CHAPTER 82
Caleb didn't move. He sat in the dirt of the execution square, the world around him fading into a dull, grey blur.
He cradled Bella's cooling body against his chest, his head bowed over hers. The blood from her throat was still warm, soaking through his tunic and staining his skin, but he didn't flinch.
"Bella," he whispered, his voice cracking like dry earth. "Bella, please. I'm here. I made it back." He rocked her gently, his tears mixing with the crimson on her pale cheeks.
He was the Prince of Death, a man who had led armies through the bloodiest campaigns in history, yet he looked like a terrified child.
He pressed his forehead against hers, begging for a heartbeat, a breath, a flutter of an eyelid.
"Why?" he choked out, a sob racking his entire frame. "I told you I'd come back. Why didn't you wait for me?"
