Once he returned to the car, Graeme climbed into the drivers seat and drove them home. He knew he should be exhausted – the hike there had to have been at least eight miles, plus the hike back while carrying Gabriel, and that didn’t even include the personal hike there and back that he’d taken afterward – but he didn’t feel tired. The drive home sped by and before he even realized it, he was pulling into the parking garage of their condominium. He carried her to the elevator and held her close to him as they rode up. She was pale and her breath was shallow, but her pulse was strong and her exhallations were warm where they caressed his collarbone.
He knew she was going to be furious when she woke up and found out what he’d done, but there hadn’t been a choice. A man could only be asked to tolerate so much, and watching her come that close to dying on his behalf had been more than enough to break him. He’d held out as long as he could, but Arroy was a pri*k and had pushed it too far. He’d wanted Graeme to break under the pressure, he just hadn’t expected Graeme to be prepared to do so.
Arroy’s only mistake was assuming Graeme would beg for her life before he fought for it.
Graeme gingerly stretched Gabriel out on his bed, trying to avoid bumping her wrists into anything that might hurt the wounds. It wasn’t until he’d laid her down and was attempting to straighten out her twisted muscles that he realized the cuts on her wrists had healed and all that remained were streaks of dried blood where they cuts had been. Relief flooded him, but it did nothing to ease the tension in his chest. He hoped she could understand, but he was prepared for the worst.
His behavior had been reckless and dangerous. For all he knew, he’d just started a war with the Warlocks. What had he been expected to do, though? Let her die?
Even Tasaria had known better than to let the Warlock get what he wanted. Graeme had only taken it a step farther in making sure the fu*ker got nothing that he’d wanted, and never would again.