Page 12 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“Unlock the godsdamned door to her cell,” Malcolm snarled.

“I . . . I’s not sure that’s wise, my lord,” the guard stammered.

Solis turned his shadowy head completely around on his shoulders, unhindered by trivialities like a spine. He glared at the guard, his tail elongating to slash threateningly through the air.

“Hang it all,” the guard grunted, eyes widening on the ghoulish sight. He grabbed for the keys at his belt.

Metal scraped against metal and the cell door screeched open. Malcolm sidled inside, careful not to touch the bars. Iron dispelled magic, and it burned and poisoned immortals. Two of the guards fled. Solis kept his hold on the unlucky one.

Hrafn stayed hidden, cocooned by her damaged wings. Up close, her injuries were vast, deep gashes opened in her plumes. She’d been hurt, scratched and clawed, and the soap continued foaming against her broken flesh in patches.

He fetched the water bucket. Dragging it in behind him, he rinsed away the bubbling spots of cleaner. When the water hit her injuries, her body went rigid, and she let out a light grunt.

“Raven,” he said soothingly. For a brief moment, she settled. Her body stopped vibrating with repressed malice like a chained tiger. Malcolm laid a hand on her back, dusting the caustic powder there loose. Slowly Hrafn dropped her wing to peer over it at him. Her cheek was bleeding, her leather clothing torn. One of her eyes was swollen and blotchy.

“Who hit you?” he demanded, his voice rising out of a deep place in his throat, turning it into a rasp he didn’t recognize. “Point him out to me.”

Her wings lifted in a shrug. “There were many who hit me.”

Malcolm unknotted his neckcloth. He handed her the silk, then he unbuttoned his waistcoat and shouldered out of it. They worked together in silence, brushing the harsh soap away from her damaged skin with his clothing. He brought the fabric down the back of her legs. She wiped off her neck and throat, then she shook her braids free of the powder. A careful flap of her wings sent more soap flying.

Nurtured by tenderness, the blooming bond feasted on their shared touches. Warmth pierced his chest, the sensation so welcome, so wonderfully strange, a knot formed in his throat.

“Close your eyes,” he told her, voice husky.

With his thumb, he wiped away the blood on her cheek. The thick, dark lashes he admired feathered shut. She stood very still. Carefully, he brushed the powder free of her face, working a corner of the fabric down her nose, then gently across the delicate flesh of both eyelids, taking special care around her injury. He wiped her brow until the deep furrow there smoothed.

Her lips parted under his thorough attention. Her breath warmed the intimate space between them, and her fingers went limp at her sides.

When the powder was gone, she stood facing him, wings drooping at her back. In the gaslights, her rich brown eyes softened to a fawn color. They fixed on his heart, right where he felt the thrumming pull of the blooming bond the strongest. She avoided meeting his gaze, and he was grateful because his had gone watery.

He hadn’t thought he’d ever find a mate, never dared to let himself give in to hope. But now hope was a fierce thing that threatened to crush his chest.

Malcolm nearly asked her if it was all true. Had she hurt all those people in Reedlet—killed those people? But he didn’t voice his thoughts because it didn’t matter. It didn’t change a damn thing about why he was there.

I bet you wish we’d kept her,Solis said.None of this could have happened then.

Oh, he definitely wished he’d kept her, but it had nothing to do with what had occurred at Reedlet. He wanted to keep her because in her presence he’d become the worst sort of scoundrel.

She was about to say something, but then her lips pressed together. Malcolm’s tail whipped around him in response to her hesitation, wrapping itself about her thigh, revealing far too many of his innermost feelings in one sweep.

Hrafn blinked at the unfettered show of affection. Her throat bobbed and her tongue loosened. “I don’t want to die here. There’d be no honor in it.”

“I swear on my very soul, that’s not going to happen to you.” The grip of his tail tightened.

Her wings, constrained by the narrow space, flittered. “What now?” she asked gently.

“Now, I have to close you back in this cell, though I don’t want to.” He worked out a breath that felt lodged in his ribs. “Then I go to my king to beg him for your life.”

Hrafn’s black brows furrowed. “Why are you doing all of this for me?”

Needing to touch her more, Malcolm skated his thumb over her chin, and she lifted it. A spark of connection coursed between them, and he gave himself a moment to drown in it. When he swam back up to the surface, he met her calculating gaze. “That’s a foolish question. You already know why I’m doing this.”

Her heavy lashes lowered. The bond thrummed between them, shouting its answer at her. The acrid smell of ret soap mingled with her scent of leather and wilderness. Behind them, the guard struggled, boots scraping against wet cement. A gurgling plea slid over his lips.

“Solis is my shadow there,” Malcolm said, pointing to his soul. “He wants to know if that could be the one who hit you. There are marks on his knuckles.”

Hrafn considered him. “That could be the one . . . Your shadow has a name?”

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