Beloved in His Eyes (Angel's Assassin #2)(29)

He stopped before the chair, staring. A bloody braid of golden sunshine wrapped in a sparkling scarf.

He was afraid to move. Afraid it might be real. He wanted so badly to blink and have it disappear. Her hair. He remembered seeing her that very morning with her hair braided. And the scarf. Maybe it wasn’t the scarf. He reached out to touch it. His fingers brushed the material and it shifted. The sparkles reminded him of her eyes. That was why he had purchased it. Now, the glimmers were muted with smears of red. He pulled his fingers back to see the stain on his skin.

Her blood.

“Damien,” Gawyn called softly from behind him. “It might not be hers.” But his voice lacked conviction.

He knew the truth. Damien knew the truth. Tears blurred his vision. “Out,” he said so softly that his voice barely escaped his lips. His life. His love. Aurora.

“Damien,” Gawyn said more firmly. “You are Lord of Acquitaine. The people will look to you now. They --”

The darkness seized him, and he whirled on Gawyn. “GET OUT!” he hollered.

Gawyn stood immobile. Finally, he nodded and bowed slightly before retreating. He closed the door, sealing Damien in the tomb of death and darkness. Damien turned back to the braid. Complete and utter anguish swept over him in a wave of despair. His fists clenched. He didn’t want to touch her hair. He didn’t want to remember her this way. Had they tortured her? Raped her? In that brief second, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that she was gone. And all that was left for him was darkness.

He dropped to his knees before the judgement chair. His chin fell to his chest. He couldn’t protect her. He had failed. His gaze shifted to the braid in the chair. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. She was everything to him. She was his life. She was his light. He felt himself swirling, falling into the dark, hopeless abyss. He threw his head back and a savage, anguished cry tore from the very depths of his soul.





Chapter 11


Justina worked her way through the forest, stepping over roots, ducking under branches. Her heart pounded in fear and dread. She had to find Adam. She wouldn’t leave without him. She moved through some brush on the forest floor. The sunlight shone down between the leaves of the trees and Justina spotted a patch of white in the growth on the ground and paused. She carefully made her way toward it. The closer she came, the more she realized it wasn’t Adam.

The white dress was long. A woman’s form. Blonde hair. Not Adam. She almost moved away, but recognized Aurora’s face. Shocked, horrified, she stared down at the Lady of Acquitaine. If they had killed her, what had become of her brother? She almost spun away to look for Adam, but a groan and then movement stalled Justina’s motion.

Aurora rolled over, placing a hand to her head where a line of blood was trickling from a cut.

Justina dropped to her knees at her side, grabbing Aurora’s shoulders and helping her to sit up.

Aurora winced in pain and looked at Justina with a dazed expression.

“Where’s Adam?” Justina asked, her fingers digging into Aurora’s shoulders.

Slowly, as reality returned, a fearful look entered Aurora’s stare. She looked about. “Run,” she said softly.

Justina released her, spinning to searching about them. Then, she leaned in close to her. “Where. Is. Adam?”

Aurora wobbled for a moment, then steadied herself with a hand to the ground. She shook her head. “He was here... and then...”

Justina shot to her feet and took a step toward the clearing.

Aurora seized her arm. “The Hungars killed everyone.”

Justina tore her arm free. “He’s my brother,” she snarled with anguish and anger. She ran toward the clearing.

Aurora climbed to her feet unsteadily, but Justina didn’t pause. She didn’t care about the Hungars. She didn’t care about Aurora. She had to find Adam. Her heart beat madly, desperately, fearfully. He had to be all right. He just had to. How could she have let him go on this picnic? She should have found him and dragged him back with her. He was her responsibility. He was the last of her family. He was... everything to her.

She trudged through the growth on the forest floor, around trees, nearing the clearing. She spotted a dark form in the green of the forest floor ahead of her and her insides clenched in dread. She rushed up to the form, hoping it was a pile of dirt or logs. But as she stood over him, she recognized the brown tunic, the breeches, even the boots with the hole in the heel. He was on his stomach, his arms bent, his hands beneath him, his head turned away from her.

A ragged gasp escaped her as she dropped to her knees beside him. “Adam?” She grabbed his shoulders and eased him onto his back. His eyes were wide and glazed, staring. His mouth was open in a silent cry.

I should have been here, Justina thought. “No,” she whispered in a gasp. Her eyes scanned his small body.

His torso was covered in blood.

Justina lifted her hands to touch him, to somehow heal his wounds. But she didn’t know where to start to make him better. She didn’t know... She straightened, tears blurring her sight. “Get up, Adam,” she commanded, her fingers squeezing his arm. “Get up. I told you not to go.” Adam didn’t rise. He didn’t sit up. He wasn’t listening.

Justina shook her head and dropped her chin to her chest. She felt moisture trail down her cheeks. Her lower lip trembled. “I told you not to...” She grabbed him and pulled him against her, pressing her cheek against his temple. “Adam. Don’t go. I was supposed to take care of you.” She hugged him fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut.