Page 7 of To Claim A King
“What the fuck, Kellan!? What in the actual fuck?”
His brow creased into a hundred lines—his own anger sparking in the little flecks of blue remaining in his eyes. I took him in—the visage of a bullish man about to tear through me—when I noticed his clothing for the first time.
Thick burgundy streaks of what I knew had to be blood created a hatched pattern all over Kellan’s signature FBI-issued suit. It was torn in three places; the stitching coming apart at the seams along one shoulder.
What the hell had happened to him?
Aaron. Lauchlan. Why weren’t they out here in the common space too? My already butchered heart felt as if itwas about to cleave into ten pieces, the muscle palpitating out a staccato rhythm.
“Whose blood is that?” I whispered, my eyes flicking all over his body in search of other injuries. Other than a ruined suit, I couldn’t find any.
Foolishly, I didn’t have biometric scanners to track them with. Aaron’s new tracer—placed in the ring I had given him—could only tell me his location within a few yards’ accuracy via satellite. Lucky’s was a similar model, buried deep inside the muscle tissue of his arm.
Kellan’s was a digital signature in his phone; the least secure of the three. After this mess was sorted, everyone was getting new versions, so I could monitor their vitals at all times.
Unless … Panic flared in the base of my belly, its acidic bite gnawing away at my organs.
Was one of them …dead?
Swollen, tattooed knuckles flashed as Kellan rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. He breathed out a long-suffering sigh and beckoned me to follow him.
“You’ll want to see for yourself.”
Instead of tearing him apart with my nails and my words, I pursued him to the office space I hadn’t had time to properly furnish yet. The barely concealed fear nearly exploded from my rib cage as I took in Aaron’s bandaged body on a makeshift hospital setup in the middle of the room. Lucky’s green eyes cast a haunted glow as he peered up at me from a perch beside the bed. His crumpled white dress shirt was also marred with streaks of dark dirt and bright blood.
“Aaron!” The shriek left my throat before I could process its sting. I flung myself to his bedside, tempering my frantic energy while removing the flannel blanket to scan every part of his body like I had Kellan. This time, though, my worst fears were confirmed.
Judging by the heavy layer of gauze and medical tape, Aaron had sustained severe injuries. His normally tanned skin was ashen, significantly paler than mine; the pallor of a corpse. Thick bandages wrapped around his abdomen and thigh; the crisp, dark patches of hair shaved away to clear the skin for proper sutures. His chest hair, normally thick and groomed, was patchy in two places, as if ripped from his skin.
They’d had to revive him. He’d very literally almost died today. Fiery tingles of sharp emotion collected in the back of my throat as I held back my tears.
“Oh, Aaron.” I breathed out his name in a whisper as if in prayer.
Whoever had done this to him was going to die averypainful death. Interlinking our fingers, I stared into the slitted caramel eyes of the man I loved. My need to punish him for nearly stopping my heart warred with my need to make him whole again.
“What happened?” I demanded as terror crawled through my abdomen like a parasite. A tired but smooth tenor with an Irish accent spoke up beside me.
“Internal bleeding but missed the organs. Had a blood transfusion, and he’s on a whole cocktail of painkillers, but Doc says he’ll be alright.”
Aaron shifted his position on the bed with agonizing slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. “Mi Reina,” he rasped, the words tinged with pain and contrition. “I am sorry you must see me this way. I—”
“My fault, really.” Lucky’s lilting words rushed to interrupt him. “See, I rescued this fucker with a savior complex, thinking he was joking. Turns out he wasn’t, and really did need saving after all. Although we can thank Conan here for that.”
He dipped his auburn head toward Kellan, whose hulking frame remained in the doorway behind us, as if guarding our group from more potential threats tonight.
His falsely cheerful bravado forced its way through the somber air, but it did absolutely nothing to relieve the tension.
“What do you meanrescued?” My eyes narrowed as I searched Aaron’s face for any sign of dishonesty.
“Vicente.” Aaron spat his father’s name with a vicious sneer, which quickly morphed into a grimace of pain. He squeezed my hand roughly before starting again.
“Vicente has allowed the raping my staff,Mi Reina. I was sent videos of the crime. He had to be stopped.”
The rage I’d been holding between my shoulder blades melted through my chest cavity into my stomach. Of course, my knife-wielding warrior with a penchant for bloodletting also had a bleeding heart for those he considered within his protection. I wanted to pound on his chest, tear at his hair—make himhurtin the same way I was hurting to see him in this state, but I couldn’t.
Aaron held a ravaged soul, but he carried a beautiful heart. He wasn’t just a dark knight for me—he was a dark knight for justice, a defender of the downtrodden. What kind of monster would I be to tear into him for that?
A practical one, apparently.
