"Your parents—"
Before she could finish, Isaac's hand shot out, fingers closing around her throat.
Isaac's grey eyes couldn't have been any colder.
The mere mention of his parents was enough to make his temper flare, a raw nerve that had never quite healed. But hearing their names from her—one of the leaders of the very organization responsible for their deaths—was more than enough to push him to the edge.
His fingers tightened around Nimue's throat.
Yet, she didn't flinch. Didn't struggle.
To his surprise, despite the restraints that should have bound her, she lifted a hand, her fingers brushing lightly against his arm. Her touch was gentle, her voice even softer when she spoke.
