“Not without you.”
He struggled to break free of her grasp, knowing she’d never make it if she had to drag him along. Damn, the stubborn female. She was supposed to be safe. Now she threatened to ruin his one act of noble bravery.
“No . . . Tonya . . . leave me.”
Refusing to release him, Tonya wrapped an arm around his waist, half carrying, half dragging him as his knees gave out.
“We’re in this together, prince,” she managed to rasp, hauling him ever closer to the opening.
They were less than a few feet away when the pain became unbearable, and Magnus knew the end was near.
Lifting his weary head, he locked his gaze on Tonya’s delicately carved profile.
If he was going to die, he wanted this to be his last sight.
Still struggling forward, Tonya gave a soft cry as the spell around them shuddered. She tightened her grip on his waist, moaning at the crushing pain.
Then, as they stood just inches from the opening, there was an ear-splitting screech and the spell exploded into a thousand pieces.
Tonya had endured her fair share of hangovers. Hell, she ran a demon club. There were bound to be a few nights that she overindulged.
Like the night she hosted a mating dance for two woodland fairies who’d brought an entire wagonload of fermented ambrosia to the club. Or the unforgettable party that Viper had thrown when Styx had taken over as Anasso. The drinks had been on the house and there hadn’t been a sober demon in a hundred-mile radius. Including her.
But no matter how hard she’d partied, she’d never felt as if a railroad spike was being drilled into the back of her head and her skin scraped down to the nerve endings.
Careful not to move her throbbing head, Tonya forced her eyes open, baffled by the sight of her barren surroundings.
Where was her pretty canopied bed and walls painted to look like a sunny meadow?
Confusion raced through her as she realized she was in a dark cavern, lying on a smooth slab of rock.
What the hell? That really must have been some bender.
She glanced down, relieved to discover she was wearing clothes. That was something. Or it was until her gaze focused enough for her to see that her dress had several small holes and had been singed at the hem.
It looked as if she’d been in a fire.
No, wait.
An explosion.
Yes. She pressed a hand to her temple. Her memory started to come back.
The labyrinth had been collapsing and Magnus had remained behind, supporting the barriers so they could escape. She’d been furious when she discovered he wasn’t with them.
Dammit. He was supposed to be a selfish, arrogant prince. Not a martyr.
The stubborn ass.
So, of course, she’d gone back to rescue him.
And they’d very nearly made it. They’d been only steps away from the opening when everything had gone . . . kablooey.
With a groan, she pressed herself to a seated position on the hard slab, warily glancing toward the towering stone circle.
“Where am I?” she muttered, nearly jumping out of her skin when a male voice spoke directly behind her.
“Beneath the lair of the druid.”
“Oh.”
She turned her head, warily watching as Magnus strolled to stand directly in front of her.
Like her, his clothing had been scorched and he had a few healing wounds on his impossibly beautiful face, but the explosion clearly hadn’t dented his enormous arrogance as he peered down his long nose at her.
“Why did you do that?”
She winched. “Yow, prince, tone it down,” she muttered, pressing a finger between her eyes. “My head hurts.”
“Of course it hurts.” His hands clenched and unclenched, as if he were under a great stress. “You were caught in the backlash of a very powerful spell. I told you to run.”
She scowled at his sharp words. She hadn’t expected him to fall on his knees in gratitude for her saving his life. But . . . Christ.
He could at least throw out a “thank you” before snapping at her.
She narrowed her gaze. “Since when do I take orders from you?”
He folded his arms over his chest, his gaze oddly piercing as he studied her upturned face.
“Why?”
“Why don’t I take orders?”
His lips flattened. “Why did you come back for me?”
She shrugged. That was a question she didn’t want to consider too deeply.
“Because I’m mental,” she muttered.
He leaned forward, surrounding her in the scent of aged whiskey.
“Answer the question.”
She made a sound of impatience. Dammit. Why couldn’t he just let it go?
“Obviously because I was afraid you weren’t going to make it out.”
The cognac eyes held her gaze with mesmerizing ease.
“Would it bother you if I didn’t?”
She bit her lip, a shudder shaking her body. She would never forget the moment she’d glanced back to discover this man wasn’t following them out of the collapsing spell.
It’d felt as if someone had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart.
Something she very much hoped never to feel again.