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“Don’t you dare,” he snarled. “Diem—” His furious words cut short as Sorae’s talons encircled his chest and plucked him into the air.
“Thanks so much, Sister,” I called out to her with exaggerated sweetness. The woman responded with a middle finger raised over her shoulder that had me unexpectedly smirking. “I like her.” “I don’t think the feeling is mutual,” Cordellia muttered.
“Look at me.” I staggered back. “Who even knows how many might have been hurt by the bombs, or burned by the fires, or—” “Diem,” he growled. “Look at me.”
“Don’t you dare mistake compassion for lack of courage,” he growled.
“If he moves—” He pointed at me. “—shoot her.”
“Don’t test me today, Taran,” Luther growled. Taran shot me a look and pointed a thumb behind us. “This is your fault,” he mouthed. “Sorae’s getting that thumb,” I mouthed back.
“Diem,” Luther choked out at my side. His voice sounded hoarse. Pained. “What have you done?”
Slowly, so slowly, his face turned back to me. Our eyes locked, his widening slightly in understanding. His scimitar tumbled to the ground at his side. His nostrils flared, and his chest expanded in a long, shuddering inhale. And then Luther Corbois unleashed.
