“Don’t act shy,” he says, tearing off his shirt first. Black fabric falls to the floor. I fumble around the edge of the tub, touching the sponge, the soap, the shampoo. “Rumors of your lustful activity is legendary in the castle. Each time you fuck your guardians, the Queen falls apart—did you know that? Takes a little piece of her power. So much fucking over the last few months. Made the palace unbearable. So she figured she’d steal your guardians and strip you of that little bit of control you have over her.”
He’d removed his shirt to make me see his strength. The broad, hard lines of his chest and shoulders. His muscles are massive. Bigger than Clinton. Bigger than any human man for certain. His hard length is visible underneath his trousers. His cock as much a weapon as any blade. I brace myself and wrap my fingers around the nearest thing. Something—anything.
He grabs me by the neck, pulling our bodies together. I recoil at the feel of him against me. He hardens and smiles, twisting his fingers in my hair. “The gods gave you beauty. I can’t wait to see those sweet, perfect lips wrapped around my—“
I smash the soap in his eyes, spreading the lather with my fingers. He yelps at the sting—the lye burns—and I push him with both hands, slamming the bathroom door between us and then shoving a trunk in front of the door. It’s only buying me a few moments. I try the main door—locked.
Frantically I look around the room, already knowing there are no weapons. I must defeat him on my own—using my powers. I fling open the closet door, rummaging through the clothing left for me. I toss a shirt over my head, aware that it barely skims my thighs, and pull the wooden hanger from the rack.
Casteel roars from the bathroom, banging hard against the door. Wood splinters and the force wrenches the door knob clear off. The trunk flies across the room, spilling the contents across the floor. I press my back against the wall, holding the wooden hanger like a lifeline, trying to gather a spark to fight back with.
He doesn’t speak as he prowls toward me. His face has taken on demonic features. Sharp teeth, an elongated jaw. I blink, thinking I must be making it up, but I’ve seen the Otherside demons in the fighting ring. Casteel may have more than one form. And I have absolutely no idea how I’ll fight him.
He closes the gap, ripping the hanger out of my hands and tossing it across the room with a clatter. I whisper a quiet prayer. To the gods, to my guardians, to Hildi’s goddess, begging for this not to be my last moment and for the moments between now and death to be swift and merciful.
He flicks his wrist and I fling up my hand, protecting myself with an invisible shield. It only holds a second, flickering, but he’s faster than me, casting power in my direction, and I’m struck with the same paralyzing sensation that he inflicted before. Amused, he smiles, and when he’s close enough I feel his breath on my cheek, smell the sour stench of his skin. He’s hard-packed muscle and as much as I don’t want to acknowledge it, the length between his legs seems bigger, harder, and I shudder when he presses it against my lower stomach. Violence and fear turn him on.
“Don’t fight, unless you want it to hurt more.” His smile--the disgusting, awful smile--drops when a weight slams against the hallway door. “I saw the slave disappear. Who do you think is going to help you? There’s no one here for you, Morgan. Not one person.”
I was a fool for coming here so impulsively and I have no doubt I’ll pay for my decision. Frozen under Casteel’s power, I’m pressed against the wall and something or someone bangs against the door again and there’s scratching against the lock. Shouting bounces against the walls and I dig deep inside, feeling the dregs of my own power—remnants from being with Dylan. A flare sparks, enough for me to wiggle my fingers. The commotion continues in the hall and I use the distraction to wedge my hand between our bodies. My nails elongate and spike. His eyebrow lifts when I wrap my hand around his cock, caught between confusion and pleasure.
The door crashes in and Bunny fills the doorway. I see the spray of blood on his face, the glimmer of my sword in his hand. I claw at Casteel, my nails ripping through the fabric of his pants to the flesh, and then I kick him in the gut.
“You came,” I say, watching Bunny stride toward the bent over Casteel, who is howling in pain. He’s down, but not for long.
“Always,” Bunny declares.
The Commander stands, a beast compared to my smallest guardian. Bunny swings the blade in his hand like second nature. He glances at me before Casteel’s fist makes contact with his jaw and my world turns upside down.
*
Shaking off the punch, Bunny shifts into warrior mode, something I’ve only seen a few times. He always presented himself as the gentlest of my Guardians and it takes me a moment to reconcile the force in the doorway, that he came back to help me, and that no, I’m not alone.
“You do not get to touch her,” Bunny says, voice laced with possessive venom. “You should not even look at her. If anything, you bow and grovel in her presence.”
“Show me, weakling, what you plan to do about it.” Casteel growls and lunges, the two men clashing in the middle of the room. I use the distraction to pull on pants and my boots. What else am I going to do, where am I going to go?
Bunny gives as good as he takes but he’s smaller—and lacking the benefit of two functional arms. Casteel pummels him, slamming his fists into his face and kidneys. I lift my hand at a wooden chair by the vanity and by the power of the gods, I heave it overhead, slamming it down on his back. The wood shatters, barely stopping him, but he turns his back on Bunny and leers in my direction.
“Fucking whore. Gods dammed, fucking whore.”
Bunny’s on the ground but through swollen eyes we make contact, a brief moment of understanding, and he reaches for my sword and in a quick motion, slides it across the floor. Casteel turns at the sound of metal scraping across stone. He may be huge but I’m light on my feet and I dive for it, barely missing it. The tip of the sword lands in the fire. On my hands and knees I crawl toward it, getting my hands around the hilt.
It’s heavy and my position is awkward and Casteel is hovering over me, breathing heavy. “What do you think you’re going to do with that, little girl?”
I roll over, bringing the blade with me. My sword, the one given to me by Damien, infused with magic by Bunny. It feels light in my hands, the hilt curved to my dimensions. The sword moves effortlessly through the air, slicing down on Casteel’s forearm. He jumps back, yelping, and I scramble to my feet. The rage on the Commander’s face is unquestionable, and even with the sword, I know his wrath will be deadly. He lifts his hand, ready to use his magic against me again, but a presence appears in the door. Just as tall and twice as deadly.
The fighting stops as we all look up at Dylan standing in the doorway, ancient rage consuming him.
“Hello, Casteel,” he says, withdrawing a blade. “Good to see you again.”
Chapter 29
Dylan