Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
Stunned. Angelous staggered and glanced up to find the duke towering over him, his face a mask of hatred and pity.
Damn the man. How dare the duke pity him, the perfect son of the Heavenly Sire?
He was the Master Artist, the Bringer of Beauty from Blood.
A wave of pain rushed over him, and he fell to his knees. He swore at his weakness.
He’d never knelt before.
Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth as he muttered, “Sire...Father...I am sorry.”
Horrifying blackness stole over his mind, and the last thing to filter through his thoughts was the image of his own favored knife protruding from his heart.
Logan turned from the lifeless carcass of a truly wretched human being.
With frantic speed, he made his way to Haven. Shuddering at the sight of her mutilated, bloody body, he gasped in despair.
The table next to her held four precise rows of brightly glinting knives.
Snatching up the nearest one, he cut the restraints at her hands.
When they finally gave way, her arms fell to the hard tabletop.
Feverish in his need to free her, he made quick work of the restraints at her ankles.
The flesh around each neatly turned joint was raw and bleeding.
He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and forced his gaze to the knife wound in her naked abdomen. A thin, jagged furrow marred the skin beneath her left breast.
It was pouring blood.
He cried out, “No! Haven.”
He removed his coat and pushed it against the hemorrhaging wound in a frantic effort to stem the flow of her precious life’s blood.
The warm, sticky fluid flowed unchecked, stealing her life with every pump of her heart.
It wouldn’t stop. He pushed his coat harder against the gaping hole, but the pressure only slowed the progress of the surge, and he knew there wasn’t much blood or time left.
He lifted her from the table and laid her on the floor.
Pulling her prone form into his embrace, blood smeared his trousers and stained his shirt. He dipped his head to her face, kissing her cheek.
His voice was a breathless murmur. “Haven, darling, can you hear me? Stay with me. I need you.”
“Logan....” He could barely hear her above the clamoring of his heart. Relief washed over him.
“Haven!”
Her eyes slit open, and his breath caught when her glassy, unfocused gaze lit on his face. Soon, there would be nothing left but vacant orbs.
“You...you’re strong. You...’ll be fine.”
She tried to smile.
His heart froze as the ghost of a smile attempted to spread on her lips.
“No, that’s not true. You were predestined to be mine, brought to me through time and space so I could meet you.
So we could be together.” Bending low, he brushed his mouth over her pale forehead, sweeping her limp, black hair off her face.
Her nearly white skin made the still healing cut above her brow stand out in garish contrast.
That scar. A permanent reminder of how they met, how powerful magic had set things in motion, how his whole brittle, empty world shattered to pieces.
When he pulled her closer to the warmth of his chest, she shuddered, her body fighting back against the inevitable.
Her shallow breaths escaped through her blue, trembling lips.
Slowly blinking, Haven willed away the smoky wraiths blurring her vision.
Through the numb haze, she saw him bent over her.
He was shaking. She could hear him sobbing through the ringing in her ears.
This strong, capable, courageous man was crying?
Because of her? He’d spoken beautiful, painful words that caught at something deep in her soul, digging in, desperately trying to plant healing roots in deteriorating soil. Such unexpected, raw emotion.
It pierced her heart.
She gathered the last of her strength and forced a laugh rife with sorrow through her cracked lips. The motion made her body riot. Heaving upward, the blood pooling in her lungs sought freedom. Coughing spasms stole precious energy and breath, expelling thick streams of blood from her throat.
She didn’t have much longer. Turning her head to the side to purge the vital fluid from her mouth, she gurgled, “I’m sorry I broke you.”
Smiling, sorrow knitted to sweet adoration in his expression. He tore his usually pristine and intricately tied cravat from his neck, and gently wiped the blood from her lips.
“If you have broken me, I never want to be mended.” His beautiful, beloved face brightened with tenderness, then darkened with wretched anguish. Tears spilled from his eyes as he threw his head back and roared.
A cold, invisible hand, pressed against her chest.
“I love you,” she whispered, the words a fleeting goodbye carried to his ear by the last breath in her body.