Felix vanished the second he was free.
There was a sharp hiss of displaced air, the activation of a high-grade emergency transport ward embedded directly into the floorboards, and the ninety-three-year-old monster was simply gone.
Arik did not even glance at the empty space.
He did not care about Felix.
He did not care about the manor, the trap, or the vengeance that had burned in his veins for two centuries. In that fraction of a second, the entire universe violently contracted until it was no wider than Liam's shoulders.
Arik pulled Liam into his arms.
His hands, which only seconds before had been absolute, bone-shattering weapons, turned terrifyingly careful. One cupped Liam's jaw. The other pressed firmly at his back, holding him upright as Liam's knees betrayed him for one brief, humiliating second. Arik's thumb caught the hot drop of blood slipping past Liam's lip, and the golden fire in his eyes changed.
It was no longer the arrogant fury of an emperor.
It was chaotic.
