Page 150 of The Shattered Rite
Find her. Let her fall into him. Be the comfort Silas would never be again.
She wouldn’t even question it.
He was careful. Measured. Trusted.
She’d let him hold her.
His throat closed.
But no.
He couldn’t.
Not yet.
His mind spun.
A plan, he needed a plan.
What could he give her?
What could he take away next?
How could he carve away every piece of her safety until he was all that was left?
The worst part wasn’t the thought itself.
It was how good it felt.
Malric sat down heavily on the edge of the low stone bed, elbows on his knees, blood drying at his wrists.
He could hear his father’s voice in his head. Cold. Triumphant.
But the voice that answered was his own.
She’s mine.
She doesn’t know it yet.
But she will.
His gaze flicked to the door.
He wondered if she was still crying.
He wondered if she’d say his name when she did.
And that thought—that dangerous, hollow hunger—was the only thing that let him finally close his eyes.
Because now, she was alone.
And sooner or later, he’d be the one she turned to.
He just had to wait.
And he was very, very good at waiting.
The ring pulsed against his finger. Cold. Heavy.
