Malin flinched, expecting the sharp edge of Rhaegal's gaze to cut him down. He braced himself, half-certain the older vampire would step back or worse, show the same fear he had seen in Ian's eyes.
But Rhaegal didn't.
He stepped forward, his boots soundless against the blood-soaked ground. His eyes swept over the clearing once, taking in the broken trees, the scattered bodies, the lingering traces of Malin's power. Then they fixed on Malin. Calm and unshaken.
"You… survived," Rhaegal said. His voice was low, almost soft, yet it carried a weight that made the trembling in Malin's chest flare.
Rhaegal sank to one knee, close enough that Malin could feel the press of his aura.
Malin's knees shook harder. "I… I…"
"Ssh." Rhaegal hushed him gently. His golden eyes moved over Malin, searching. The torn clothes, the blood, the bruises, each mark pulled at his chest like a tightening chain. He lifted his hand and cupped Malin's face, brushing his thumb across his cheek.
