Page 48 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

It didn’t matter, because after years of keeping it caged, of pressing it down until I couldn’t breathe beneath duty and protocol, the blinding rage that flared at the confirmation of my fears threatened to consume me. I moved to pin his neck to the tree with the tip of my sword.

“Wait, wait…” he blubbered. “My life in return for how we found you.”

I growled, “Why the fuck do you think I care?” I would let him live if that was what she wanted.

“Artifact,” he squeaked.

A bead of blood ran down his neck from where my blade held him. “Talk.”

“We knew you disappeared somewhere around here after the fight. The fancy mage gave us a ring. Said it tracked tainted magic.”

Had I already tainted her with my presence?

Yes, the answer was yes, a truth that resonated deep within me the instant the idea took shape. If they could track my magic, they could track her.

My fear turned to a cold, calculating focus honed in on protecting her. The Assembly didn’t send two men into the borderlands on a guess. They sent two men when they were reasonably certain, and a dozen more when they wanted results. These two were scouts. Which meant more were prowling the foothills of the borderlands looking for me. The only positive aspect of the entire encounter was their apparent lack of knowledge about Lunette.

The urge to end this now was nearly overwhelming. Especially when his eyes flicked to her.

“’Cept the ring pointed us to her. Witch hexed my hand!”

I knew of one person who’d touched a magic ring and gone mad. But this man seemed sane, merely foolish to think that two mundane mercenaries could kill a mage—even an injured one.

But I guess I wasn’t just a mage anymore. I was a Nocthel. “Where’s the ring?”

“On the hand you demons took,” he whined.

I was beyond caring what this human trash had left. But apparently, Lunette cared. Tension radiated from her as she swallowed emotion behind me.

I couldn’t help but glance back. Concern, fear, maybe something else entirely flickered across her face.

And the bastard took my distraction as an opportunity to try to open my belly with a hidden knife.

But I was faster.

I drove the blade upward, burying it in the bearded man’s throat. He went still instantly, blood pouring down his neck and my blade, arms going limp as his body scraped down the rough bark of the trunk.

The moment he hit the forest floor, my knees nearly buckled and my conjured weapon vanished. Pain crashed over me, and black spots danced across my vision. I’d pushed my body too hard.

The pain was nothing compared to the grim calculations now flooding my mind. Two men sent. Two men dead. The Assembly would notice when they didn’t return, and they would send better equipped, better informed men with a far clearer picture of what they were looking for now that their ring had pointed somewhere unexpected.

I’d led them straight to her. The thought settled in my gut like swallowed glass.

Lunette was already there, her shaking hands reaching to be my support.

“Rowan,” she whispered. “Are you hurt? Did they—”

“I’m fine.” My voice came out rough and uneven, undercutting the confident image I was trying to project. “You?”

Her bright eyes, wide with worry, met mine as water dripped from her hair onto her shoulders.

“I’m all right,” she said, voice so thin it shook me. “You—you came so fast.”

Her stunned attention held me prisoner. She breathed out a shaky, relieved breath, and the last string holding my self-control snapped. My hand rose to cup her jaw—slowly, giving her time to pull away. Even with my hardened calluses, I savored the softness of her skin as my thumb brushed her cheek.

“Lunette,” I murmured, unable to keep a possessive edge from entering my voice, “no one lays a hand on you. No one.”

Her breath hitched. For a long, trembling moment, the world held perfectly still. And, cursed gods, I wanted nothing more than to pull her close and press my lips to hers until every scrap of worry had fled from her face.