The Protective King The camp was a blur of noise and torchlight, but Demetrius heard none of it. All he could hear was the sound of Esmeralda’s breathing behind him on her horse. It was too fast, too shallow. Every time his mind flashed back to the sight of her small hands gripping that burning silver mesh, his blood turned to ice.

The moment they reached the main tent, he didn't wait for the grooms. He swung off his horse and was at her side before she could even try to dismount.

"I can ...