He takes another step towards me, pushing past the door, and kicking it shut. “Or, perhaps, your beloved prince will never hear about it at all,” his voice is low, almost a whisper.
“Fucking try me,” I drop low into a fighting stance, ready to fight without a weapon. Revryn’s words float through my mind.
Before you ever pick up a blade, remember this: you are the weapon.
He moves to strike, but I’m faster, I kick out with my foot, slamming it into his ankle. He swallows a cry, but barely flinches.He’s a Bloodbond. Realization crashes into me. They’re known for their battle fury, endurance and regeneration, so there’s no way I’ll win on strength alone.
“Come here, you little bitch,” he growls.
I try to summon my magic again, but it’s subjugated by my exhaustion from The Grove.
The moonlight glints in the corner of my eye and I chance a look—my thigh holster sitting on a small table next to the bed.
If I can just get there?—
Zak sees the opening and wrenches my head back by my hair.
I cry out. I’m overpowered and weaponless.Think, Elyssara. Think.
“He should’ve fucked you and discarded you right from the beginning,” he spits. “The only thing you’re good for.” The greed and entitlement in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. I’ve seen this look in the eyes of self-righteous men before. Usually in the early hours of the morning after a long stint at the tavern. Entitled men that think they have the right to use and discard the bodies of women for their own debased pleasures.
I grit my teeth, and this time, I summon vengeance. If I can’t have my magic, I know vengeance will always come when I call. I throw my elbow back behind me as hard and as fast as I can, catching him in the throat.
He growls in frustration, coughing, and reaching for his throat with the hand that was gripping my hair.Now is my opportunity.
I run for my thigh holster, the Starforged Blade illuminating, as if it knows I’m calling it. I stretch out my hand, feeling the cool hilt on my fingertips?—
“I don’t fucking think so,” Zak croons, as he wraps his arm around my neck, his forearm crushing my windpipe.
He drags me across the room, his spare hand finding the laces of my leathers. He wrenches them down, pushing them past my hips, hands groping at me with liberties that are not his, his forearm still cutting off the air from my lungs.
I try desperately to scream, to kick my legs, to throw my elbow back again, but it’s useless. I rasp. My vision splinters. He’s too strong. I’m pinned. We crash into the side of the bed, and I do the only thing I can think to do.
Kael,I rasp down the tether.Zak?—
And then, darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
KAEL
“You’ve outdone yourself, Rhy,”I say to Rhyven, swallowing down another mouthful of wild boar. I wash it down with ale.
“It’s my pleasure, my prince,” he inclines his head politely.
“Rhy, please,” I’m almost begging at this point. “We’ve known each other since we were boys. Just call me Kael,” I laugh.
His cheeks flush, but he smiles good-naturedly.
“Or if you prefer, you can always call him bastard, asshole, fool, or perhaps even a cu?—”
“Daelen!” Seren admonishes. “No, you absolutely cannot call him that!”
The group bursts into laughter. Even Therion can’t keep the smile off his face.
“See, I knew I liked him,” Ronyn says, elbowing Daelen in the ribs in camaraderie.
“I say, it’s completely okay to call him any of those things,” Rubi pauses for a beat before adding, “when it’s accurate.”
