Page 85 of Love's Ace

I had to try to block out what he was feeling—every blow he took was one that made me want to pivot, to forget my quarry so I could protect him.

I had to trust that he could handle what was in front of him so I could make sure to take care of what was behind.

It was the only way we were going to get out of this… and if I had to, if I could kill the thing I was fighting while I still had my mind about me, I could turn on that feathered bastard too.

Rip the wings from the spine.

Tearapartanything that hurt Wren.

Wren.

Even as my vision narrowed into a crackling focus of fury and darkness, somehow I could still remember his name. I snarled it as I struck out, grabbing hold of the woman in front of me and throwing her into the wall, filling the room with the splintering sound of crumbling plaster.

I screamed it when my fingers found her stomach and I started clawing into her skin like I meant to find the woman that she’d been so I could pull her free from the monster she was becoming.

Because that woman was still there—I could see it in her face.

Could see it in her eyes.

If there was a way to save me, there was probably a way to save her too.

It didn’t matter. She was athreat.

Her claws tore into my shoulder at the same time another arrow grazed my thigh, a white hot sear of pain that I ignored. And then I saw it—the moment her gaze focused on my chest, on the bright light spilling from it… I remembered how furious the sight of the two men made me back in the alley, and I snarled. When she grabbed hold of the red thread and pulled, Wrenscreamed.

My vision blurred, and the burst of strength that spilled through me felt better than any drug I’d ever taken. My hands found her throat and squeezed—squeezed until my fingers were covered in black blood and she waslimpon the ground.

One more body in the room.

I whirled around to see a frenzy of feathers behind me.

Wren fighting. Wren bloody.

Wren, weaker than he should have been because the line between us seemed to make me stronger while it broke him down.

And like the cupid could sense it too, he grabbed the thread and pulled.

Wren’s eyes went wide, his face pale, and he crumpled.

My vision went black, and I pounced.

Feathers.

Feathers and blood and screaming. I couldn’t think around the rage pouring through me, couldn’t taste anything but copper onmy tongue and the need to make sure that anyone—anything—that touchedmysoulmate was torn to shreds, to nothing. To blood and bone, shards and feathers andnothing.

I didn’t realize he was dead until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Not Wren, because Wren was still on the ground.

Whoever it was, he was tall, and his eyes were such a pale violet they seemed almost clear.

Prismatic.

And they widened when they trailed down to Wren.

To the thread between us.

I’d kill himtoo.

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