And then—a loud, merciless knock shattered the spell. Damien froze, every muscle snapping taut. He tore his gaze from her mouth as if ripping flesh from bone. His sanity came crashing back with the noise.
"No! … no, don't go." Isolde's cry rang out sharp and desperate, her hand clutching his arm, nails digging in.
Damien didn't dignify her plea with an answer. His body moved, untangling from her grip. He stalked toward the door. The handle turned beneath his palm, blessedly cool, grounding him when he needed it most.
When the door swung open, relief hit him hard. Talon stood there, framed by the moonlight spilling in from the compound courtyard. Thank the goddess. Someone who could anchor him back to the only woman who mattered.
"Where the hell is the queen?" Damien demanded. Behind him, Isolde wilted in the shadows, her chance gone, her triumph slipping through her fingers.
