This was for all the blue bloods who'd ever hurt her.
For this entire damned society that thought she was little more than cattle.
For Lord Corvus, who'd thought Adele his personal plaything.
For Hattie.
And her father.
And her ear.
"Adele! Adele!" Hands caught her by the wrist, and then Malloryn was there, forcing her to withhold her next blow.
"Let me go!" she rasped, clutching at the hilt.
"She's done for. She's not breathing." He held one sleeve over his mouth and nose, coughing through the superfine. "Jesus. What did you do?"
Thin threads of black began to wend through the capillaries in his cheeks.
Dhampir weren't the only ones vulnerable to Black Vein. And it was that fact alone that cut through her rage.
"You idiot!" Adele dropped the knife and shoved herself under his shoulder. "You shouldn't be in here!"
Together, they lurched toward the door.
Malloryn slammed against the wall, blood spattering his lips as he coughed.
Gemma appeared, dangerous in bright blue silk with a pistol held low against her thigh. She took one look at Malloryn's face and jerked her reticule open.
"Here." Removing a thin syringe, she jabbed it into his upper arm and pumped its contents into him. "Ava's cure."
Malloryn coughed, dropping his sleeve from his face. He leaned against the wall. "How much... Black Vein did she put in that... bottle?"
"Enough to drop an elephant," Gemma said dryly. "You, of all people, should know better than to run into a room filled with atomized Black Vein."
"Sorry," he snarled. "I wasn't aware it was. All I saw was Adele with a knife, and Jelena on the floor beneath her."
Gemma eased the door open, protecting her mouth with her glove, and took in the room. Her eyebrows rose. "You killed her."
"Not me," Malloryn murmured, his attention all on Adele. "Are you all right?"
And suddenly it hit her.
How close she'd come to dying. That she'd killed another woman.
He must have seen it in her face, for his brows drew sharply together. Adele threw herself into his arms, burying her face against his chest.
There was a minute hesitation, and then Malloryn's arms closed around her. Palm spreading wide across the flat of her back, his voice roughening, he said, "You're safe. You're safe, Adele."
And she believed it.
The Duke of Malloryn was a force of nature. He'd helped drag the prince consort from power and ruined Lord Balfour's schemes. Every blue blood in the Echelon secretly feared him.
A hiccup escaped her.
"You're bleeding," he murmured, rubbing that hand up and down her spine. "I can smell it. Will you let me see?"
She wanted to stay right here in his arms, but her ear was a throbbing mess.
Malloryn captured her face in his hands, his pupils black with the craving as he turned her face from side to side. "Bloody hell. She's cut you a few times."
He tore his cravat free from his throat, wadded it into a bunch, and pressed it to her ear. Adele winced.
"N-no more earrings." Adele managed a weak smile as she touched the cravat. And then she remembered what had become of her grandmother's pearls. "Oh, no. My pearls. She broke them!"
Scattered all over the room inside like the pieces of her life.
She took a step toward the powder room, but Malloryn hauled her back. "Gemma will fetch them," he said. "You don't need to see that room again."
Tears wet her eyes as the loss finally hit her.
Her ruined earlobe could be hidden by a strategic curl. The scars on her cheek could be managed.
But those pearls were the only thing she had left of her grandmother—the only family member who'd ever given a damn about her as a little girl.
"That bitch," she said, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes.
"Here," Malloryn said, dragging her bloody gloves off and discarding them on the floor. "We need to get you home and out of that gown. Before people start talking."
Jelena was dead.
His heart wouldn't stop racing. The world around him flashed past in jerky vignettes as Malloryn sent for the carriage: Lady Haynes's face swam in front of him as he curtly made their goodbyes; he fought his way through flashes of garish color as every silk-clad aristocratic lady fought to say something to them; and then there was cool, blessed air washing over him.
Washing away the last cloying lungful's of Black Vein.
Sweeping the clinging tendrils of bergamot from his coat.
It couldn't remove the surreal sensation that he was finally free of those nightmares, or the worry that, even though she was gone, they would remain.
She was dead. Jelena was dead.
All these months of lying in bed, dreaming of what he'd do if he ever saw her again. Both fearing and hungering for that moment.... Craving the need to take back his power over her, and the way she'd broken him.
He felt cheated somehow.
Obsidian had gotten rid of the body, but there was no blotting the blood from the carpets in the powder room. No hiding the tremble in Adele's shoulders as she clung to the coat he'd draped over them.
"Are you all right?" he murmured, though his ears still rung. He needed to pull himself together, and now, but there was an odd dreamlike quality to the moment.
"Never better," Adele lied.
He caught himself before he reached for her. So much for sleight of hand. So much for manipulating Devoncourt. What a fucking idiot he'd been. Too busy playing his own games to keep his eye on the prize.
He'd nearly lost her.
Nodding curtly, he helped her up into the carriage, as Obsidian and Gemma swished down the steps behind him.
"What the hell happened in there?" Obsidian muttered. "I thought you were watching her?"
I made a mistake.
The muscle ticked in his jaw. "I left her with Barrons."
Obsidian searched his eyes. "Why? You were supposed to keep an eye on her. You were supposed to be the decoy."
"And I was." Malloryn pressed a hand to his earpiece, trying to force his body to control itself. "Byrnes?"
"Yes?" came the crackling reply.
"Have you got your tracking device upon you?"