Page 94 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

“Rest.” I stood.

“Where … you going?”

“To get the Gothi. We’re getting married. Right now.”

“No.”

"Youwillbe my wife. You’ll do as I say because I’m not waiting one more fucking second!" I shouted.

I was laying my soul bare before her in a plea wrapped as a command. The words echoed in the charged silence that followed, resonating with all the unspoken vows and shattered dreams that lay between us.

Raina's breath hitched, a fragile sound. Her chest rose and fell.

A flicker of something—pain, confusion—danced across her face.

“Liam, stop,” she pleaded.

"Do you love me?" My voice was barely above a whisper, the fierceness giving way to vulnerability. I was a soldier stripped of his armor, a male stripped of all pretenses.

Raina's lips parted, and for a heartbeat, time itself seemed to pause. Her answer, poised on the tip of her tongue, held the power to mend or to maul.

"Liam," She began, her voice steady, her eyes blazing. “I …” her head shook and I felt the weight of the universe crashing on top of me.

The ugly thing I’d allowed to grow, that I’d fed and nurtured and used to inflict damage, opened its mouth. “Then why did you fucking bother to save me?”

With perfect timing, the twins returned, immediately going back to work.

The world crashed back into motion. Raina was trying to talk but the ringing in my ears made it hard to hear. With my heart in one hand, and my pride in the other, I portaled back to where I’d last seen the Drótinn. I then proceeded to kill every fucking invader I could reach.

If I couldn’t keep her, I could at least keep her safe.

Twenty

Liam

The heavy door to my father’s private study swung inward, its hinges complaining. I stepped inside, my boots muffled by the thick furs that lined the floor.

The air was steeped in the scent of old leather, accompanied by hints of sweat and blood. My father sat behind his grand desk carved from the heart of an ancient oak, while Gunnar leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, mirroring our father's stern demeanor.

"Sit," Father commanded, nodding toward the chair opposite him.

I obliged, sinking into the rough-hewn seat. The Drótinn’s eyes, pools of dark resolve, met mine.

"We left two alive," he informed me. “But they're broken, useless for now after the first round of interrogation."

"Useless is putting it mildly," Gunnar added with a sniff, flicking a speck of dried blood from his sleeve, like the rest of him wasn’t speckled with it.

"We learned what we needed.”

Those words caught my attention. “They talked?”

“They did.”

“Well?” If he was going for dramatic effect, he was succeeding.

“Those bound to the pact against Raina are all dead."

The cold knot in my stomach started to unravel. Dead. But was it over? For Raina, at least?

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