Chapter 21

In my overwhelming rush to escape and get as far away from here as possible, I'd completely forgotten about the bruises and cuts on my face.

"I-well," In my shock, the word trips out of me without knowing what I'm going to say, or *if* I should even say anything at all. I don't mean to, but my eyes flash over to the group of Unseelie males. It's a brief unintentional flash of my eyes, but Damion sees it. Of course, he does.

If there's ever been a look, a single expression to represent looming death, Damion is wearing it now. It's the sort of menacing reserved for nightmares-for monsters stalking the night. My pulse jumps in my veins at the sight.

"You're going to want to avert your eyes for this, Princess." He forces through a clenched jaw then turns away from me so sharply, that I flinch. He stalks predatorily back to the mirroring groups of waiting soldiers.

"It would see that you won't be making the rest of your journey after all, gentlemen," Damion informs them smoothly.

Whatever sneering response Pieter is about to make is cut short when Damion rips the male's head entirely from his neck. It happens so fast that all I can do is stare open-mouthed. Pieter's thick and green-tinged body slumps to the ground in what feels like slow motion, his blood saturating the earth as it spatters around him.

And then all hell breaks loose.

The shifter soldiers don't question their Commander's sudden change of tactics in regards to the Unseelie. Instead, the previously passive soldiers jump in to assist in taking down the remaining guards. It's over as quickly as it starts. And all that's left of my captors is a shred of blood severed body parts and clawed fabric.

All moisture leeches from my mouth, my tongue, and throat as dry as if cotton had been shoved there. My blood rushes through me in shifting waves of boiling to icy to boiling again as I try to make sense of what I'm seeing. Trying to understand what just happened and what it means.

Before I can, though, Damion slowly-so slowly-turns back in my direction. Even from here, I can make out a fine spattering of blood across his cheek and neck. His face is impassive, his eyes wary, as he turns to gauge my reaction.

Despite everything that's happened, there's still a tiny sane part of myself that knows I should feel terrified-should be reeling in horror over what I've just witnessed. The male in front of me ripped Pieter's head from his shoulders. His soldiers took down an entire retinue of Unseelie guards in a matter of moments. They are more than just dangerous. They are lethal.

I *know* I should be horrified by what I've seen. Panicking, even. But the trembling that's making its way up my body isn't a byproduct of fear. No, not even close. It's *relief* that's coursing through me in waves. A relief so intense that I feel hot prickles forming in the corner of my eyes.

By the tight line of his mouth, I know Damion is waiting-expecting even-for me to run screaming in the opposite direction. It's what any sane person should do. Instead, I do the last thing either of us expects me to.

With a few stumbling footsteps, I close the distance between us and throw my arms around his middle. He goes rigid under my touch, but I can't make myself pull away. I'm so relieved to be away from them, relieved to no longer be moving towards a dreaded, uncertain future that a full-bodied shudder wracks through me from head to toe.

His arms-hesitant at first, *so hesitant*-wrap around me. They're firm as they pull me decidedly closer against his muscular chest, but more gentle than I would have thought possible. This male's arms that I had just witnessed ripping a man's head wholly off his body with his bare hands hold me like I'm something fragile. He tucks me into himself as if I might break apart under his touch if he doesn't use extreme care.

He clears his throat, "I think we're ruining your dress."

"What?" I sniffle, my mind not catching his meaning in its feverish state.

"There's blood on my clothes and now it's getting all over you."

"Oh," a choked laugh wheezes out of me in my surprise, "That's alright. I already had blood on it." I mumble into the leather on his chest. Like the last time I'd been this close to him, been pressed up against his body like this, had during the earth storm. And the same familiar feeling of safety trickles into my bloodstream. Safe. I'm safe.

At my joking words, his body tenses again. Assuming that his tension is a sign that I'm making him uncomfortable, I let my arms loosen around his middle and droop to my sides. I crane my neck upward to gauge his reaction, chewing worriedly on my bottom lip as I peer up into his face, "Sorry, I shouldn't havejumped you like that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"No," he interrupts my apology with a low exhale, voice tight, "don't apologize. I was just thinking that I should have drawn out killing them a little more."

As my face twists with confusion, his eyes drift and linger to where I know my face is swollen and broken from Pieter's fists, "No one who raises their hand to you deserves a quick death. An oversight on my part that I'm quickly regretting."

"Thank you for what you did. You saved me." Now that the adrenaline that had gotten me to this point is quickly fading and I'm no longer leaning against him for support, my strength is quickly waning.

His sharp features crack into a barely visible smile, "From what I saw, you were actually in the middle of saving yourself before I rudely interrupted you."

I can't help but match his smile with a small one of my own, wobbling on my feet. I sway slightly, briefly losing my balance as I'm overcome with the sensation that the earth is moving. I barely catch myself in my unsteady state, blinking the dark spots from my vision. It's not the earth moving, it's only the trembling in my muscles that's making it feel that way.

Damion clasps his large hands on my shoulders, bracing me as I catch my balance. By the time my vision clears, his smile from before is long gone. His black eyes have gone a deep, rich purple, his brow a tense line. I scarcely notice it when he briefly shifts one of the hands bracing my shoulders and presses the back of that hand to my forehead.

"Fuck. You're burning up," his voice is a low growl.

I blink dazedly up at him, unable to conceal the wonderment sparking through me as I stare up into his face. I barely register the tension radiating off him again as I say, "Your eyes are purple. That's a new one, I don't think I've seen them that color before."

He makes a low noise in his throat in acknowledgment of my observation, then says with a feigned lightness, worry still bleeding through, "Where's your medicine, darling?" He moves his arm to my waist, supporting the majority of my weight as he leads us to the carriage.

"*Liliana*." He presses, voice sharp with what sounds like worry.

"My medicine is in my trunk, side pocket." It takes me longer than it should for the weight of the last word he uttered to settle over me. It's a sudden splash of icy water over my head, and my breath catches in my throat, "Wait. You know my name." I say, "My *real* name."