Elias' POV
Blood was everywhere.
On my hands. My clothes. Seeping into the floor. I could still taste it — coppery and thick, coating my throat as if I had ingested something foul.
The body at my feet no longer looked like a person. The assassin had been ripped to pieces by me. I had severed his limbs from his body.
But I didn't recall having done it.
One moment, I had entered and found Amara pinned against the wall, a blade against her throat.
The next…this.
My chest heaved. My heartbeat was irregular and thumping in my ears.
Inside of me something was still desperately clawing its way to the surface, restless. I wasn't satisfied.
When I stepped forward, Amara stepped backward.
Her shoulders squared as if to prepare for a renewed assault.
She should have run.
Instead, she remained there, hands balled into fists, her eyes flickering with something brittle.
Defiant. Why was she always stubborn?
I should have been furious.
But rather, I felt something else.
