Hudson’s jaw rippled as he stepped back, a low, guttural snarl vibrating in his chest.

Avery couldn't move. The room spun in a blur of grey stone and flickering torchlight. She reached blindly for the napkins on the mahogany table, her fingers fumbling as the sickness clawed at her throat.

Hudson didn’t storm out. To her shock, he knelt. His large, calloused hand cupped the back of her head, stabilizing her as he wiped the bitter mess from her lips with a piece of linen. He didn't flinch at the smell. He didn't show the typical Montgomery disgust for weakness. He just held a glass of cool spring water to...