Page 360 of Coal Hearts

“We said don’t move!” ordered a guard on the wall.

“Va te faire foutre!” (Fuck you!) I shouted back.

I ducked.

She winced as I threaded one arm around her back and one beneath her legs. “W-What are you doing?”

I cursed her flinch.

I loathed her fear.

English returned along with human intelligence. “I won’t hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

She sucked in a breath and shook her head.

I didn’t know if she argued she was safe with me or didn’t want me to pick her up.

Either way, both were happening.

“Je jure,” (I swear), I breathed. “I’ll take care of you.”

She gave me nothing.

But I didn’t need her to speak to hear her judgement.

I’d whittled away her trust ever since I told her I wasn’t going to save her.

I would never get that back, and...in that storm with blood on my hands, it fucking hurt worse than anything.

Footsteps pounded behind me as I took her weight, plucked her from the ground, then hefted her into my arms. The cuts on my knuckles and radiating pain in my back didn’t bother me.

Her silence and broken softness did.

It did horrible, horrible things to me.

It confused and bewildered me because the beast inside still very much wanted to hurt her. To stamp his brutal ownership on her and replace whatever mark that cunt had left behind, but...beneath that longing lurked another one just as strong...perhaps even stronger.

It wanted to hurt her, yes, but it wanted to hurt everyone else a thousand times fucking worse.

“Henri. What the hell is the meaning of this?” Victor yelled as he marched into our battleground. Four guards trailed him while a fifth held a black umbrella over Victor’s head. The guard fought a war, trying to keep the wind from snatching it.

Words replaced the roars in my head.

I settled back into being nothing more than a man.

Swallowing back the taste of metallic blood—my blood—I cradled Ily close and shrugged. “They touched what was mine.”

Victor looked past us. “Who the fuck tied Peter to a tree? In a goddamn lightning storm?”

The skinny, pot-bellied man who I hadn’t managed to murder staggered to his feet. “I-I did, Vic, but it was only—”

“Are you trying to turn him into a barbecue?” Victor snarled. “Because one bolt of lightning and poof.” He snapped his fingers. “He’s Sunday’s roast.”

“Sorry, Victor.” The man dropped his eyes.

“Go release him and take him back to the stables.” Victor glanced at one of the guards.

“Yes, Sir.” The guard nodded and splashed through the grass to do what he’d been commanded.