimpsed only a sliver of the merciless justice being meted out. It bothered me even less when I braved the mirror and saw proof of their intentions. The bluish hint of fingerprints bruised my neck, sore but not nearly as painful as the cut on my collarbone. It had clotted, but there was a patch of raw pink where my flesh… I looked away. But not before acid burned up my throat and I lurched over the sink. After, I scrubbed my teeth until my gums were raw, until I tasted only mint.
I peeled my filthy dress off and turned the shower on to its hottest setting. I was dimly aware of the sting as water hit my fresh wound, but I didn’t care. I needed to wash this away. I scrubbed at my skin under the blistering water until even the hotel’s boiler failed and the shower turned cold. My heart had calmed a little by the time I slipped into a silk robe, but I knew it wouldn’t settle until he returned, until I saw him for myself.
It was past three when the door to his wing opened. Light spilled in from the foyer, haloing his massive frame as he stalked inside. For a moment, I didn’t breathe, didn’t move, as I took him in.
He was covered in blood. Black, oily patches of it stained his white shirt, practically dripping off its bloody cuffs. It coated his hands, his neck. I scanned him, looking for signs of injury. There were none. He didn’t say hello, didn’t even acknowledge my existence as he headed toward his room. I was right behind him, following closely as he continued into the attached bath. He walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and began to wash his hands, the water running red on the stark porcelain. His palms grated the soap, his head hanging, black hair falling around his face and glamour fading as he scoured. But darkness clung to him, his tattoos reeling across his skin like they were being chased by those shadows.
“That’s a lot of blood.” The words were barely a whisper. I wasn’t certain he could hear them over the running water.
He shrugged. “Don’t worry, princess. It’s not mine.”
There was no hint of amusement. Only flat, endless rage.