While there was no doubt that Gabriel was a man meant for war and very little else, his time in Scintilla had taught him how wounds behaved. He was not a healer, but he understood that a month was generally the length it took for anything to heal. Ezekiel’s ribs had healed after a month, and that was the worst wound the Aquila had seen since his return to Inferni. The other trauma was more internal, and limited to his female relatives and several terrible men who had taken them so hideously.
Nervously, she moved. Gabriel tilted his ears back, though his body slowed and stopped. Even now, his weight shifted from his left shoulder. His body language continued to speak authority, even now demanding she obey his rule—no matter what it would be. “No,” he said lowly. “No, it will not.”
He paused, weighing the words. His voice came like thunder over the mountain, low and powerful despite its distance. “I’m going to step down as Aquila, Halo.”
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