Page 113 of Emylia

“Em?” The hurt and confusion in his eyes only added to my own. “You’re not a killer, you saved my life.”

I knew he was right. If I hadn’t killed, Sebastian would be dead. But that didn’t change what I was.

A killer.

“You can’t fix this.” My voice climbed a couple of octaves, the sound shrill, even to my ears. My laugh came out like a demented cackle.

“I killed him.”

“I killed them all.”

The words kept repeating over and over again in a noxious loop.

I vaguely noticed Sebastian snake an arm over my back, the other guiding under my legs as he lifted me into his arms.

Carrying me like I weighed nothing, I let Sebastian cocoon me in a protective grasp, shielding me from all the emotions that threatened to tear me apart. Tears stained my cheeks as my heart broke a million times over.

I was a killer.

I was beyond retribution.

ChapterTwenty-Four

The warmth of the blankets cocooned me, smothering me in a false layer of security.

I’d hardly noticed when my mother had healed me; the cut on my arm and shoulder were little more than silver lines, glowing on my olive skin.

Nor had I registered as she had bathed me, combed my hair, or put me in a night shirt. It was a sickening blur, hazed with self-loathing.

I was a killer.

My stomach soured, the taste of bile burning my throat as I tried to bite back tears. To find my center. I rubbed at the bracelet on my wrist, like it could somehow magikally erase the monster I’d become.

A light knock on the door crumbled my shattered feelings.

A hoarse whisper was all that I could conjure, “Come in.”

Sebastian’s huge frame blocked the light from the hallway. He didn’t hesitate, shutting the door firmly behind him so we were alone. He leaned against the dresser by the door, as he always did when he visited me.

His robust frame looked ridiculous against the pink hues of the drawers my aunty had chosen for my room. His eyes travelled the length of my body, or what he could see of it, still wrapped in its cocoon.

“Em.” His tone was soft like he thought I would crumble at his words.

Pushing myself up so I was sitting, I readjusted the blanket, draping it over my shoulders. “Hey, Bastian.”

Concern wrinkled his dark features. “Are you okay?”

The answer was definitely no. But I couldn’t really admit that. “I’m fine.”

An exasperated sigh escaped him; he rubbed one single hand over his ruggedly handsome face. “We both know you’re not. But I need you to be, because Thrainn is on the way. And he’s furious.”

I’d only just realized that Sebastian had also had a bath and changed. No blood lingered on his skin, marking him with the tell-tale sign that he’d just been in battle.

He was immaculate, dressed in a black warrior uniform. It was made from black leather and adorned with intricately designed patterns that framed the edges of the sleeveless shirt. A sword hung sheathed at his side like he was expecting to be called into battle at any second.

My blank stare mustn’t have given Sebastian any confidence, because he strode to my side, taking my hand. “Don’t worry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before I could reply, Uncle Thrainn swung the door open, almost tearing it off its hinges. His eyes were wild and black as onyx as he studied me. One quick glance running over the length of my body softened his features.

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