Damon's POV
Her weight in my arms was nothing. Too light. Like the wind could steal her from me if I didn’t hold tight enough.
Every bruise on her skin was a brand of my failure. Every shallow breath a knife to my ribs.
I did this.
I sent her running. I made her desperate.
And now she was hurt.
Ryan’s growl was a constant drumbeat in my skull— protect, protect, protect— but it was too late for that. The damage was done.
Sailas jogged beside me, rattling off medical advice I didn’t want to hear.
"She’ll need ointment for the bruises. And if she’s coughing blood, we should—"
"Enough," I snarled.
The packhouse doors slammed open ahead of us, warriors scattering from my path. Good. Let them fear me. Let them run.
Upstairs, I kicked open my bedroom door and lai
