Chapter 13 · The Confession in the Fire

"Don't you dare move another inch, Rafe."

My fingers hovered over the blade strapped to my thigh. Rafe stood by the hearth with my only proof in his hand—the letter I'd spent three years, two prison breaks, and half my soul hunting down.

Then he tossed it into the fire.

"No!" I lunged.

The blood bond cinched tight around my chest and yanked me back. Pain flashed through my ribs. Across the room, Rafe staggered against the mantel, one hand pressed to his side.

His blood. My pain.

Silver poisoning still crawled through his veins. I could feel every burned breath he dragged in.

The parchment curled in the flames.

"You son of a bitch!" I snapped. "That was my only proof. You’re protecting them!"

Rafe didn't even look at the fire. "I'm protecting you, Little Wolf."

"I don't need a savior. I need names. Heads. Preferably mounted on pikes."

His gray eyes cut toward me. Cold. Tired. Too damn unreadable.

"If you walked into the Council chamber with that letter, Lucian wouldn't execute you." His voice scraped low. "He'd make sure there wasn't enough left to bury.