The fire from last night’s victory still burned low in the pit when the scouts brought her in.
At first, I didn’t recognize her.
Her silks were gone, replaced by torn fabric barely clinging to her frame. Her hair hung in snarled waves, streaked with mud. One arm was clutched against her ribs, the skin raw and purple with bruises.
“Please,” she whispered, stumbling into the yard, her voice thin as smoke. “Please help me. I can’t go back.”
The air shifted. Laughter died out and everyone had their attention on her.
James’s growl was immediate, sharp and low. “No.” His wolf pressed through his eyes, brown darkening to black. “She doesn’t step foot in this house.”
Chris moved closer, forest-green gaze fixed like knives. “Amber, she’s lying. I can smell it”
But I couldn’t smell anything.
