Page 131 of Samhain Savior

Finally, the man collapsed, the flesh of his arm liquefying into steaming pools on the dewy grass, sobs choking out between his screams. The scent of rotten meat and the iron of spilled blood filled the night.

“Damn, Archer.” Mex’s voice was low, almost reverent, as she took in the scene. “You’ve learned some new tricks since I saw you last.”

I hummed, noncommittal. She didn’t need to know that I hadn’t truly commanded any of it. The shadows had acted on their own, drunk on the power coursing through me since bonding with Delilah. Stronger. Wilder. Hungrier.

The only conscious thought I’d had was the desperate need to protect my mate. My magic had done the rest.

Delilah’s sharp inhale pulled me back. She stood stock-still beside me, eyes wide as she took in the horrorunfolding in the clearing. “Archer,” she breathed, her voice soft and pained. Her hand slid to my arm, a touch more powerful than any shackle or restraint. “Archer, that’s enough. Make it stop.”

Her eyes glistened, blue orbs gone wet with unshed tears. Not for herself, but for the writhing man. For the suffering I had unleashed.

Shefeltit, that pain, and something inside me recoiled at that realization. Through the bond I could feel her devastation, her unrelenting compassion for someone who would have only caused her harm. My mate bore the weight of his agony as though it were her own.

And, for the first time, I truly recognized then the chasm between us.

I was a demon. A soldier of Lucifer’s Host. Judgment, torment, and vengeance were tattooed into my very soul. Since the Fall, it had been my duty—ourduty—to scour the earth clean of sinners and deliver them to their eternal punishment. I had never questioned it, never once questioned my purpose.

But Delilah…she had lived with a different purpose, one of life and love, of hope and devotion.

She waslight.

And I? I had been forged in darkness. The very essence of shadow

She had known this, known me, and still, she had chosen me. She loved me as I was, shadows and all. She would accept me—of that I had no doubt. Yet as her touch burned into my skin and her plea echoed through me, something shifted.

I didn’t want her to simply accept what I was. I wanted to bemore.

More than endless torment. More than a vessel for pain and suffering.

I could be judgment.

But I could also bejustice.

For her, I could be anything.

Resolved, I swept my hand wide. The shadows recoiled with a hiss, retreating into me as the man fell still, gasping, broken. His arm was ruined, his flesh scarred and mangled, but he lived. He would remember. He wouldfear.

The silence that followed was thick. Even the night insects seemed to pause, as though the garden itself watched, waiting.

Delilah’s hand lingered on my arm, a tremor in her fingers. Relief flowed through the bond, bright as morning light, and my chest ached with it. She leaned close, her voice whispersoft. “Thank you.”

The words pierced deeper than any blade. For her, I would hold back the storm. For her, I would choose restraint.

The tattooed man still crouched before me, shuddering, as his eyes darted to his injured companion, then to the wall of shadows that still loomed around us. Terror dripped from him like sweat, and the woman and the hound approached him, seeming to feel they were safer together.

While the two witches cowered, the hound stared me down, lips drawn back as it snarled in our direction, refusing to be cowed.

“Back, Ferox!” the woman shouted, but the hound would not be swayed. It crept across the grass, head low and ears back, red eyes burning like coals in the fading night.

Its growl was a low thunder, vibrating the ground beneath our boots. Drool hissed as it struck the grass, smoke rising where it fell. Every muscle in its body coiled, promising blood.

I raised my clawed hands, prepared to fight, to defend my mate and my men against the animal I knew would be vicious in its attack, when movement in the grass caught my eye.

Waddling across the lawn, moving faster than I would have thought possible, was the hedgehog, Pandora, appearing to be determined to place herself between the hound and her mistress.

“No, little bestie!” Vine shouted, having seen the tiny, spiked thing at the same time I did. “Don’t do it! I’ll save you!”

He moved, ready to reach down and scoop the creature out of harm’s way, but before he could get near, the hedgehog began to change, her form shifting before our very eyes.