Sacrificed in Shadow by S.M. Reine Page B

escape.
    “Open the shackles, Nashriel,” she said.
    “But you died. You died so very long ago. I was there when the garden burned.”
    “The world’s always changing,” Elise said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. The love Eve felt for him made Elise’s teeth ache. “Open the shackles.”
    Nashriel’s eyes tracked over her face, but he didn’t seem to see her. Not really. He was seeing Eve: a woman with long, auburn curls, olive skin much like his, and a gentle grace that suffused her every motion. Not a black-haired, white-fleshed demon that shattered at the touch of sunlight.
    “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m sorry I obeyed him when every sense told me that I was doing wrong.”
    Elise twisted her wrists. “I forgave you the moment you did it, Nashriel.” It was the truth. Eve had never been angry at him for acting upon God’s word.
    The moment of relief that showed in his eyes passed quickly.
    “You look like a demon,” he said. He sounded like he was on the verge of fainting, like the conflicting sensory information was overloading his fragile ethereal neurons.
    Oh, for fuck’s sake.
    Elise let the hard rim of the shackles dig into her skin. Skin split and blood flowed to the knuckles of her gloves. The scent flooded the room. It was woodsy, musky, laced with copper and spice. Not human blood.
    Nashriel’s pupils narrowed to pinpoints.
    “Open the shackles,” she said. “ Now .”
    He reached for her. In moments, she would be free—free, and within the enclave of the werewolves, where she might find the answer to every single one of her questions.
    But a woman stepped through the open door, interrupting them.
    She was a little over five feet tall, with blond hair like a fairy princess from a children’s cartoon. Her features were Germanic; her eyes were gold. She moved with the silken grace of a wolf. And she was hurriedly tugging on a white sundress, arranging the fabric so that it modestly concealed her coltish legs.
    Blond hair, tan skin, slender build? Elise had no doubt that this was the golden wolf that she had glimpsed among the trees, as graceful and swift as the wind. She didn’t look like a human as much as she did a beam of pure moonlight poured into the vessel of human flesh.
    The wolf-girl’s jaw dropped when she saw Nashriel reaching for Elise’s shackles. “Nash, wait—what are you doing?”
    The angel stopped, fingertips on the chains.
    “Free me,” Elise whispered. “Do it quickly, before she stops you.”
    “Hey,” the blond woman said again, striding across the room. She grabbed Nashriel’s arm and jerked him away. “Didn’t you hear me? What do you think you’re doing?”
    “Mother,” he whispered, gaze still fixed upon Elise.
    Elise gave him the full brunt of her stare. “Nashriel,” she said softly, pretending that the blond woman wasn’t in the room, as though they were in the nursery in the garden and he was born into her arms all over again. “Let me out of here. I’m trapped.”
    His fingers stretched toward her bindings.
    But the blond woman hurled Nashriel away with inhuman strength. He flew through the air, striking the wall hard enough that it buckled under the impact. Shelves collapsed.
    When the woman whirled back to Elise, her golden eyes blazed, and her lips were peeled back to bare fangs.
    “Don’t you even think about messing with him,” the werewolf said, lisping around fangs. “He’s mine .”
    Mine . The declaration of ownership rankled. An angel couldn’t belong to some werewolf—all angels belonged to Eve. But that word carried weight when it came from the lips of this blond, gangly girl, and Elise had to acknowledge that she had failed to grab Nashriel.
    She sat back against the wall, hands balled into fists behind her.
    “I had to try,” Elise said. Her gaze was fixed on the pulse at the wolf-girl’s throat. What would her blood taste like? “Who are you?”
    The