The Devil's Broken Doll
His arm swung out in an instinctive motion to steady her, his shoulders flaring wide for an instant in a reflexive gesture, as if expecting to shield her with wings he did not have.
“That’s… him,” she whispered, as if there could be any doubt. The name lived in the air without being spoken, a crown made of heat.
Cael’s hand clenched into a fist. The leash spell at his wrist flared in remembered pain, not active, not present, but still capable of screaming inside his bones when threatened. His shadows recoiled, snapping back under his skin like dogs yanked by chains. The taste of Adelaide’s tongue rose in his mouth, phantom and sweet.