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But even as he told himself those things, Rion recognized them for the lies they were. Because he knew he’d grovel on his knees for just one more second in her presence.

Chapter Eighty

Arianna

They’d found a suitable shelter that was away from the river and the bodies scattered along its bank. At least far enough that she couldn’t smell them. The cave would allow them to escape the rain long enough to rest and plan their next destination.

When Rion had stood and stumbled again, she’d stepped toward him, determined to overcome her fear, but he’d held up a hand and she’d stopped in her tracks. Arianna hadn’t known what to make of that. He’d been in captivity for two months, chained against his will and clearly tortured.

Maybe he didn’t want to be touched. That part of him had never really faded. He’d welcomed the feel of her hands before, even seemed to relish her touch, but perhaps with as vulnerable as he’d become, he couldn’t bear it.

So she had swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped back, her heart cracking as he limped into the small cavern.

Once inside, Talon had collected wood, stripped it of the liquid weighing it down and started a fire for the High Lady of Brónach and the child clutching her shirt.

Now, Arianna sat before the female, gently working on her wounds. She was wild, a creature who’d been locked away and feared returning to any cage. So Arianna moved slowly and kept her hands where they could be seen.

His mother. Gods, Niall had had Rion’s mother this entire time. How old had Rion been when she went missing? Eight? Ten? That meant she’d been in captivity for more than eighty years.

Arianna wasn’t certain how the female, Eimear, had maintained her sanity. Then again, Arianna hadn’t exactly had a conversation with her, so maybe she hadn’t.

Arianna risked a glance at Rion. He sat at the rear of the cave, slouched against the wall with his head down. A warrior defeated. He’d refused to let her tend to his wounds until she’d assessed his mother first.

He looked so much worse.

“Give me your knife.” Arianna started at the request and studied the too familiar eyes demanding a weapon from Talon.

He didn’t hesitate or ask what she needed it for. Talon just unsheathed one of his blades and handed it to the female. But he kept close, an ever watchful guardian over Arianna.

Eimear tilted her head, lifted the blade, and began sawing through her hair.

“What are you—”

“It’s fine,” Eimear said, the blade cutting through the mats. “It can’t be saved anyway.” She was right. Every bit of it had clumped into a mass so thick, strands didn’t even hit the floor as she sawed through it.

“Enough about me,” Eimear finally said. “See to him.”

Arianna nodded and stood. She winced at the burning in her foot, a constant reminder of the horrid things she and Talon had killed.

The movement drew Rion’s attention. His shoulders went stiff, his nostrils flared, and a sense of dread filled the pit of her stomach. She hated to force herself upon him, hated to touch him if he didn’t want her to, but he was bleeding and injured. The sooner she tended to his wounds, the sooner they could get out of here.

She tried not to limp, but the adrenaline from the fight had worn off. She’d removed her other sock and doubled it up to pad the injury. Talon had offered his as well.

Arianna shivered and approached the male her heart longed for. He watched her as an animal might watch a predator. She wanted to tell him she wouldn’t hurt him, but the words didn’t feel right. He’d been hurt so much.

Slowly, Arianna knelt and examined his body. His throat bobbed and he looked ready to speak, but stopped. Arianna’s hands shook and she hated it, hated every single second because she knew he could smell fear all over her.

This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. That instead of running straight into his arms, some part of her would be afraid. Her fear claimed his fangs might pierce her throat again. That he’d easily snap her arm and throw her to the ground as if she were weak and nothing, nothing, nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and rough. Arianna followed his gaze and found herself rubbing the scarred part of her arm again. She quickly let her fingers fall.

“Who hurt you?” he asked, eying the line of tiny punctures along her boot.

“What hurt me would be the better question.” Silence. “I don’t know what they’re called. Dark Fae of one variety or another.”

“Are you okay?” He was looking at her shoulder now as if he could see through the material covering it.

“You’re asking me?” And he was. His face was nothing but serious despite the plethora of wounds he carried. She nodded once, but she wasn’t okay. Not with anything.