Nikolai's Point of View
I had never felt this way before.
Never.
Not once in my life had I felt the raw, primal urge to protect someone—not like this.
Not with this kind of intensity.
Yet, as I held Morana in my arms, her fragile body trembling against me, I felt it. It coiled around my chest, squeezed at my ribs, made my fingers tighten around her like a silent vow.
A vow I hadn't even spoken yet, but felt deep in my bones.
My jaw clenched as I listened to her sobs, each one striking a part of me I didn't even know existed.
Those bastards.
Those worthless, disgusting bastards.
I didn't need to hear the details to know she had suffered. I had seen suffering before—I had inflicted suffering before.
But never had I hated so violently on behalf of someone else.
I wanted to destroy them.
The ones who had laid a hand on her.
The ones who had broken her.
The ones who had made this strong, brilliant, dangerous woman cry like this.
