"Put me down!" Evangeline grumbled, kicking her legs.
The closeness made her skin burn—a pulse of heat thrumming through her veins. Her cheeks flushed as stunned eyes followed them, shock written on every face. The mate bond buzzed between them, wild and unpredictable, and she fought to shove away the sensation.
Inside the hall, Graham stood frozen, his expression unreadable as he watched his daughter carried off by his sworn enemy. Her broken voice—begging him to kill her instead—echoed in his mind. It stirred a sharp, unfamiliar ache in his chest, vanishing as quickly as Ezaar slipped through the doors.
This was better.
Evangeline was supposed to be his pride, his weapon. But now, she was just a disposable pawn. The last shred of love he had for her melted the day she handed Samuel over to death. He'd kept her alive for politics; whatever Ezaar did with her was no longer his concern.
