Page 100 of An Empress of Earth & Darkness

He had been shredded. She would never forget the way his legs lay on the foyer floor or the amount of blood that soaked his clothes.

A howl broke from her throat again, one that was married with the agony in her heart.

She would always be grateful to Emara for what she had done for Eli. Word had come from Melione—a trusted spirit witch in the markets—that he had gone over to the spirit world without the pain of his trauma. Emara had failed to heal him, but she had taken his pain, allowing him to pass over peacefully.

A whimper left her and her head bowed as the pain in her heart stabbed through again.

She had prayed to the Gods to take their mother instead of Eli. Why had they not taken someone who abandoned her four pups and stole from a family that she had brought into this world?

Her heart cracked open at the truth she smothered with so many distractions.

Breighly shifted back to human form and let out a scream, unable to bear that her pack would feel her hurt even miles away from where she stood. She let out a sob as her fist hit the bark of the tree trunk in front of her. Pain seared up her hand and her bones hummed with a biting pain that brought more tears to her eyes. But it was better than the pain in her heart, so she punched again. She punched until the salty tears ran down her chin, soaking her bare neck.

A snapping branch had her whirling around.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew that a full moon often brought out more demons from the underworld, their portals being stronger than normal. Her heart started thumping as much as the pain in her hand.

A shadow appeared from behind a tree. Instantly crouching, she readied herself to shift into the monster she could be. An inked warrior walked into a beam of light that had found a gap between two trees. She snarled and he placed his hands up.

His golden eyes were filled with caution. “It’s me.”

She snarled at Artem Stryker again. “Don’t you know it’s total stupidity to sneak up on a wolf?”

Especially one filled with pain. One with an injured heart.

His face was taut, pale. “I heard you howl and scream. I—”

“I am fine.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes tracked the blood on her hand, examining her open flesh that surrounded her knuckles.

“Breighly,” Artem whispered, “are you hurt?”

“I said I am fine,” she snapped. “You can see that I am absolutely fine.”

“Clearly.” Artem’s shoulders squared, and his strong chest puffed a little. “The minute I heard a howl in the woods, I knew it was you. And I was worried you had...” His voice trailed into nothing as he stood watching her.

He had known her howl, and he had gotten here faster than she thought a hunter could run. She wanted to question it, but the intensity of his gaze had her whole body on lockdown. A tingle of panic ran through her heart when she couldn’t find a single part of the comical mask he usually wore. Maybe she watched him more than she would care to admit. But right now, there was something different about the air that lingered between them.

He reached down to the hem of his tunic and pulled it over his head, revealing every part of his torso and arms. Amongst the muscles were inked pictures all over his skin, telling stories of who he was and mattered to him. Her lips parted to ask about them, but she stopped herself, knowing that she shouldn’t go there. She had always been curious as to why he would mark his full body with ink. Did he want to hide the skin underneath?

But it was beautiful.

Breighly didn’t need to know any more about him. He was a hunter, a guard, and the son of the chief commander, and that was all she needed to know. That was all that mattered. He was her companion in guardianship, nothing more.

“Here,” he said, “put this on. I know you left your clothes back near the camp.” He tossed her his tunic. “I passed them on my way here, along with your weapon belt.” He shot her an unimpressed look that stirred up desire in her heart. He was so attractive even when he was frustrated with her, and that was a whole lot of trouble.

A. Whole. Lot. Of. Trouble.

As she caught his tunic, she was graced with his warm scent of baked oranges and soft summer rain. The tunic was still warm when she pulled it over her naked skin, and it was around three or four sizes bigger than her own. She had worn dresses with a shorter hem.

He crossed the space between them when she was dressed, and his russet hair looked darker in the moonlight. He stopped just before her and lifted her hand so that he could inspect it.

“It’s just a little blood.” Her heart thumped against her ribs, and she was grateful that he didn’t have wolf hearing.

He looked down at her through knowing eyes. “I know what blood looks like.” Again, there was no grin, no jest. She had been so horrendous to him lately. And she knew she had hurt him even though she didn’t want to.

“I think we should get back to camp and get Sybil to take a look at this.” He looked over her knuckles again, and instead of pain being the dominant feeling in her heart, it was longing. Longing for his hands to move from her wrist to her back. She wanted his hands on her hips, on her thighs, pushing through her hair.

She shut down those thoughts because it was the right thing to do.

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