20
I didn’t know how long had passed, but when they dragged Killian back, holding him like deadweight by his arms, it seemed like an eternity. I knelt by my cell’s bars and watched with my heart in my throat. Killian’s face was bloodied, his lips cracked, and his eyes swollen. Cuts marred his skin, and darkening bruises blacked his flesh.
Deron and Tade threw Killian on the floor of his cell, and Heath locked the door.
“Killian,” I called, my voice breaking. He didn’t move. I glanced around, ready to beg Fabula, but she wasn’t there. Only Cyrene, who stood to the side, just watching. “Cyrene …” She looked at me, disinterest clear in her face. “Please, he’s really hurt.” And with those damn cuts, it would take him forever to heal. “He needs blood. Please, he needs to drink from … a rabbi
