Draziel's POV
Which of the bastards was it? Which of them dared to lay his filthy hands on her—my woman? No. I shook my head. I corrected my mind—my guest. Which one of them dared to harm Lyra?
Blood rimmed my eyes, making my vision almost blotchy as my gaze jumped from one to another, Varin to Helga. I had no idea who had hurt her. But it had to be either of them. The palm imprint that had marked her skin earlier was large. It didn't belong to the maids. It belonged to someone bigger—it belonged to one of the bastards standing before me. It could also belong to the guards, but I knew the guards wouldn't risk their lives by hurting my guest.
My fists folded into thick fists, pulsing and vibrating beside me, as I directed all my anger to them. Whoever it was, I didn't care—they were going to feel the full wrath of my anger.
