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“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean that. I just wondered where you went.”
“I just went to see my aunts.”
I nodded and his fingers stroked through my hair for a long time. His breathing evened and I felt mine follow suit as calm settled over me for the first time since Osian had arrived.
Everything would be okay, he was here, he was handling it.
He lifted me and put me in bed, pulling the covers up over my lap. “I’m going to call Candice, alright? I’ll have her and her father stay with you.”
I nodded. “She’s still mad at me.”
“Candice will be here right away when she hears what happened,” he said. “If there’s anyone who might be more angry with Osian, it’s her.”
He stepped out into the hall and I slid onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. My face still throbbed, but nothing felt more tender and shocked than my heart.
Let me be your monster.
I squeezed my eyes shut, rolling into a fetal position.
If there was a God, I hoped he took mercy on us both.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
MERRICK
I was still reeling from the revelations about Edwin when I found her, but somehow I managed to keep it together.
She needed stability, comfort, and safety.
The news of Edwin’s betrayal had filled me with hurt and confusion. The news that Osian had put his hands on Clara had killed that. Inside, there was nothing but ice and a deadly calm.
And the focused need for blood.
Candice led her down the hall and I heard her bedroom door shut. Owen stood on the opposite side of the table. The kitchen was deathly quiet.
“Are you doing it tonight?” he asked.
I nodded once.
He hesitated, his jaw working. “You know what you’re doing, Merrick?”
I glanced over, pulling my jacket off. My fingers were steady as I rolled my sleeves up to my elbow. My clothes were already soaked so what did it matter if I wore them tonight.
“What would you do in my stead, Owen?” I asked harshly.
“The same,” he said. “I helped raise Clara, she’s like a daughter to me.”
“Stay here,” I said, taking my gun from the small of my back and passing it to him. “Lock the doors, don’t let anyone in. I’ll send a handful of soldiers out to stand guard outside the house.”
He nodded, checking the magazine and safety before pushing the pistol under his jacket. Then he held out his hand and I shook it, his grip firm.
“Good luck,” he said.
“I don’t need luck,” I said flatly. “I’m the fucking Welsh King and this is my goddamn city.”
He must have seen the fire, the sweeping rage, inside because he balked. I spun on my heel and left the house, striding down the steps to the Audi.
