I pushed the bedroom door open with my shoulder, still dripping from the shower, wearing nothing but his black shirt that hung to mid-thigh. The scent of soap clung to my skin, but it couldn't wash away the blood I'd seen downstairs or the rage still burning in my chest.
Devon stood at the window, moonlight cutting across his back. Black tank top stretched tight over muscle, grey sweatpants slung low, hands buried in his pockets. He didn't turn.
My voice came out low, cracked. "Why did you kill him?"
He stared out at the dark forest. "People die on battlefields, Irene."
"He wasn't just people. You hunted Baron. You went for him on purpose."
Only then did he turn. Those grey eyes pinned me in place, cool and unreadable. "That day I killed three thousand men. Baron wasn't special."
I stepped closer, fists clenched. "He was to me, you bastard."
The word vile slipped out before I didn't even feel it leave my tongue.
