She rose to her knees and glanced down at her body, at the crimson streaks cutting across her pale flesh. She’d been cut all over by the glass. But at least that was the worst of it.
Still, she couldn’t exactly forget about it. The rider had left a gaping hole in the bottom of the window, and anyone could return to finish her off. She slipped into her shoes, then slipped behind the sofa. Blood dripped from her cuts, staining the floor. Injured or not, she had to protect herself. Now.
Using the couch as a shield, she pushed it closer to the window, grunting as she shifted it. Not only can they enter into my quarters, she thought, but they can see me here, too. Suddenly, she felt very exposed.
When she’d finished pushing the couch, it blocked the bottom of the hole, but she still had more work to do. A thin sheen of sweat rose on her forehead. A moth hunted by the creatures of Nyxobas.
With one eye on the window in case the rider returned, she crossed to an armchair on the other side of the room. She pushed it across the floor, straining her muscles. Sweat dripped down her skin, mingling with the blood. A combination of adrenaline and brute strength allowed her to lever it on top of the sofa with a pained groan.
The sofa and chair together covered most of the window, and a second armchair added extra support to the structure. Not ideal, but better than nothing.
She stepped back and took a shaky breath. With the adrenaline draining from her system, the cuts in her skin began to burn. She ran a hand over her bare abdomen, smearing blood across her fingers.
What the hell had just happened? The rider had practically been at point-blank range, but still missed. Could this be only the first volley before a second attack?
Or maybe, someone wanted to frighten her, to flush her out of the quarters. Nothing protected the bridge to the lion atrium—an ideal spot for an assassin to hide.
Ursula turned in a slow circle, searching for the bolt. She’d heard it fly from the crossbow. Maybe it would hold some sort of clue.
As she turned toward the portrait of that dark-eyed woman, she froze. There, in the center of the painting, a bolt jutted into the air.
She crept cautiously closer, examining the weapon. It was carved from black wood. Ebony maybe. As she stepped closer, she could see that something had been wrapped around it—parchment.
This hadn’t been an attempt on her life. Someone had wanted to deliver a message.
Ignoring the pain that seared her skin, she pulled the bolt from the wall and peeled off the parchment. When she unfurled it, she found a message scrawled in black ink:
YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE, HOUND. THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING. NEXT TIME, WE WILL NOT MISS.
Chapter 14
The door to her quarters flung open with a bang.
Instinctively Ursula dove behind the bar, her knees and palms scraping over glass shards. She groaned in pain.
“What in the seven hells is going on in here?” Bael’s voice boomed through the room. Ursula exhaled, rising unsteadily. Maybe Bael hated her for being the enemy, but he viewed it as his job to protect her. She rose unsteadily and crossed in front of the bar.
He stood in the living room, dark magic swirling around him, wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts. He held an enormous broadsword, and the cold battle fury blazing in his eyes made her stomach clench. “Are they gone?”
“Yes. I think so.”
His chest was bound in bandages, but it didn’t hide his perfect, chiseled body. And peeking out from the bandages, she could see glimpses of his tattoos—a crescent moon, a pointed star, a lightning bolt, sharp as a blade. Terrifying—but magnificent to behold nonetheless.
He gazed at her, some of the fury fading from his eyes. Concern flickered across his features. “You’re hurt.”
She nodded. As the adrenaline left her body, her teeth began to chatter. “There was a lot of broken glass.”
He crossed the room in a blur of shadow, dropping his sword on a chair. In the next second, Bael’s strong hands were around her waist.
Surprise flickered through her. Gently, he lifted her onto the top of the bar, careful not to touch her wounds. He examined her skin, pulling out a shard of glass from just below her ribs. She clenched her teeth, trying not to cry out at the pain. A warrior like Bael wouldn’t be impressed by a load of whining. For a man with such large hands, she had to marvel at the nimbleness of his fingers as he plucked one tiny shard of glass after another from her skin. A deep concentration furrowed his brow, and he worked silently, like an expert craftsman.
When he’d finished, he gazed into her eyes, resting his hands on the counter on either side of her legs. For the first time, she saw a hint of softness in his glacial eyes. “You’re withstanding the pain remarkably well.”
She swallowed hard. His otherworldly beauty was distracting, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. If she hadn’t been covered in blood and cuts, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to stop herself from pressing herself against him.