Within seconds, I was scooped up from the ground by someone—strong arms locking around me as if I were something fragile. The scent that filled my senses told me instantly it was Tristan.
He didn’t say a word.
His jaw was clenched, and his strides were long and purposeful as he carried me straight toward our room. His eyes, usually a stormy grey, were pitch-black from fury, but even as I watched, they began to shift back to their normal shade.
His heartbeat was still pounding fast against my ear, his fangs still on full display, his muscles tight. The sight made goosebumps prickle along my arms. He always acted this way when anger consumed him, but why now? Did he think I had tried to run away—just like Tala had hinted earlier when I saw the look on the servants’ faces?
Why was he tak
