The words hadn't even fully left Drax's mouth before Roxy was moving.
Who the fuck laid a hand on her man?
Roxy didn't ask questions. She shoved herself out of the Tiger's embrace and bolted. Her bare feet slapped frantically against the floorboards, her silk gown billowing behind her as she sprinted past Drax, tearing through the open front doors of the Manor and out onto the sunlit porch.
"Syris!" Roxy screamed.
She reached the edge of the wooden steps and froze.
Standing in the center of the courtyard, bathed in the crisp morning light, was the Syris. He looked absolutely horrific. His usually immaculate, elegant dark robes were shredded into ribbons except the parts that hid his seam.
His pale skin was marred by deep, jagged puncture wounds along his arms and torso. He was covered from head to toe in thick, foul-smelling, blackened mud, and sluggish, dark blood was oozing from his injuries, dripping steadily onto the grass.
