He’s still wearing his angry face with the Einherjar eyes. So much angrier than he looked in the Underworld.
His lips draw back from his teeth in a snarl while a glisten of dragon scales appears across his skin.
“You can’t have her,” he rasps at the assassins. “She does not belong to you.”
Both of the assassins are now pale, but the look they give each other…
I don’t understand what it means, the way they appear so stricken as they stare at the keeper, the way they focus on his eyes, then the way they look at me and my wings…
As if something has shaken their foundations.
I don’t have the chance to understand it because in the next moment, another blast of mist sweeps around me, a tumult of power, before the keeper throws himself toward me, hoisting me up into his arms.
Then the mist envelops me, the keeper’s power compresses my chest so hard, I can’t breathe, and I’m spiraling sickeningly through space.
CHAPTER FORTY
The whirlwind of transportation magic stops abruptly. The keeper’s arms remain around me as my knees hit a floor I recognize.
I’m back in the apartment where we first stayed in New York. I catch a glimpse of the lounge room around us, the little kitchen on my far right, and the bedroom behind me.
Then my wings crash through the plush seat at my back, cutting through the stuffing and exploding fluffy bits of material into the air around us.
I can’t turn to assess the damage because my head is spinning from the bumpy ride, and my stomach is billowing with nausea.
Being rescued in this fashion isn’t doing me any favors.
I discover that I’m leaning to my left, my hand planted on the carpet while the keeper’s arms remain around my waist. Somehow, he’s gripping me beneath my wings and keeping me pressed to his chest while he, too, is on his knees.
I gasp for breath and squeeze my eyes shut to try to stop the world from spinning.
My voice is a dry rasp, but at least my jaw has healed. “How are you here?” My confusion at his appearance is replaced with intense concern. “You were unconscious when I left.”
He scoops up my other arm—the one I planted on the floor—before he crushes me to his chest.
His voice is a broken rumble in my ears. “I woke up and you were gone.”
“Oh. Okay,” I whisper against his shoulder, and then I jolt again with concern. “My pack?”
“Safe,” he says. “I convinced them to remain behind and give us space.”
The hour that they will probably wait in the Underworld could equate to half a day here. I don’t even attempt to do the math on that, but I picture Anarchy pacing the entire time.
“You put yourself in danger.” The keeper snarls, demanding my attention.
I groan, still unable to fully open my eyes. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No.” His chest deflates. Then he repeats himself. “No.”
I crack open my eyes, taking deep breaths as the spinning sensation I was experiencing eases and I can move my head again.
Ascertaining that the light around me isn’t going to upset my vision, I shimmy my hand up between us so I can tug my blindfold off.
I find myself staring up into his eyes, surprised by the face he’s wearing now.
No more blue-eyed angry persona.
No more black dragon.
