Page 11 of Blood On His Lips

He said nothing, so I signaled. They rose, moving forward quickly, caution in their stiff limbs and rigid expressions. No one looked at the bodies.

The Prince lifted his head and looked at Numair, who halted, Juliette freezing at his side, their faces leeched of color.

I slid a hand up Renaud’s arm, gripping his tense bicep. A moment later, the lethal spike of tension eased, and I nodded at my guard.

“Numair,” Renaud said, his calm cold and stinging, like sleet, “repair quickly to the palace and command Ishaan to attend me here.”

Numair sank to his knees on the side opposite Renaud, ignoring the Prince. Brave. Or stupid.

“Rinne.” His fingers trembled as he reached out to me.

Renaud grabbed his wrist, flinging it away with barely restrained violence. “Go.”

“No, they’ll cut him down,” I said. “And he is mine.Icommand him.”

A faint glamour overtook Numair, changing his nondescript pants and shirt into the white and silver of Renaud’s crown colors.

“They’ll know you speak my commands,” the Prince said, not looking at Numair. “Now go.”

I chuckled at my friend as he lurched to his feet, then grimaced because chuckling hurt.

“Numair in white and silver,” Juliette said with an annoying younger cousin’s smirk. “Just wait till I tell the House this.”

“Stay alive long enoughtotell them,” Numair said, then darted off.

He and Martine gathered the lingering horses cut away from the overturned carriage. He mounted one after gentling it with soothing noises, galloping back to the palace. His way with animals was nearly an affinity; the horse had remained close.

But still. “We should invest in cell phone towers,” I said. “I guess you’re one of those technophobes.”

“I loathe noisy human technology,” Renaud murmured. “But after tonight, I will consider your recommendations.”

I closed my eyes, distracting myself from the pain. “I have so many recommendations.”

“Save your strength, Aerinne.” He was calm, applying pressure to my wound, but I wasn’t fooled. His voice contained a maelstrom.

I woke abruptly, chilled, realizing I’d fainted. The moon had changed position. Juliette stood guard over us, her blade still in her hand, her expression grim.

I doubted I’d live, though Renaud had stopped my bleeding. I was cold, my heart slowing.

“Juliette, tell my father. . .” I slurred my words. Lost too much blood.

“Tell him yourself,” she said, short with agitation. “Be quiet, conserve your energy.”

I looked up at Renaud. The moonstone irises swirled as he cradled me in his arms. Lips pressed briefly against my forehead, public affection I should have feared. An Old One wouldn’t betray even this subtle emotion unless what lurked beneath the surface was massive, immutable.

“You have a healing affinity,” I said as his power worked to stabilize my wounds, staunch the bleeding. My own power was quiet, sluggish. “Last time you helped us too.”

Dark Angel. It might be goodbye. Or maybe good riddance?

You will live, Aerinne. I keep what is mine.

“You will not die,” Renaud said. “I’ve stopped the bleeding, and I can do no more, but you will not die.”

Darkan and Renaud. Renaud and Darkan. Ice and warmth, honey and blackberries. A harmony of voices, nearly indistinguishable. Like they were one voice, and a third intertwining.

No. My dark angel would never lie to me, not even by omission. Darkan was mine. My comfort, my rock, my strength. My hope.

This would unravel me. Unmake everything I knew, render me nothing.

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