Chapter 18 · Dirty Sanctuary

"Do it now, Kael. Or you're just another heretic in a fancy coat."

The Inquisitor’s voice was like a razor blade, cold and precise. He didn't move, just stood there with his hand resting on the hilt of his sanctified blade, eyes locked on me like I was a stain that needed scrubbing.

I didn't look at him. I looked at Kael.

Kael’s grip on my wrists was still tight—too tight—pinning me against the peeling wallpaper of the hallway. His breathing was heavy, ragged, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. He was shaking. Not from fear, but from the kind of rage that makes a man forget who he’s supposed to be.

"I said do it!" the Inquisitor barked. "Kill her, or I'll have your head for treason by sunrise."

Kael didn't flinch. He leaned closer, his chest brushing against mine, his voice a low, dangerous growl right against my ear. "Get out."

"What did you say?"

"I said get the hell out of my house," Kael snapped, finally turning his head just enough to glare at the man. "Now. Before I decide that your face is the thing I hate most in this room.