On the bed where he'd left her, Altair stood to his feet draped in the robes of Tenebrae. He strapped Shadowclaw to his belt and conjured Aurora from out of the depths of his soul.
"Get her cleaned up," He commanded.
The journey down the southern tower had been a long, dark walk racked with such guilt and shame. He could not bring himself to face Reina, not after how he'd taken her. He couldn't understand how or why she didn't fight back or why she allowed him to do as he pleased. But by the time he'd come too, she laid in a slop of their making.
Three weeks had slipped through his hands like water.
"There's our conqueror," Tasha shouted. Waiting for him outside the tower, she grinned. "Any longer and might have joined. A vigorous fucking like that is—"
"Enough," the young lord snapped. Visible anger seething from his scarlet eyes.
