Elon glanced at her, and the fire in his eyes flared, burning hotter and brighter.
Carissa’s gaze slid along his sword’s reddened edge. Had he killed the other men? She followed the steel up to his blood-flecked hands—gentle, calloused hands that healed and comforted and loved.
“Quint.” His voice swelled to fill the room, almost as if it were a physical weight making the air heavier. Though his eyes were fiery, his tone was ice, the pitch of his voice low and deadly.
Quint was a few shades paler than when she’d last looked at him. He didn’t speak.
Elon strode one step forward, and though thick metal bars separated them, Quint backpedaled several steps. “You’ve stolen my bride from me, imprisoned her, tormented her.”
“I did so for justice.” Quint jerked his chin upward, though his trembling belied his bold words.
“This isn’t justice, Quint. You know it isn’t. You could’ve come to me, yet instead you chose to prey upon my wife.” He twirled his sword idly, the red metal flashing. “Are you going to come here and face me like a man? Or,” his lips tipped in a smile, a tight, controlled smile, “are you going to make me come for you?”