Ava leaned forward. Her shoulders were straight now, no longer bowed by fear, but braced with fury. Her eyes—red-rimmed and glassy moments before—now gleamed with sudden steel, a glint of fire igniting deep in her soul. "You are a fool, Alaric," she said with quiet venom.
Alaric had expected fear. Not the confident defiance of a woman who still had fight left in her.
She straightened further, squaring her stance. "Lucas will come for me," she said. "You may rip the mark from my skin, but you will never tear him from my soul. And when he gets here?" She smiled. A slow, terrifying smile of a woman who knew what her mate was capable of. "Goddess help you."
