Aidan.
"Two minutes, Daniel!" Davian called out, keeping his voice smooth and untroubled as he leaned against the heavy wooden door.
Outside, the faint rustle of leather boots told me Daniel was shifting his weight, waiting like a vulture.
I turned back to face the room, catching Davian's eye. The rage in his bloodshot eyes was identical to the fire burning in mine. The fake surrender was a farce. The restorative remedies were a lie. The bastard had been poisoning our mate under our very noses, and now he was standing in our hallway, waiting to lead us out into a killing field.
I looked at Damien and Adrein. Adrein was still leaning heavily against the bedpost, clutching his chest where his frayed bond thread was throbbing, but his eyes were sharp. Damien stood on the other side of the bed, holding a heavy fur blanket around Maria's pale, limp frame.
I gestured toward the far side of the room—toward the heavy oak door that led directly into Damien's adjoining personal quarters.
