I am already moving toward the door.
“She's gone, Drazex.”
I spin to face him, fangs extending, claws sliding free before I can stop them.
“Where?”
“Secure location. She won't be harmed.” He tilts his head, studying me the way a scientist studies a specimen. “Unless you force me to harm her. Her continued wellbeing depends on your cooperation.”
“You're using her as leverage. Against your own son.”
“I'm protecting my house from a threat you're too compromised to see.” No remorse. No hesitation. “When the madness passes, when you remember what you are and what this family requires, she'll be released. Until then, she remains my insurance that you won't do anything foolish.”
The roar that builds in my chest has no words. Only fury. Only the territorial rage of a male whose Chosen someone tore from his bed while he stood here defending his right to keep her.
“If you touch her.”
“Kill me? Start a war within the house while we're bleeding enforcers to incidents no one can explain? Hand our enemies the chaos they need to destroy everything we've built?” His mouth curves, but the expression holds no warmth. “You won't. Because despite your sentiment, you are still my son. And my son understands some battles cannot be won through bloodshed.”
I cannot breathe. Cannot think past the rage narrowing my vision to the male standing before me.
“Return to your duties. Prove to me you can still function as heir to this house.” He turns back to the window, dismissing me. “When I'm satisfied that your judgment has returned, we'll discuss the human's future.”
I don't remember leaving his office. Don't remember the corridors I tear through, the guards who flatten themselvesagainst walls as I pass, the checkpoints that blur into obstacles between me and the quarters where I left her sleeping.
The door stands open.
I stop at the threshold, and the silence guts me.
The sheets lie tangled. A chair rests overturned near the doorway. Her fear lingers in the air, layered beneath the musk of males who had no right to breathe the same air she breathes.
They took her while I was defending my right to keep her. Took her from my bed, from my territory, from the one place in this compound I swore would remain untouched.
My knees hit the floor. I press my palm against the mattress where her warmth still lingers, fading with each passing second, and the sound that rips from my chest belongs to no language.
She's gone. And I don't trust my father's word she'll have a future to bargain with.
Chapter Fourteen
MAEVE
The sheets tangle around my legs as I'm hauled from the bed and dragged over cold stone before I can piece together where I am or why Drazex's warmth is replaced by grips that bruise and scents that don't belong.
“Drazex!” His name tears from my throat.
My elbow slams backward into the throat of whoever holds my left arm, and the crunch of cartilage vibrates through my arm. The male staggers away, his grip releasing, and I use the momentum to spin toward the next attacker. His face is a blur of charcoal skin and silver eyes, and I drive my fist into his jaw before he can adjust his hold on my other arm. The impact reverberates up through my wrist and into my shoulder, and he drops like a stone.
“Drazex!” I scream it louder this time.
I pivot to face the remaining males. Three still standing. Four if you count the one I throat-punched, who's climbing back to his feet.
“Hold her down,” one of them snarls in accented Common. “Lord Vorath wants her breathing, not unmarked.”
Lord Vorath. The name registers in the split second before another male lunges for my midsection. I sidestep, bringing my knee up into his groin with every ounce of force my body can generate. The sound he makes is high and breathless, and he crumples to the floor clutching himself while I'm already turning to face the next threat. My bare feet slip on the floor, and I catch myself against the wall as another set of hands reaches for me.
“Drazex!” But he's not here. The room is empty besides me and these males. Another scream scrapes my throat raw, and I rake my nails across the face of the male trying to pin my arms. Skin parts beneath my fingers, and blood sprays hot across my knuckles, across my wrist, spattering the sleep shirt that still carries his claiming scent.
“Bitch,” the male spits, reeling back with four parallel gashes opened from his temple to his jaw.
