Only my hands and head are exposed. I have to keep them away from him, which means I can’t hit him.
Lucky me. Those don’t seem to be his target.
He slices the dagger down the armor between my breasts, attempting to cut it open but the Elyria web doesn’t break. He tries again, ramming the blade against me.
I scream as my chest burns, grabbing his armored sleeve to stop him. His blade can’t cut through my armor, but the pressure against my chest is unbearable. Every blow forces the spider web into my torso, tearing against my ribs and the soft skin between them.
I kick my legs, trying to throw off his balance, but his hip rests against my groin, one knee keeping him balanced and straddling my right leg. He’s turned far enough to the side that I can’t kick any part of his body that matters.
“Get off me!”
His big face snarls down at me. “Not until I get what’s mine.”
“You insult my House!”
“Elves in the House of Mercy were bred to be insulted.”
I retort. “The House of Valor once had integrity. Where is your honor?”
His lips draw back into a vile grin as he rams the knife at my chest, over and over in rapid succession, harder and faster. My attempts to hold his arm back are useless—gravity and his sheer weight give him the advantage. Agonizing pain thumps through me with every blow and every rip against my skin.
It’s too much. I scream, pushing at him, hitting back, thumping his arms and side, trying to make him stop. But the awful truth is that I can’t stop him without touching him—my bare hands on his. He rams the knife at me again, his sweat dripping down onto my face, and suddenly… suddenly… I understand…
He’s trying to force me to touch him. He wants me to hit him, skin on skin. He wants me to grab his hand—even to head butt him. Anything that means I willingly touch him…
Sobs tear out of me at the awful realization. “No…”
I press my hands against his armor where it’s safe, squeeze my eyes shut, turn my face away, and close my mouth against the screams forcing their way into my throat. I have to bear the pain. I have to hold out long enough for Baelen to get to me. I won’t connect with Rhydian’s skin.
I won’t do it.“I won’t do it.”
“Yes, you will.”
I open my eyes. My head is turned to Baelen. I can’t see Jasper and Sebastian, which means they’re still cornered, or they would have either run to Baelen or run to me.
Baelen is covered in blood. Two males lie on the ground at his feet and I can’t tell if they’re alive or dead. He roars at the third, taking the brunt of the male’s knife in his shoulder as he slams into him, choosing to allow the blade to strike him in an effort to get close enough to grab his opponent’s arm. The other male screams and I can only guess what Baelen did—dislocated his arm, maybe ripped it from the socket. His opponents may have been trying to bait him but they’ve well and truly released the Rath monster now.
Rhydian says, “He won’t get to you in time. You will submit to me.”
My torso is on fire. Rhydian’s hateful face is inches from mine. If he can’t make me touch him, he’ll simply drop his face to mine, a single kiss to drain the life out of me. But what’s most agonizing is that he’s right. It will take Baelen ten seconds to reach me across the distance and Rhydian can take what he wants in far less time than that.
I’m sobbing but I don’t care that I’m showing emotion, because I have to release this fear and anger somehow as Rhydian’s face lowers to mine…
Another male appears above him, his outline watery through the tears and sweat in my eyes. A voice I don’t recognize says, “No, she won’t.”
A club swings down, arching toward Rhydian’s head. It knocks him right off me, rendering him unconscious at the same time. He drops like a dead weight off to the side, but his legs are still tangled in mine. I scramble away from him, kicking hard, as the male above me quickly drops the club, nocks an arrow into his bow, and shoots the final male still fighting Baelen. The arrow lodges in the male’s leg. It’s the only opening Baelen needs to knock him out with the hilt of his own sword.
I press up against the boulder, kicking the last of Rhydian’s weight off me, as the new male drops to his knees, finally coming into focus.
Eli Elder makes his movements slow, leaning back on his heels and folding his hands in his lap, making it clear he doesn’t intend to come any closer.
I’m almost too bruised to speak. My throat aches and my lungs… oh my lungs burn so badly. “Eli?”
“I wasn’t going to fight.”
“It was you… standing at the back.”
He nods. “But I couldn’t let that go on. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.” His eyes are crystal clear blue, his eyelids tapered at the edges like the rest of his House, his mouth set in a serious line. “I was tired and I was about to let go.”
