The moment Urag's eyes landed on her, the rest of the world ceased to exist.
A sudden, violent force erupted through his massive frame.
With a single, brutal shove, Urag slammed Karl backward. Karl stumbled across the stone floor, cracking hard against the edge of the heavy oak desk with a sharp, gasping breath, but neither man cared.
Urag was already moving. He covered the distance between them in two frantic strides, driven by a raw, overwhelming power that left no room for thought.
He didn't speak. He didn't demand an explanation. In that single, sickening second, all he saw was the harrowing state she was in.
He saw the sharp, sunken line of her cheekbones, the faint bruises discoloring her skin, her messy dark hair, and the starved, fragile frame shivering inside a threadbare peasant tunic.
She looked broken. She looked as if she had barely survived the edge of the grave.
In a heartbeat, his broad arms wrapped around her, pulling her violently against his chest.
