As she scrambled to escape the swing, Caspian, despite his visible injuries, caught her with an almost predatory quickness. He swept her into his arms, pulling her onto his lap before reclaiming the space on the swing she had been so eager to vacate.

“Let me go,” she hissed, her voice sharp and venomous. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders, nails raking deep into his flesh. She regretted the practicality of her short nails—the result of endless days spent typing. Long, ...