Dax’s laughter rings out across the glade. “Would I have those words in blood, because just days ago, I believe it was you who accused me of being a callous whoremonger.”
“You do consort with whores,” Quinn drawls.
“The only people I consort with are the two of you,” Dax retorts with a laugh. Then louder for my benefit, “Until, of course, I met our fair Rapunzel.”
After making use of my leaves and smoothing my skirts, I step from the trees—and nearly collide with Wren. “Time will prove to Dax what a selfish bitch you are.”
I clasp my hands together to stop myself from slapping the insult from his mouth. “Let me pass, Wren.”
“Such authority coming from a powerless girl.” He steps closer, slicing away the space between us. “This is the part in the story where I make plain your role in it. You may be free of the tower, poor, pathetic Rapunzel, but you’re still a prisoner.” Quick as a lightning strike, his fist twines in my hair at the nape of my neck. His beautiful face fills everything I see. “Am I at all unclear?”
“No,” I grit out to appease his need for domination.
“Good.” His eyes cut so deeply into mine I swear he sees every depraved thought I’ve had of him. Even now, I can’t hide the sinful things I want him to do to me. Things far more decadent than what his friends and I did this morning. When my gaze travels to his mouth, then down his chest to his groin, his sharp words snap my eyes right back to his face. “I’m not Dax or Quinn. I told you. You need to earn my cock, and unless you also have magic that reverses time, that willneverhappen.”
Then I hear the whistle of wind through the trees. A sound so subtle that if Wren didn’t tilt his head at the faint trill, I would have paid it no mind. But he releases me with a hard shove that sends me stumbling backward. Confused, I scan the landscape but see nothing. “Wren, what—”
“Quiet,” he hisses.
Suddenly Quinn is behind me, sword out, and I realize the whistle was his way of warning Wren of trouble. Those disturbing black eyes scan the landscape as he grabs my arm and pulls me back into the tree line. He forces me to crouch in the brush. “Stay put and be silent.”
I nod and crouch low, tucking my braid under me to make myself as small as possible. My heart beats hard and heavy as I peer through the bramble, tracking the men as they lead their horses into the thicket. They’re measured. Calm. Quinn’s massive broadsword gripped tight in his right hand is the only hint of danger. Otherwise, there is nothing to suggest they suspect a threat lurks out of sight.
Once the horses are secure, they stalk away from the animals. I assume they do this to draw an impending confrontation away from our only means of transportation. I glance to my left, and there, watching us on a low rise a fair distance away, are two riders. One has a notched arrow trained on Wren. The sun glints off the other’s sword as his horse snorts and paws the ground.
“Give us your goods and the girl, and we’ll let you walk away with your lives,” the man with the sword shouts.
Wren pulls free his sword. “Three against two says we keep our goods and the girl.”
“Or I can put this arrow through your heart,” the one with the loaded longbow counters.
“You could,” Wren drawls, his tone bored. “But you still won’t make it out of this glade alive.”
Quinn rotates the wrist of his sword arm, twirling the weapon. “Actually, it’s four against three. There’s more behind us.” Two enormous men, armed with broadswords, reveal themselves from within the thicket. They stroll up behind us, and I sink lower. “And I still say we’ll keep our goodsandthe girl.”
Even from my poor vantage point, I see Quinn’s midnight eyes spark with anticipation.
Dax rolls his neck over his shoulders, then casts the two men an eager grin. “Can we begin this bloodbath? I’d like to get it done so there’s time to bathe before I fuck your women since you won’t be making it home.” He nods at the youngest of the men. “Or maybe… How old is your mother?”
Oh, Lord, did he…?
“This asshole said he’s going to tup my mother.” His yell reaches the men on the hill.
“No,” Dax corrects him. “I implied I was going to fuck her. Raw, like an animal.”
The kid snarls, and when he charges toward Dax, hell erupts around me.
An arrow flies by Wren, nearly striking his neck. I slap my hands over my mouth to stifle my cry, but my God, if anything happens to him… I’ll rip every hair from my head to save him.
I’ve read a lifetime’s worth of books. Some of my favorites depicted great battles. Those pages failed to capture the noise and chaos of an actual fight. They couldn’t express the vibration of horses’ hooves as they beat against the ground. The entire world seems to quake under the clash of steel as Dax and Quinn fend off their opponents.
But Wren, an archer at heart, sheaths his swords and grabs the longbow slung across his torso. He pulls an arrow from his quiver, notches it, aims, and strikes the mounted attacker charging toward him.
Takes him down with a single shot to the eye.
Sybil told me how John’s father died in the same manner. The rumor, she said, is that Percy Kincaid fired the shot that killed King Henry. After today, I have to wonder if the tale is more fact than fiction because, with everything I know about Wren, one thing is paramount—his father trained him well.
Quinn’s mounted adversary gets dangerously close to cleaving him in twain. I choke back a scream when the rider slices Quinn’s left arm. Quinn, thank God, doesn’t seem affected by it. He glances at the injury, and…laughs. While his opponent turns his horse for another go, Quinn raises his sword to point at the rider. “That scratch will cost your life.”
